Part VIII
It was near impossible to even pretend to be remotely interested in geometrical forms when her thoughts kept wandering to the ocean in Spike’s eyes. The way his gaze soaked her up, the way his lips tasted, the way he rumbled into her mouth when he was overwhelmed with passion. There was simply so much life to him that he, somehow, didn’t see.
The niggling voice that had haunted her for the first couple days was gone now. Whatever reservations she’d possessed had been dwarfed by the growing sense of justness she felt whenever they were together. The soul debate didn’t present the problem she would have anticipated, especially considering how hostile things had been between them prior to Angel’s conversion to his less sociable self. Ultimately, from what she’d seen, comparing Spike to Angel was equitable to comparing Xander to Giles. It just didn’t work—they were different people, and it wasn’t fair to judge one based on the sins of the other.
The monstrosity in Spike’s inherent nature did present a problem. She had no delusions that he had stopped killing for her. After all, their relationship was poorly defined, and the vampire had to eat. Was she okay with it? Absolutely not. The thought that her connection with a deadly demon was forming a potentially fatal blind spot didn’t rest well with her at all. But there was no killing the demon without killing the man. And the man, despite all the demon’s efforts, trumped the demon power and influence.
Spike was more virtuous than he’d ever admit, though he’d probably scream nasty things and threaten to kill her if she dared to share her revelation.
The ‘killing people’ thing bothered her. A lot. And while she knew it was happening—based on common sense above anything else—even the semantics of right and wrong couldn’t convince her that letting him go was the right move to make. His evil was not the same as Angelus’s. His evil was there in defiance of his humanity. His evil was there to protect the parts of him that were still too soulful to deal with the abuse of a demon world.
Humanity was something that Angelus simply didn’t possess.
By the time lunch period rolled around, Buffy had taken to crossing off the hours until sunset in her notebook. The end of the maze was marked with S-P-I-K-E, spelled out in bubble-letters. It was the closest thing to geometrical forms that she felt like touching.
The girlish swell of excitement was something she thought she’d never feel again. It was a complete step away from the smoochy-filled patrols she’d shared with Angel—this thing with Spike felt adult. It felt more than something she was obligated to go through as a high school experience, though she loathed to give her relationship with Angel any such label, especially since her heart had yet to recover. She’d heard about rebound guys from her friends at Hemery, and even suspected that her fling with Pike, while not rebounding off Tyler, had been a way to cope with the Chosen One crap. It hadn’t been serious; more a thing that was there as a this is how you’ll deal consolation prize.
After all, Tyler hadn’t exactly been one to write home about. Their break-up hadn’t necessitated a rebound. She didn’t even remember shedding tears into her pillow about it—likely because it tagged on burning down school buildings and making out with guys way too old for her.
Buffy snorted inwardly, swinging her bland brown sack as she approached the usual table her gang met around during the lunch hour. Willow and Oz were already seated, talking animatedly about some undoubtedly complicated academic matter that would fly right over her head.
The redhead’s eyes lit up when she saw her. “Hey, Buff!”
She offered a weak smile and pulled up a chair. “Hey,” she replied. “What’s up?”
“Oz and I were just talking about—”
“Something complicated and academic?”
“Close. The Dingos got a gig in LA,” Willow returned. “Oz has to drive up there this weekend.”
Buffy arched a brow. “Don’t tell me there are actual talent scouts that frequent the Bronze?”
“Stranger things,” Oz replied with an easy shrug.
“Did anything happen at the Bronze after we left?” Willow asked, sipping at her juice. “The band was kinda without, so I’m guessing not. Unless—ooh! Unless there was a big demon brawl. Or Angel showed up.”
“No demon brawl. No cameo from my ex.”
Buffy paused and licked her lips, her mind returning to thoughts of Spike and his gorgeous, stare-into-your-soul way of looking at her. There was no way she could announce another deadly attraction to yet another vampire and expect it to be taken with a smile and nod, but God, she wanted to talk to someone about it. Buffy glanced back to her friend and sighed. The chances of Willow understanding were slim to none. However, she was truly the only one who would even offer a sympathetic ear before shutting her out.
