Vacancy".
It is not canon plot wise. I tried for an S3 feel with a story that
could fit into that time frame. Again some angst and some...other parts
;) I hope you enjoy.
Title: Open All Night
Author: kindred
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns these characters lock, stock and profitable
barrel.
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Yes, please! I am happy to receive it.
Summary: This is the sequel to my story "No Vacancy". It takes place in
S3 in Sunnydale. Have-itch-will-travel Spike visits Buffy...they enjoy
an entrée of truth, but it comes with a side order of consequences.
1.
The tiny alarm clock beeped at the top of the hour. Buffy opened her
eyes, 12:00 a.m. She closed them again and willed sleep to come. Her
mind, however, would not calm. It had been a hectic number of weeks
since her return to Sunnydale, back into the bosom of her family and
friends. Well, that's what Xander kept saying. Buffy had her suspicions
Xander just liked saying the word 'bosom'.
The situation was strained. Joyce kept an eagle eye on Buffy around the
house. At school Giles, Willow and Xander did their duty. Principal
Snyder did his level best to make Buffy feel like a rat in a
reconfiguring maze.
"I've got my eye on you, Summers." He would seethe in his polyester suit
of armor.
It was all so much simpler in that little diner. Ten tables to juggle
and the only real obstacle was Millie's enormous hairdo. Those were the
good old days now.
These new Sunnydale days were filled with uncertainty. Xander hugged her
profusely upon her return while Willow was reticent. Willow took the
separation personally. She had always been there for her friend and when
Buffy bailed Willow felt the abandonment deeply.
Buffy tread on those issues lightly. Best pals meant something permanent
to Willow. Even after a long heart to heart, Willow felt Buffy was still
keeping things from her. It was the truth, of course, but Buffy
sometimes found it hard to share, especially when she didn't know
herself how she felt.
It was hard trying to fit back into a life that didn't seem hers
anymore. Going to school? Partying with friends? How could these things
be reconciled with what she was? With what she had done, and was doing.
With the violence and risk that met her every single night on the quiet
streets of Sunnydale.
The worst part was that everything she did warranted some detailed
analysis from someone other than her. Whether the pronouncements came
from Joyce or Snyder or Giles, they were all unwelcome. Buffy was trying,
really trying. She even scheduled homework sessions after school before
Giles started on his boring slayer related lectures. Her grades were
improving much to Principal Snyder's consternation but she often
appeared listless and uninterested in everything.
Before she was even allowed back at school, Principal Snyder insisted on
a psychological evaluation by a consultant from the board office. The
psychologist was a young man with an unruly cowlick and a floppy green
sweater. Buffy spoke to him for an hour.
His official report went to Snyder with a copy destined for Buffy's
permanent record. It stated that, clinically speaking, she was a mélange
of narcissism and perfectionism with a dash of paranoia, while
remarkably blasé and affable at the same time. Statistically speaking,
she was a normal teenager.
He said as much to Buffy. His exact words were, "apathy is your battle
flag and time the only cure." She didn't quite get the gist of that
poetic statement. "You have a healthy, normal adolescent ego," that
statement she understood perfectly.
Funny, she didn't feel normal.
Xander's analysis was the simplest. According to him, Buffy needed to
get up on the dating horse and ride that bronco until it started tap
dancing. Or something like that. Xander's ability to ignore the recent
near apocalyptic past and ensuing consequences was remarkable.
Kamikaze dating was his answer to everything.
Honestly, everything in Xander's head emptied if a wiggle in tight jeans
and a push up bra was in the offing, and if that delightful package was
Cordelia Chase, he was a lost man. It was always simple pleasures for
Xander. Mostly, Buffy ignored Xander. She had to get things right with
her mom and Giles. Her simple pleasures were a thing of the past.
Typically, Xander was completely oblivious to Buffy's current
indifference. He had his own stuff to juggle. Cordelia occupied most of
his time and energy. She supplied him with a helpful schedule that he
stuck to more rigorously than his class schedule. Cordelia had
maintenance requirements so intricate it baffled the mind. But
surprisingly, Xander was uniquely skilled in that one area: keeping
Cordelia happy.
Likewise, Willow was immersed in her burgeoning relationship with Oz.
Buffy didn't know him too well, but he had ambitions on the horizon.