Xander would never understand. Never. He hadn’t understood Angel even with the soul; imagining his reaction to the revelation that she was enamored with not only another vampire, but a vampire that had already proclaimed his intention to kill her, did absolutely nothing for her plight.
“Buffy?”
She glanced up and sighed. Now. Get it out of the way now, before you lose your nerve. “Oz,” she said, smiling sweetly, “do you think you can make yourself scarce? I need to talk with Willow...about...stuff.”
Well, that was profound. Willow’s face was a mesh of confusion and intrigue, but she didn’t object.
The werewolf shrugged and nodded shortly. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed. “Do you need me to distract Xander?”
“That’d be swell.”
“Consider him distracted.”
“And Cordy?”
He shrugged again. “They’re a matching pair. I figure distracting one distracts the other by default.”
Buffy smiled her gratitude. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, not enough people know that about me.” He dropped a kiss atop Willow’s head and gathered up his books. “See you after fourth?”
“Yeah,” the redhead agreed. “Okay.”
By the time they were actually alone, the look on Willow’s face was all but bursting with curiosity. It wasn’t often that Buffy felt the need to demand privacy with her best friend, especially since Oz was practically ‘one of the girls.’ However, this instance was particularly sensitive. No matter how accepting the wolf was, she had to be cautious and pace herself; also, aside being Willow’s boyfriend, Buffy didn’t know him very well. The past few weeks hadn’t allowed much time for a formal ‘getting to know you’ session. She understood that he was becharmed with the redhead; up until recently, she had forced herself to be begrudgingly happy for the couple. After all, watching others bask in love and overly-excited teenage hormones was even less fun when one’s own honey was off on a murderous rampage.
But that was before Spike. Before her world had flipped itself upside down. Before he’d given her a reason to smile again.
“What is it?” Willow demanded quietly. “You have serious-face.”
“That’s because this is serious.”
“Uh oh.”
“Uh oh?”
“Serious, I’ve come to understand, equals bad. A-at least with all the bad guys that are running around out there right now. What’s wrong?” She paused. “You said Angel was a no-show. Was it...did Darla come back looking for—or Spike?!” Buffy started at the sound of his name, and her reaction must have been telling. Willow’s eyes practically bulged out of her head. “Oh my God. Did Spike...he threatened to make good on his ‘kill you dead’ thing, didn’t he? God, that guy really doesn’t know how to interpret getting whacked by a tree limb.”
Buffy exhaled slowly, a shrill chuckle rumbling through her throat before she could stop herself. “Well,” she replied. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Not exactly what?”
“Will...there are...some things...about me and Spike that I haven’t told you.”
The look on her friend’s face went slack. “I didn’t know there was a ‘you and Spike,’” she said.
“Yeah, that’d be one of the things I haven’t told you.”
“Buffy?”
“We’re...we’re kinda...” She cleared her throat. “What I mean to say is, Spike and I...there’s kinda this thing.”
“A thing?”
Buffy nodded guiltily. “We can’t keep our hands off each other,” she blurted, the words strained and awkward. And out there. God, they were out there before she could stop herself.
Willow sat back, her skin paling, her expression numb. They sat like that for a long, uncomfortable minute. Not talking. Not even establishing eye contact. The redhead was staring hard at something on the table, and for a horrible instant, the Slayer feared she had made the mother of all mistakes.
After all, Willow was understanding...but getting the suddenness of ‘Buffy likes groping Spike’ was pushing the envelope.
“Well,” her friend said finally, her voice strained. “That’s a...pretty big thing.”
“Yeah.”
“You and Spike...”
“I don’t know how it happened.”
“Yeah, I can understand the dark, sinister attraction of him nearly killing you.”
Buffy laughed uncomfortably, raising a hand in protest. “Hey, you’re reading way too much into that.”
“You’re into Spike now? As in, Mr. Soulless, president of the Slayer-Haters Unite Club? The same guy that, oh yeah, raided the school on parent/teacher night and has been trying to find a way to make you very, very dead for months?”
“I’m getting the impression that you’re not taking this well.”
“Well, how am I supposed to take it, Buffy? Last I checked, Spike’s a remorseless killer who, by the way, already has a girlfriend!”
“Not so,” she protested. “Spike broke it off with Dru last night.”
“How romantic.”
“I—”
“This is, of course, after he socked you in the jaw the other night when you were trying to stake the evil hell-bitch.”
“See, that was just a misunderstanding.”
Willow crossed her arms and huffed. “Oh really?”
A heavy sigh burdened the Slayer’s shoulders, and she glanced to her lunch sack in resignation. “Will, look, I know this is all kinds of crazy. I know it. Spike knows it, too. He keeps telling me we gotta stop...and I know it, but I don’t want to. He’s not Angel. He’s not Angelus. He’s not even the guy we thought he was. The demon is a face he wears. The demon has nothing to do with the Spike I know.”
“Well, that makes it really easy for you, doesn’t it?”
“No. No, I never said it was easy. It’s wrong and stupid, but I’m feeling things for him. Non-reboundy, true things.” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “I’m not asking for your approval. I don’t expect it. I know you have absolutely no reason to trust Spike. I know that you think I’m insane. I don’t expect you to agree to be okay with it or any of the above. But that’s what’s happening right now. I’m...in something with Spike.” She trembled slightly, rising to her feet. Suddenly, she didn’t feel hungry in the slightest. “I’m okay with you not being okay with it,” she added. “Really, I am. And I understand why. I really do. I just...it won’t change anything. For whatever reason, Spike makes sense to me right now...even without the logic.”
The look on Willow’s face had softened a note, but she still didn’t look anywhere near satisfied, much less convinced. Instead, she sighed and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay?”
“Do what you want, Buffy. It obviously doesn’t matter. I don’t know why you told me in the first place.”
The Slayer’s eyes narrowed. “Because you’re my friend and I think honesty, once in a while, is a good trait for friends to share. But, like I said, I understand your disapproval. I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know because I figured it’s better that you hear it from me than somewhere else.” She paused. “So there it is. Spike and I have a thing. It’s out there. You can do with it what you please—tell Xander, don’t tell Xander, it’s up to you. If you don’t, I will eventually. I’ll trust whatever decision you make.”
With that, Buffy pushed back her seat and snatched up her lunch sack. There was no point in trying to maintain a normal conversation with her friend after that. Furthermore, something told her that Willow wouldn’t be comfortable switching subjects from ‘current undead honeys’ to anything considered remotely normal.
She dumped her lunch into the nearest trash bin, cast her friend one last glance, then returned to the hallway. Telling Willow had either been a stroke of genius or a gigantic mistake; she couldn’t decide, and she didn’t particularly feel like mulling it over.
She passed Oz and the others in the hallway and nodded when he flashed her the patented ‘is it safe?’ look. Xander said something funny, and she forced a laugh, then turned and continued without bothering to tell them where she was headed. Probably a good thing, as she didn’t know herself. She didn’t want to see Giles, nor did she want to spend twenty minutes in an empty classroom before fifth period began.
The feeling didn’t strike her until she neared the basement door—the one needlessly branded with a sign that read: ADMINISTRATION ONLY: NO STUDENTS ALLOWED. The only people who ventured below the school building were students, normally on their self-scheduled smoke-breaks.
And evidently, vampires. Buffy frowned and neared the door tentatively. There was no mistaking her spidey-sense. Some creepy crawly was surveying the basement-filtered landscape. She worried a lip between her teeth and sighed.
There had to be some law preventing slayers from slaying ‘off-duty.’
Buffy curled a hand around the doorknob, double-checked to make sure Snyder wasn’t trolling the halls, then peeled the door open. She decided to ignore that she was without a stake and hope that the vamp was either a fledgling or Spike—if one of the other Aurelius clansmen had decided to up the ante, she was in for a world of hurt.
And if it was Spike...well, that was practically wishful thinking.
Only not so. The second she stepped onto the floor, she saw him emerge from the shadows, and her heart flip-flopped.
What was he doing here?
“Did I fall asleep in class?” she asked.
Spike quirked a brow. “You sayin’ you dream about me?”