Apparently, werewolf status did little to quell his interest in being a
rock star. His schedule of practices and performances hindered Willow's
smoochies schedule, but she was learning to deal.
Buffy turned on her left side and tried to relax. Sleep was at a premium
these days. Soon her mind filled with Angel. Angel thoughts were not
sleep inducing. They were migraine inducing.
Just as she thought she might have a chance of getting back into the
swing of things at school, Angel returned from the unspeakable hell
dimension she'd sent him to. The Scoobies jumped into action to help
keep tabs on him.
He was different upon his return. Darker. Angel was darker on the
inside. Buffy kept her distance. There was a change in his eyes, in the
way he held his body. It reminded her of Angelus. Was this new? Or had
it always been there, hidden behind her stupid girlish fantasies. She
couldn't remember. He spoke in mumbles and riddles. Honestly, it freaked
her out.
All Buffy wanted was the assurance that the pain had ceased; that
whatever Angel suffered by her hand was that at an end. Angel's
communication was enigmatic at best. That situation was another
tightrope to cross, another question for Buffy to master.
Mindful of his obligation and the recent past, Giles advised extreme
caution. At least Buffy hadn't kept it a secret when she saw Angel
walking through the graveyard near the old mansion. Buffy knew that a
returned Angel was not something she could handle on her own.
When at last Angel told her there was no future for them as a couple,
Buffy knew that was one inexorable truth to which there was no useful
rebuttal. They only hurt each other. What kind of love was that? A love
that burns and scars and twists your heart? All encompassing pain and
sorrow?
That was great for those windswept British dramas, but in real life it
was just horrible and messy. Misery had no redeeming parts; it just
stunk up the place. They couldn't be lovers and Buffy knew very well
that they couldn't be friends either.
Despite his words and warnings, Buffy often came across Angel on her
nightly patrols. She felt the sharp pierce in her gut when she saw him.
That pain only deepened. He stayed in Sunnydale and continually sought
her out. It was a horrible torturous waltz that made Buffy both wary and
exhausted. But sleep was always slow to come.
The worst revelation came when Buffy realized Angel craved the pain she
caused him. It was as if her presence alone was the sword now, slicing
into his flesh and soul. Angel would have the pain if he could not have
Buffy in his arms and in his bed. That horrible realization was a
constant agony for her. She needed to be free of it. Free of -- it
sickened her now to call it love -- that agony; free of a love that
destroyed, a love that skewered her. A love that made her small.
So Buffy turned away from love to the hunt. The hunt was almost
geometric in its precision. It had clean lines and distinct parameters.
It was the only component in her life where she found solace; the only
embrace that did not burn. Unfortunately, her increased zeal for the
hunt meant that Sunnydale was surprisingly demon free of late. Her
nightly patrols were ending earlier and earlier.
A restful night's sleep was another matter altogether.
Another beep. 1:00 a.m. She hissed a long sigh and opened her eyes to
stare at the ebb and flow of the shadows on the ceiling. Joyce was off
to San Francisco for some art thing.
The gallery was really coming along. It was neat for Buffy to see her
mom so happy and involved with her work. Joyce would be away four days.
She tried to put it off but finally the trip could not be avoided. Joyce
decided to have faith that her daughter would be able to function for a
few days without her. Buffy had after all survived months alone before
her return.
Things were getting better between mother and daughter. Joyce still
worried terribly over Buffy's calling but there was no argument she
could broach that could eliminate that reality. Her love for Buffy did
not wane. Nothing was worth the possibility of Buffy leaving again.
The house was lonely without Joyce. Being the slayer came with that
whole alpha wolf thing, but at heart Buffy wasn't a loner. She liked the
crowds at the mall and the crush of kids in the halls at school. 1630
Revello was a hollow place without Joyce. She always filled it with her
woman power seventies music or her own singing voice. The Joyce vibe
made these four walls a home.
Buffy warmed up some chicken and stars soup for dinner. It was a poor
substitute for mom, but it felt great in her tummy. Chicken and stars
soup was missing mom comfort food. It was as good as a mom hug; well,
almost as good.
The clock beeped again. 2:00 a.m. Sleep was elusive this night. Buffy's
mind started to wander.
'Spread your legs.'
That voice only visited her deep in the night when she was quiet and
almost asleep. That's when she let herself remember. When she let
herself hear him. When she let him in.
She could see his face still. That sneer, those pulsing
I'm-gonna-fuck-you eyebrows and that tongue. 'You taste like candy.' The
gauntlet thrown down between them was soon abandoned as they lost
themselves in each other.
Buffy hadn't seen Spike nor heard anything about him since she left that
motel room all those weeks ago. He'd found her hiding in a diner trying
to be some anonymous girl named Anne, playing a poor game of run away.
Anonymity wasn't exactly working out for Buffy before Spike found her.
His presence alone made her realize that she was fading away into her
own fragmented nothingness.
That night often figured in her thoughts and dreams. The night she found
herself again in the honest arms of her enemy; the night when she
discovered she'd have to return to Sunnydale and claim her life and the
consequences of her actions. That was the night Spike freed her from the
prison of her denial.
It was a pleasant memory and often came in handy during algebra and
chemistry and most particularly during Giles' ad hoc rambles into the
glorious history of prophecies realized and squandered. She was starting
to think that Giles might well be in love with the sound of his own
voice. Ergo was bad enough, but who said forthwith and heretofore
anymore? No wonder the dating situation had crumbled to extinction
levels. When size is at issue, most women's thoughts don't immediately
jump to vocabulary. It's up there certainly, top ten for sure.
Xander was typically clueless about such things, but Willow zeroed in on
the often cloud-dwelling Buffy. Willow accurately predicted that Buffy's
frequent disconnect was boy related. She briefly suspected a return of
the Angel obsession but was grateful and relieved that her best friend
seemed to have come to her senses in that regard. But still, there was a
dreamy reflection in Buffy's face at times that caused Willow to ponder
that maybe Buffy's exile from Sunnydale wasn't all about lugging heavy
trays of deep fried food and counting dimes and quarters.
As Buffy lay on the elusive precipice of sleep, she let the extraordinary
events of that night fill her again. Spike had bitten her shoulder and
tasted her blood. There was no mark anymore that could be detected but
she could still feel his suction pull on her skin extracting her blood.
A familiar scenario entered her mind. It was simply the memory of what
he did to her that night. How he held her and filled her, not with
darkness, but with herself. The wicked words he whispered into her soul
she sometimes whispered to herself. Everything was so clear that night:
the past and the future. For a few hours it all made sense. What
wouldn't she give for that clarity again?
Buffy sighed once more and moved her hand between her legs. Maybe that
would relax her and let sleep find her again. Her right hand however was
uncooperative. She blinked herself fully awake to find both her hands
tied by scarves at the wrists to her metal bedstead above her pillow.
The window lay wide open. A scent of gardenia wafted up from next door.
The shadows on her wall undulated. A sylph like something, like a column
of smoke interrupted the atmosphere in her room. Spike stepped from the
shadowy corner by her bookcase as if from Buffy's dreams to materialize
in her room.
"Remember what I said, love?" he oozed a voice that hit her hard between
her legs. He gathered the bed covers in his hands and slowly pulled them
down the bed, uncovering the length of her body. A cool trickle of air
teased the exposed skin of her belly and hardened her nipples.
"If you don't like it, take them off."
tbc...
Title: Open All Night
Author: kindred
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns these characters lock, stock and profitable
barrel.
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Yes, please! I am happy to receive it.
Summary: Sequel to "No Vacancy". It takes place in S3 in Sunnydale.
Have-itch-will-travel Spike visits Buffy...they enjoy an entrée of
truth, but it comes with a side order of consequences.
2.
A few seconds went by before she realized this was no apparition.
Buffy's eyes went wide and a deep intake of breath filled her lungs. Her
quiet room was invaded by the clatter of an errant garbage can and the
hiss of a cat some distance away. These sensory determinants spoke
clearly. She was awake. This was really happening. Her secret thoughts
coalesced into the opaque figure in her sights.
"Spike," Buffy spoke in astonishment and looked into his glowing face.
He was really here, in her room, in Sunnydale. In the flesh. There was
that face, those eyes perusing her body in measured appreciation and
that mouth curling slowly with pleasure. Oh god, those eyes, narrowing
slightly while taking in this most delicious of sights.