“Well, as of late...yes.”
He grinned and stepped forward. “I’m flattered,” he purred, his eyes raking down her body predatorily. “Mmmm...how long’s it been?”
“Let’s see...you left me at about one in the morning, so...eleven hours?”
“Felt longer,” he murmured, reaching out to caress her arm. “What’re you doin’ down here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. In fact…what are you doing down here?”
“Need to talk with your watcher. Figured it’d be easier if I waited until after school hours.” He was still sizing her up as though they’d been apart for years. The possessive gleam in his eyes played a number on her nerves. If anything, the past few hours had given her a profound appreciation for the elasticity of Spike’s willpower. He’d gone from demanding that they had to stop seeing each other to fondling her inappropriately every other second. His reservations had been replaced with an unrepentant grin; the look of lost confusion dwarfed entirely with yearning that made her heart tremble.
“After hours?” she echoed.
“Yeh. Was gonna hunt you down. Make you face the Watcher with me.”
“Why?”
“I figure there’ll be less threatenin’ with pointy sticks if I have a slayer at my side.”
“Ah. Likely a good idea.”
Spike quirked a brow and nodded slowly. “Doesn’ explain why you’re down here, though. Is the Slayer playin’ hooky?”
“The Slayer doesn’t get breaks from her night job.” She spread her arms and shrugged. “No off switch. I felt a vamp was near, so I followed my feeling.”
“An’ your feeling brought you to me.”
“It would appear that way.”
He grinned and took another step forward, his eyes flickering. “Some night,” he murmured, trailing a path down her arm, his face brightening at the goose-flesh that followed him. “When all this is over...we’ll have to go a couple rounds. See how sharp your feeling is.”
Buffy trembled. “Like hide-and-go-seek?”
“Well, if you wanna call it that. Only our version would be a helluva lot more fun to play.”
That she didn’t doubt. There was no denying the look in his eyes; that flash of mischief that made her insides burn. She hated to admit it, but the way he spoke—the way he described their relationship, as though this thing they had would survive after the Order was gone—made her all gooey inside. The feelings she had for Spike were rapidly approaching the Point Of No Return. Somewhere, she knew she was in the right to curse the Powers and demand that something light swing her way for a change, but the notion faded every time she met Spike’s eyes.
Two heavy relationships back-to-back. She just hoped this one wouldn’t break her.
It had only been days, and she felt like she’d known Spike—this Spike—for years. That the easy smiles he cast her way, the awe that flared his eyes every time she touched him, and the way he trembled when she rested in his arms had been with her all along. The past with Angel was still painfully fresh, but she was no longer certain if it was for the love she’d had or the injuries she’d suffered. He’d wounded her emotionally, sure, but now, standing in the basement with her vampire, she couldn’t imagine returning to Angel’s side.
Perhaps her judgment was fogged. It was hard to tell when Spike looked at her.
“Why do you need to see Giles?” she asked.
“He’s the bookish type,” Spike replied with a shrug. “That an’ his name was in the paper.”
“It was?”
“Yeh...right next to the uncovering of Acathla.”
“Acathla?”
“I thought it was a new name for one of Dru’s dolls. She said that my leavin’ her would upset Acathla.” He shrugged again. “Turns out, Acathla’s the name of a rock that your watcher helped identify. If Dru was havin’ visions about it, it might mean trouble for you.”
Buffy stared at him long enough to make him shift uncomfortably. He was so adorable when he fidgeted.
“What?” he demanded when she didn’t say anything.
“You’re amazing.”
“How so?”
“You came here to help me.”
Spike frowned. “Never said that.”
“You came here to help me defeat a big evil thing. How cute are you?” Buffy giggled brazenly at the mock-ire that flashed across his face. “You’ve gone from wanting me dead to coming here to help me save the world.”
“You know, I could change my mind anytime I like.”
She shook her head, the grin remaining. “You like me too much.”
“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?”