"Slayer." His voice rose from molten depths. It couldn't just be from
his vocal chords. Spike eased his coat aside and sat casually on one hip
at the edge of her bed like he belonged there. His invitation to the
house still valid. The look on his face was one of consideration. With
such a buffet before him he paused, not knowing where to start.
A slayer was always a feast to be savored. She was a bouquet of sights
and scents for a weary vampire and the evening was going well. His gaze
trailed over her form at a leisurely pace. Skin, hair, tender curves and
scented shadows. A low almost imperceptible rumble sounded from deep in
Spike's chest. Beyond conscious thought, Buffy arched her back slightly
and rubbed her knees together in response.
At last Spike made an overture. He raised his left hand and delicately
trailed his index finger from her hairline down her nose, lips, chin,
and throat. It wasn't as showy as fists and bruises -- and this girl
bruised beautifully -- but it was strangely satisfying. One fingertip
traveled a slow sensual serpentine down her mid line, a feather light
signature on flesh and fabric. He continued between her heaving breasts
and she caught her breath at the sensation. As his finger dipped the
hollow of her bellybutton repeatedly he turned his eyes to hers. When at
last his fingers approached her elastic waistband, Buffy spoke.
"Angel's back." It just popped out of her mouth. No reaction from Spike.
His hand slipped under her pajama waistband.
"Yeah?" he sounded calm and indifferent. "You two kids kiss and make
up?" There was some measure of sarcasm in that statement. His fingers
brushed over her pubic hair. "Open up," he whispered and raised his
chin.
"Spike, stop. Angel's back." Spike stilled his hand.
"Heard you the first time."
"So...s-stop," that was not the voice of a girl who wanted him to stop.
"Tell me love," Spike continued smoothly, admiring the satiny
fabrication of her pajama bottoms. "What does the old bugger being back
have to do with this, hmm?" He tickled her clit precisely. "Come on,"
Spike goaded with a hush, "show me how much you missed me."
The air was thick with seduction and the potent aroma of an aroused
slayer. Erect nipples were a pretty obvious indicator of her body's
decision.
"Stop," she protested even as she felt her internal restlessness demand
satisfaction. Spike absorbed her arousal in an exaggerated inhale. The
throaty rumble returned as a sigh of recognition and anticipation.
"Stop me love," he challenged with eyes thick and hooded. "Those are
scarves, not soldered steel. Stake me, Slayer. Throw me out your bloody
window." Okay, there was that. Buffy craned her neck and saw her weakly
shackled wrists. Why was she still pretending to be restrained? It was a
game. She remembered Spike's games. Seconds of erotic thought lengthened
and her hands stayed where they were. Spike continued his greeting.
"I know mommy's away, so no fears of discovery. Think of it Slayer,
it'll be so good. You do remember how good we are together, right?"
Spike raised an eyebrow in question. "It'll be better than that ni--"
"I love Angel." There it was again, awkward and impulsive speech. It was
the futile truth. Although, again, not really relevant to current
circumstances.
Angel was a beautiful idea she clung to in spite of the truth. He lived
forever in her mind, a perfect specter of perfect love; of what she once
thought she wanted.
Reality was a different matter altogether. Angel wasn't that perfect
boy. Slowly, Buffy was coming to the realization that he had never been.
It was only a fantasy she held in her head. The mangled righteousness of
fevered teenage fancy.
Spike never had such impossible ideals to live up to. There was never
any doubt of what Spike was, so there would never be any surprises.
Buffy never thought much beyond a dusty end for him. That was the drill:
once a vampire, eventually a pile of dust. It's not like that scenario
had altered significantly, not really.
However, Spike now occupied a part of her body and stubbornly refuted
her presumptions. He lived in her gut as a visceral presence she'd felt
since she left that motel room. She could recite the familiar mantra of
"he's evil, always was, always will be," until she dropped, but another
truth lived inside her. It was a delicacy she silently craved; the truth
of what they found in that small room and evil had no part in it.
Her ears soon filled with his derisive snicker. "Slayer. I'm not here
for love, or like or even friendly for that matter," Spike leaned closer
to her face, filling her field of vision. "I just can't get the taste of
your come out of my head." He curled his tongue slowly for affect.
Buffy's breath caught again with that response and a faint gasp sounded
from her throat.