Buffy simply grinned and stepped forward, hooking her fingers through the lapels of his duster and dragging his mouth down to hers. “I know it,” she murmured huskily, then gasped when he swallowed her in a kiss. The silky feel of his lips against hers never stopped surprising her, nor did the passion he managed to emanate with every breath he took. His hands steadied at her sides, and he rumbled into her mouth, as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t bring himself to stop kissing her.
Life without Spike—without this lovely distraction from everything that had gone so completely wrong, would be unbearable. She’d grown frighteningly dependent on him. On the solace he gave her with every touch. The warmth he provided without even realizing it. Their progression to where they were now, while rushed, struck her as so seamlessly natural that she couldn’t think to question it.
“Mmm...” Buffy murmured, suckling intently on his lower lip. “I should get to class.”
“No,” he replied, his hands becoming more boisterous. “You should stay here. Right here.”
“I’ll get in trouble.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.” With the way his mouth was working up and down her throat, she didn’t doubt it. “Come on. You gonna leave me all by my lonesome down here in this big, empty basement?”
“You are such a faker, it’s not even funny.”
Spike raised his head, his eyes twinkling. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But you want me, anyway.”
She didn’t know what did it, really. What little resolve she’d possessed melted without quarrel. Her arms found their way around his neck, her mouth dragging back to his. The sweetness of his kisses was, cliché and all, the stuff dreams were made of. He had her so drunk at just the hint of his taste that it didn’t occur to her that they were moving until her back hit the basement wall. The way he made her lose herself was terrifying, but she didn’t want to give it up. Fear of the unknown was worth this, and whatever debt she owed for her former sins was completely paid.
Angel had broken her; Spike was putting her back together.
And while she worried that he might end up breaking her all over again, the angst she’d experienced with her former was gone. Completely. The soulless vampire had let her feel again. She’d wondered briefly—very briefly—if lack of angst meant lack of feeling. It didn’t. Not when she knew Spike had the power to destroy her just as Angel had. She simply trusted him to not do it. To not hurt her, intentionally or otherwise.
“You’re a bad influence,” she managed teasingly between kisses, frantically untucking his shirt so she could explore that scrumptious flesh he was hiding from her. The moan that vibrated against her when she began stroking his stomach empowered her like nothing else. “Ohhh...”
“You love it, you saucy minx.”
“Spike!”
His mouth had fastened onto one of her nipples through the lace of her drastically unsexy bra. She hadn’t even noticed when he’d taken her shirt off. The thrills that raced up her spine were dangerously addictive, and she honestly didn’t know if it was because Spike touched her with confidence that Angel had never effused, or the knowledge that he lacked the conscience of other men. The training wheels were off—she had finally touched something pure. Spike’s demon wasn’t an arrangement by some cosmic father-figure; he was the composer, himself.
And even knowing that, she somehow felt safer in his arms than she ever had in Angel’s. For all the boasting Spike did, all the empty threats—even those that came with punches—he revealed so much more of himself than her old boyfriend ever had. He was blatantly unapologetic for everything he was, though when she looked at him, it was more man than monster that looked back.
He might be the full demon, but he’d kept his humanity. He’d guarded it for years, and now, because Drusilla was an idiot, he was giving it to her.
“You make me crazy,” Spike moaned, his hot mouth tearing at her lips as he eagerly snapped open the button of her jeans. The rustle of clothing became indistinct; she felt the cool basement air touch her skin as he pushed her pants down her hips. There was something else—another zipper, but that must have been her imagination. The next thing she knew, he was bunching her panties to the side. “Absolutely drive me outta my mind. I keep tellin’ myself—” He plunged two fingers inside her without formality, provoking a large gasp through her throat as her head flew back against the wall. “—to let it go. To walk away. Can’t. Bloody tried.”
His thumb settled over her clit, massaging her gently as his mouth peppered her throat with hot, needy kisses. Her hands found his forearms and squeezed. The feel of him touching her there was insurmountable—everything she’d ever told herself was dirty and wrong had been defeated with experience. She’d tasted it now, and she wanted more.
“I’m yours, Slayer,” he growled. Then—oh God—his fingers abandoned her, but something else brushed against her sodden folds. Something larger. She remembered this feeling. God, she remembered it well. His hands were on her hips, and he was preparing to slide his cock inside her. Shivers danced down her flesh and her eyes went wide.
“Fuck me,” he gasped. “I’m so yours.”
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Spike!”
“Slayer—”
Gah. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
“Spike!” Instinct took over in place of logic. She shoved him back violently, her body screaming in protest even as her mind submerged in relief. Not this way. She wasn’t ready—not like this. She needed something that he hadn’t given her. Something she wasn’t owed, but needed like she’d never needed anything.
The pleasure wasn’t worth the pain. Her body wanted his, her heart wanted his, but she wasn’t about to subject herself to further heartache. Not if she could help it.
The look in his eyes was stricken for a long second, then drenched with understanding. He was panting; so was she, and the sound was intolerably harsh against the silence. For long seconds, neither moved nor spoke, rather simply stared at each other.
It didn’t take long for the silence to drive her out of her mind. “I’m sorry,” she said, her shoulders falling. “I thought—I thought, last night, I thought I said that I can’t...I can’t do that yet. I might want to. I mean, I do want to. I really do...but I got clobbered emotionally and physically the last time, and—”
Spike held up a hand, thankfully drawing her attention away from his cock. Even with what she’d done to him the night before, Buffy still hadn’t managed to snag a good look at the male anatomy. Angel had kept everything dark and under the covers, likely thinking his throbbing hunk of man-meat would scare her out of putting out. Spike, unsurprisingly, had no such reservations. And despite the peeks she’d taken the night before, her imagination had been forced to fill in the blanks. Well, her imagination plus the ‘dick-doodles’ some of the overly-sure-of-themselves prep boys inscribed on desks when they thought the teacher wasn’t looking. Last year, her seat in fifth period had been covered with small ‘dick-doodles.’ Artistically uninspired, but there for her imagination, nonetheless.
“Buffy,” he said gently, and her heart melted. She really did love it when he called her that. “Don’. It’s my fault. I heard you last night an’...I believed it when you said it. I jus’...I got here an’ you smelled like heaven an’ I guess I let my other head do the thinkin’.”
He was fighting back shame—she knew that look.
“I’m sorry.” The words sounded so foreign in his voice, but they touched a part of her that felt like she’d known him all along. “I din’t mean to hurt you.”
That must have been quite the revelation, although he said it without flinching at the irony. He said it like he meant it.
Buffy licked her lips and stepped forward after deciding it was easier to just kick her jeans off rather than zip herself up again. Though for the fire that roared in his eyes when she bared her legs, she thought it was possible that she was just asking for it. She didn’t know—he’d simply made her too hot for confinement at the moment. “You didn’t. I’m just—”
“You’re jus’ skittish. No one can expect anythin’ less from you after the firs’ time. The bloke you loved hurt you. It was your firs’ time, an’ he ruined it. Intentionally or not.” Spike smiled softly. “You need your second time to be with someone who loves you enough not to fumble it as fantastically as Angelus did.”
“Angel,” she corrected thoughtlessly.
“Same difference.”
“Spike...I want to...with you. I do. I just...”
She trailed off awkwardly, unwilling to say the words. The idea that Spike could ever love her the way she needed was little more than a pipedream. It was for that reason that she had to keep her emotions bridged; had to keep herself distanced, even if her heart never recovered.
“You deserve it, Slayer,” he said, jarring her back to herself. “I can’t think of anyone who deserves love more than you do.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
Buffy flushed and nodded. “With everything you told me about Dru...about...the way she is and...don’t you deserve it, too?”
He soaked her up with awe. She held his gaze for a long minute, then, with sudden lack of bashfulness, dropped her eyes back to his cock. His erection hadn’t abated during their impromptu conversation; rather, he seemed even harder now. As though the talk of love, however abstract, had fueled his lust just as much as her body had.
The notion warmed her completely.
“See anything you like?”
The slow, confident drawl prompted her gaze upward once more. Spike was smirking now, his fingers dancing methodically up his shaft. The confidence he exuded made her tremble, more for the knowledge that he protected his insecurities with swagger. She wondered if anyone else had ever gotten to know him, or even cared to recognize which face he wore, and the reasons for selecting it.