"Okay, an amendment's in order. The taste of your sweet come and that
sound, so...mmm...promising. Been dreaming about my tongue have we?"
Spike eased his fingers between her closed legs. "Open," he lulled
softly.
He didn't add the 'sesame' part, but the result was just as magical. Her
body obeyed his command. Buffy sighed and spread her legs wide. His
fingers entered her already slathered and convulsing passage.
"Very nice, Slayer. Oooh, I see you have missed me. Maybe I should give
you a primer on masturbation, love. It can be a helpful tool." A nasty
smirk completed the picture. A resounding shudder filtered through
Buffy's body as if each cell were chanting, "yes". This was precisely
what she needed, minus the snide asides that is, but he didn't have to
know that.
"Shut up," her quiet voice held no acrimony. She was merely voicing her
well rehearsed line. Spike would have been disappointed if he failed to
twist her knickers enough to tell him off.
He leaned further forward over her chest, bracing his weight on an elbow
on her pillow. His face nose to nose with hers. Two fingers thrust
deeply within her. He was in no hurry. The heel of his thumb joined the
party, kneading gently over her clit.
She couldn't control her responses. Her hips pulsed into his hand as he
caressed her with luxurious subtlety.
"Mmm, that's right...Kitty's gonna purr, aren't you kitty?" Buffy
clenched her jaw. She wasn't going to give an inch.
Who did he think he was, coming into her room, touching her like this?
It was a school night for pete's sake! Spike licked his lower lip in
appreciation of her stubbornness and added another finger. She'd
surrender, of that he was certain, but her instinct toward defiance was
irresistible.
Buffy's mouth contorted in pleasure from his continuing finger play.
"Just say it," he taunted softly.
"No." Buffy tried to clench her mouth closed, but she began panting
loudly.
"Yeah, that's it. I need you slick and wet. I got plans for your sweet
pussy. Care to hear them?"
"N-- ooh", Buffy arched her head unaware that her response no longer
sounded vehement. She licked her lips and looked into his eyes.
"I've been thinking about you, love. About this. You have a way of
worming yourself inside a fella. I need my fix. I'll try to take it
slow, but a man gets his hopes up when he gets such a nice welcome as
this."
What nice welcome? Oh yeah. The invite thingy. Buffy realized she missed
her opportunity to insult him by telling him he wasn't a man. She was
slipping. Time was she'd have flattened him with several stinging
rebukes by now. She did have an excuse though, Mr. Magic Fingers had
distraction down to an art form. What the hell was he doing down there?
Arpeggios?
"I may get a bit...exuberant, Slayer, so I need you lubricated good and
proper like. Don't want anything to hinder my sincere intentions...and I
intend to make you come and come and come..." His voice trailed off. Why
wasn't he kissing her? Jesus, it wasn't going to be long. Buffy gripped
the metal bars of her bedstead in preparation.
He was doing that weird talking her into submission tactic. It was
annoying to say the least. Annoying, yet oddly proficient. That voice
and those fingers, indecent and insistent. Spike altered his attentions
slightly and aimed relentlessly for an internal fullness. He'd make her
gush again.
From her scent he knew that she'd had no other lovers but him. That
pleased him no end. Not that he thought she was serious slut material by
any means, kinky for sure, but definitely discerning. Spike figured he'd
forgive her that brief interlude with the lump that is Angel someday.
He needed to make sure any residual effluence from Angelus was out of
her system. If Spike knew anything it was that Angelus was a detriment
to anyone's sexual confidence. Angel's scent was present but faint.
Spike doubted she'd been closer than five feet to him.
"Admit it...say you missed this...me." A different slippery angle.
"No way, I didn't miss any-- Ahhhh--" Buffy's forehead buckled as her
resolve disintegrated. A sound rose from his fingers. A sloppy
squelching sound...a purely erotic soundtrack to which there was no
defense. Spike worked at continuing that sound.
"Doesn't matter pet. Your body's doing all the talking for you," his
insistent voice took over her mind. "You bloody hear that? That's your
body telling the truth. You're gonna come and cream all over my
fingers."
"I won't!" she said stupidly, just to be negative. It was a ridiculous
bluff. Who was she kidding? It was going to be loud and grasping and
soon. And why was he still wearing clothes? She was ready for him now.