“Well,” she replied, her eyes flashing. “Now that I can see what’s been poking at me...”
“You din’t get a good look last night?”
“We were in a tree, Mr. Observant.” She licked her lips, which made him moan, for some reason, and turned her eyes to his cock again. “I didn’t get enough room to do what I wanted.”
Spike tensed with excitement at that. “Oh?” he replied hoarsely.
“Yeah.” Buffy stepped forward until they were separated by inches. She studied him for a minute longer, then reached out and gently took him in her hand. “I wanted to know what you like,” she said. “Other than the ‘two hands’ thing, I didn’t get a chance.”
“That was a shame,” he agreed, his eyes rolling shut as she began stroking him. “Oh God, that’s lovely.”
She quirked a brow, amused. “Lovely?”
“Shut up.”
“What a manly word.”
Spike leered at her nastily. “You got your hand on my manliness, pet. Don’ be doubtin’ what’s right before your eyes.”
A sharp giggle tickled her throat. “Well, technically, it’s not right before my eyes. It’s kinda just...down between us.”
“Irritatin’ chit.”
“I wanna do something.”
“I’m putty in your hands.”
She squeezed him and he moaned. “Doesn’t feel like putty to me.”
“Fuck.”
“Lie down.”
Spike nodded eagerly, wasting no time. He kicked off his boots and stripped his jeans down his legs with avidity that touched her, though the excitement in his eyes did little to help her nerves. Her intentions couldn’t be ambiguous; she wanted to do something she’d never done before. Wanted to try something that she hadn’t had the courage to even suggest, much less attempt in her past relationships. Amid the passion, though, there was a measure of ease to being with Spike that made her feel like nothing wasn’t worth trying, even if she succumbed to performance anxiety.
He must have sensed her anxiousness, for his eyes softened. “Buffy—” He’d used her name again; she couldn’t get enough of that. “—if you don’...as much as I want you to do this—”
She forced an awkward smile. “I wanna do it, too. Just...another in a long series of firsts. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“Not possible.”
“You say that now...”
“An’ I mean it.” He sat up on his elbows contemplatively. Then his eyes lit up with an epiphany and he motioned for her to come closer. When she started to kneel between his legs, however, he shook his head and grabbed her hand. “No, up here.”
“Huh?”
Spike dragged her up his body until her mouth hovered over his, his erection caressing her backside. He kissed her thoroughly, calming her. And she realized then, with his body beneath hers, that he’d given her the dominant position. He’d handed over control—even if it was only a kiss. The message was subtle but impossible to ignore: she had the power. He’d forfeited authority to make her feel better. That was no small thing for a vampire—no small thing for Spike, and the knowledge secured her fall.
Angel had been hard to love. With Spike, the sentiment flowed naturally.
“Now,” he murmured. “I’m gonna have you do somethin’ that might seem a li’l strange. But trust me, you’ll love it. Promise.”
His hands were massaging her ass slowly, grinding her against his hard length in ways that were certainly contrived to drive her out of her mind.
“What?” she asked.
“Straddle my face.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Jus’ trust me, luv.”
And surprisingly, she did. Buffy frowned and nodded, crawling up his body until her clad pussy hovered over his mouth. He inhaled deeply and tongued her through her panties.
“Guh!”
“Turn around now.”
She obeyed awkwardly, not understanding what he was getting at until he told her to lie down on top of him. She’d heard about this before; remembered the jokes in elementary school about the sixty-nining chef one could theoretically see in the middle of a North American map. The appeal had been lost on her, even when her sluttier friends in Los Angeles told her how great it was to have a guy go down on them.
Now, though, with Spike’s mouth at her pussy and hers at his cock, her reservations were replaced with a swell of nerves. If he thought for one second that this made her any calmer, he was insane.
A growl tore through the air, followed by a slice of fabric. The next thing she knew, her ass was bare to his roaming hands, and her panties no longer blocked his questing mouth from exploring her sopping folds.
“Every time I do somethin’ you like,” he said slowly, “do it back to me.”
“Spike, I am...I don’t—”
“Take me into your hand, pet.”
She did. At eye level, his cock was so much larger than she’d originally thought, though perhaps that was the nerves talking. She hesitated a minute, then stretched her other hand to cup his balls, remembering how much he seemed to like that the night before. Her brazenness was rewarded with a quick suck of her clit, and she moaned helplessly.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmured.
“Spike—”
“Do what comes naturally, love. You don’ need to use your mouth if you don’ want.”
“I want.” And then, to prove it to him and herself, she dipped her head and licked him up from base to tip. The moan she earned touched every cell in her body, and the vibrations against her wet, sensitive skin felt so damnably good that she’d do just about anything to keep them coming.
It hit her why he’d asked her to do this. He’d told her, of course, but now she understood.
Buffy curled a hand around his cock, stroking him rhythmically, offsetting the squeezes with which she favored his sac. Her wandering tongue flickered against his sensitive head, tentatively at first, and then with fervor when he gasped into her.
“Oh God!” she panted, tossing her head back, her hand tightening around his length. “Spike!”
“That’s so good. Jus’ like that, baby.”
She drew him into her mouth again at his encouragement, her body positively humming at the rumbles of adoration that spilled through his lips.
“Lick me up jus’ like that,” he growled, suckling hard on her clit, his fingers stretching her pussy lips wide. “You like this?” Spike devoured her wet skin greedily; he set her body ablaze, pushing aside everything she’d ever thought as forbidden without effort. The way he suckled at her private skin made her feel absolutely cherished.
It was quite possible that he was reading her thoughts. “You like the way I make you feel?”
“Oh God, yes,” Buffy managed, squeezing her hand around him as her mouth ventured further south. His arms were hooked under her thighs, and he whimpered in complaint when she shifted upward an inch until her tongue found his balls. Then he moaned and released her, his fingers plunging into her pussy as she explored him. She sucked on his flesh experimentally—soft at first, then harder when he whimpered.
“Buffy...”
Small shivers danced across her skin. He’d said it again.
“Buffy, please.”
She nodded, coaxing another moan, and returned her attention to his cock. Her tongue explored every vein, lathed every inch of him in near reverence. He’d given her such liberation, whether he knew it or not. The sensations he unbound through her body were unlike anything she’d experienced, and even the things she knew—kisses, gentle fondling, and the small steps that had eventually led to losing her virginity—were made new all for the sensationalism he inspired.
She nuzzled his erection playfully, tonguing at his sensitive head.
“Buffy!”
Whether or not she actually felt his body tense beneath hers, she didn’t know. It seemed strange that she, being so thoroughly inexperienced, would know to identify when a man was about to come. Whatever she lost in expertise, she made up for with instinct; her lips closed over his cock, easing him into her mouth as far as she could take him. She massaged his balls encouragingly, and when he growled and exploded inside her, she found herself so thoroughly empowered that nothing, at that moment, seemed out of reach.
His taste was rich. Neither pleasant nor unpleasant; for the way he purred into her, she was certain he’d made her an addict.
“Oh God,” he gasped, his fingers dancing softly over her thighs. “Oh my God.”
Buffy curled a hand around his cock and rested her head against his hip. It occurred to her that the peace she felt was oddly timed, though it seemed so natural that she didn’t want to question it.
Then the grip on her thighs tightened, and Spike tugged her pussy back to his mouth.
“Oh!”
“I got mine,” he purred, licking up her slit. “Now you get yours.”
He plunged his tongue inside her tight, wet hole, and Buffy swore she saw stars.
Rational or not, the rest didn’t seem to matter. There was every chance she was a fool; after all, her heart had been out there once before. And even with his help, the pieces Spike had placed together were still fragile. Fragile but holding. He’d keep her from shattering again. She knew he would.
Just as she knew she couldn’t deny the heat that consumed her. The sting of knowledge, and the terrified joy that filled her whole.
If this wasn’t love, then love was something she could live without.
And for all the peace her realization offered, the larger part of her couldn’t help but tremble.
But there was no need to fear. No need at all.
Spike would keep her from shattering, even if this was all they ever had.
TBC |