Spike began giggling playfully. "Well I sure missed you Slayer," he
kissed her cheek softly. "Can't tell a lie." He whispered into her ear.
"Come."
Her climax came as if conjured forth from the ether. She could not
subdue her cry of pleasure. Her body convulsed and arched, stabbing her
head back into the pillow. Just as he predicted a gush of fluid covered
his fingers. Buffy closed her eyes not wanting to see the smug look of
confidence on his face. She simply wanted to enjoy her release.
"Thatta girl," he praised and removed his thickly coated fingers. "Want
a taste?"
Buffy shook her head and watched with fascination as he licked her
residue from each finger. She'd licked chocolate icing from her fingers
in the exact manner, overwhelmed by the texture and sweetness. He
thought her goo was that delicious? Chocolate icing good? That thought
was disconcerting to say the least.
Buffy waited dutifully for shame to overwhelm her for letting Spike do
this to her, make her feel wanton and swollen with expectation. Shame,
however, was not cooperating. Shame opted for a good night's sleep. This
was an interesting development.
"Good. More for me." He slurped loudly and sensuously never once
breaking eye contact.
Buffy slipped her hands from the scarves and whisked off her pajama
pants. She tugged off her unneeded camisole and flung it onto the floor.
Her hands went back to the metal bars and gripped them. She spread her
legs and looked into his smiling, dancing eyes.
"Again," she whispered. Spike licked his lips and slipped his coat from
his shoulders. It pooled softly on the floor.
"Whatever you say, love." Spike's tongue entered her mouth as his
fingers found her waiting for him, slick and hungry again.
tbc...3.
Morning slowly crept over the neighborhood. The sun's rays stretched
across Buffy's empty bed. Her room lay in a disheveled state, strewn
with debris from a night of unrestrained debaucheries. Books fallen from
the bookcase lay forgotten on the floor beside a broken lamp base,
articles of black clothing, silken pajama pants and cumbersome
motorcycle boots. The bed looked pulled almost to shreds.
A crisp thudding sound trailed in from the hallway. Spike thrust solidly
into Buffy, pressing her against the wall. Her moans vibrated through
his body.
Two weary combatants struggled with fatigue and their own inexhaustible
need. Buffy's arms flung haphazardly over Spike's shoulders while her
haggard knees sank down his legs.
His attentions were persistent but measured. The growling fury that had
occupied them for hours had filtered down into an almost respectful
reverence. Neither party wanted to cease the glorious sensations yet
both were near collapse.
Buffy's body, sweat slathered and quivering, refused to concede. She'd
lost count of her orgasms. Her lower abdominal muscles ached with a dull
pain. No amount of training or sit-ups or demon fighting had ever
clenched those muscles like hours of furious sex had.
Spike snagged her right knee in his elbow and stretched her upward. His
fingers soon found the curve of her ass and delicately circled her
sphincter. It was like a bucket of cold water to Buffy. Her mind cleared
as her eyes widened.
"Don't," she warned, her voice coarse from vocalizing for hours.
"You'll like it," his voice lulled.
"No, I won't." His finger kept circling.
"Don't fuss, love, nothing goes in there unless you want it." God, those
words alone made her want it. The night had been spent being
repositioned, spread, bent, balanced, even upside down, and all the
while his voice whispered and conspired; showing her the way.
Darkness is a seductive mask. It holds truths unspoken and unspeakable.
It folds fear and desire into its enveloping arms. It listens to prayers
and promises, confessions and blasphemies. It witnesses indescribable
betrayals and honored fealties, the kisses of Judas and of Eros.
The night was her conspirator, releasing her passion completely. The
cover of darkness was a convenient substitute for free will. Buffy was
sure of it. Come morning she would snap out of it and return to her
life. Spike would fade back into the corner of her room like he wasn't
there at all. Morning arrived slow and sure and Spike was still there,
his voice still soft and dangerous; his pleasures still searing the
edges of her consciousness.
Buffy's mind tried to juggle the immediate situation. Shower, breakfast
and school and Spike nibbling her neck. God, that felt so good. How come
that felt so good? He was a dangerous thing with a particularly
dangerous mouth. A creature who was her enemy should not be nibbling--
God, that tongue. Buffy attacked Spike's lips with the last remnants of
her strength. If nothing else she would defeat that tongue.
"Stop," she whispered breathlessly as the kiss subsided. "I've got to go
to school, Spike. I need a shower."
"So go shower," he kissed her temple gently.
"Um, kinda pinned against the wall here."
"Hmm, I don't know. If I try to pull out your lovely slayer muscles are
just gonna hold on." She clamped tightly around his cock at that
suggestion.
She had an evil body. It obeyed Spike's dictates and not hers. "Stop
doing that!" Buffy pushed weakly against his chest.
"Prove me wrong." That was the wrong thing to say. Buffy-head was
already lathering up in the shower, washing off all trace of vampire
scent while Buffy-body was clinging to Spike's cock like a life
preserver. He began pulling out slowly but she really wouldn't let him
go.
"That's just evil..." Buffy barely had breath to complete that sentence.
"You say the sweetest things, Slayer."
"That's some vampire hypnotism thing," her tone was one of accusation
and her eyes uncertain. Some explanation was needed to rationalize her
body's betrayal.
"The thrall?" Spike's eyebrows rose with incredulity. That old chestnut.
God, what books were these people studying anyway?
"Yeah, that thing. You thralled me." Spike jerked her body upward,
clasping his hands under her bottom. Buffy shifted herself to assist
him, splaying her knees widely to the sides. He could almost pity her
obscured thinking. Almost. What was going on between them was pure
chemistry of undead boy meets girl. Not quite a cliché yet, but it
explained things just fine.
"Slayer," Spike chuckled easily, "the thrall is more a literary
invention; something to explain our preternatural charms." Buffy snorted
her disagreement but it was hardly effective. There she was, exhausted
from her own urgent desires as well as his, entangled in his sinewy
embrace and swollen from the intensity of his preternatural charms.
"Believe me Slayer, if it was real I would have fucked you rotten that
first time we met...in the alley behind the Bronze?" His hips picked up
the pace again. "Just watching you dance for me made me so hard I could
hardly walk." Buffy's irritated retort that she wasn't dancing for him
or anyone was lost in a deep purposeful thrust.
"In fact love, truth be told? We'd probably still be in that alley fu--"
"Geez, get over yourself." Buffy's clipped response sounded her
annoyance, but she made no attempt to free herself. His word play was as
intoxicating as the sex stuff.
"The actual experience is simply the connection between a vampire and
his or her lover."
"Okay, definitely NOT the thrall then." Spike smirked at her stubborn
reply. Buffy had a near pathological need for obstinacy. It was such a
turn on.
"That's right, pet, no connection here." He squeezed her ass firmly and
slammed into her with a tremendous thrust. She could say it as many
times as she wanted but her body told him the truth. Buffy cried out in
exhausted sensation.
"You are an ego-maniacal monster," her voice strained.
"Just get the memo, did you?" His thrusts returned to an aggressive pace
as his fingers found her distended clit again.
"Stop," she complained, "I can't come anymore. I can't..." Spike
responded to her complaint with a giggle. Buffy's spine straightened and
her voice lowered in anger.
"If I'm late for school, Principal Snyder will give me detention and
then I'll come back here and take it our of your ass." Spike climaxed at
the end of that sentence. He buried his face in her neck once again and
spurt forth forcefully inside her. In complete denial of her previous
statement Buffy held on as yet another haphazard orgasm shook her body.
His accompanying growl permeated her sated body but he did not morph or
attempt to bite her. He eased her down the wall even as she clung to him
and balanced her on her feet. Yes...standing and walking, I remember
you.
"Do NOT come into the shower." She warned as her head cleared.
"Who's going to wash your hair then?"
"Been doing that for myself for years."
"I need a shower too."
"Then wait your turn."
"It'll save water pet, and we are in a desert here, despite the
abnormally treed streets of Sunnydale." Logic. Evil, undeniable logic.
That stupid Mr. Spock had a lot to answer for.
"All right," Buffy conceded with a sigh. "Give me a minute of privacy
first." She shut the door and attended to urgent business. The toilet
flushed and she opened the door again. "Don't try anything, I mean it."
"I'm not a bleedin' machine, love. I do need to recuperate." Spike
waltzed into the bathroom looking very pleased with himself.
"Yeah, yeah," Buffy complained, "tell that to my pussy."
"Oh Slayer, say that again."
"Shut up, Spike." The shower began to flow.
*
Buffy turned off the hairdryer and checked her face. She applied some
cover up to a chin pimple, mascara and lip gloss. When she left the
bathroom she found Spike leaning up against the wall.
"Why are you still in a towel?"
"Look in your room." Buffy glanced into her sun soaked room.
"Oops. Just a minute." Buffy hurried into the room and closed the
window, the blinds and the curtains. "Okay, no more scary sunshine."
Spike ambled in and threw aside the towel.
"Don't joke, pet. The sun's one bitch you don't bloody joke about." He
tugged on his warm jeans.
"I suppose you'll want to sleep here." At that moment it didn't seem
like such a bad idea. The sun was up and Spike was obviously tired.
"Didn't plan on going anywhere else." His arrogant tone raised her
hackles and her hands to her hips.
"Presume much?"
"Only this," Spike grabbed her and kissed her. His lips moved
aggressively over hers and then his tongue invaded her willing mouth. It
was an act of presumption and proposition rolled into one. Need and want
counterpoised with purpose and intent. Synchronous urgency rekindled.
Buffy's towel slipped from her body.
"School Spike." The words launched weakly from her throat. He kissed her
forehead and stepped back, turning to the bed. He straightened the
whirlwind tangled sheets and lay down to watch her dress.
She did so quickly, aware of his critical gaze upon her body. Buffy felt
a blush of modesty that made no sense considering what they had done in
the last few hours. She blinked her gaze away from his half naked body
casually draped on the bed and grabbed a pair of white bikini panties
and a lace bra. She chose faded jeans and a red camisole and sweater
set. Having completed dressing she evaluated her look in the mirror.
"Do I look like I've had sex for hours?" It was a legitimate question.
She asked the mirror instead of turning around.
"Look? No. Smell? Yes. And your voice is kinda fuck rough, you know,
with all the moaning and growling you--"
Buffy's brow furrowed with annoyance. "Ew, don't say that. That's gross
and perverted and..." Totally true. Her scratchy voice betrayed her.
There had been some sounds of a growly nature.
"Oh Cinderella, need your glass slipper, do you? Hang on a tick, I'll
just need to suck your come off it first."
"You're a pig, Spike."
"Could be...but I know how to make you squeal."
He had a comeback for everything. Spike annoyed her like nothing ever
had before. They battled like obstinate preschoolers, both unbowed and
belligerent. Two scowling countenances hid the truth. This was a rivalry
they both enjoyed. She turned to leave the room.
"Slayer." Buffy looked at Spike. He held out something in his hand for
her. "You going by a store, pet?"
Her expression clouded once more. "I'm so not your personal shopper,
Spike--"
"Just a few necessities is all." Buffy took the shopping list and
scanned its contents: condoms, lubricant, and an enema kit. What the--
Oh, Jesus. Her eyes bulged. Spike got up from the bed and stood beside
her. He held out some bills. She was shocked to see currency in his
hand; shocked further to see the items scrawled on the list.
"Spike." She rolled her eyes in an effort to appear unmoved by the
naughty, naughty plans Spike had for her.
"For new games," he whispered thickly in her ear. "I know you'll like
them. I'll make sure of that." Spike's hands slipped around her waist
and claimed her ample cheeks. He kneaded her ass and dipped his fingers
down her tight denim cleft. His lips found her ear. "Your bum has been
driving me insane, Slayer. We're gonna expand your horizons, love. It'll
be so good. You'll howl at the moon when I'm done with you."
Buffy blinked and tried to moisten her parched lips but her tongue was
heavy and dry, a suddenly cumbersome obstacle in her mouth. Her burdened
swallow and half hiccup were met by his familiar but not derisive
giggle. His knowing leer nailed her as he scented her body's returning
arousal. She felt a tickle between her legs.
He was going to go there. That place. Buffy couldn't feel her legs. She
felt only his confident hands on her ass and the hard promise of his
arousal pressing into her abdomen. She forced her jaw shut to keep from
drooling. That was the weird part. She wasn't a drooler, but Spike had a
way of undoing her. Undoing everything. Making her want something she'd
never really considered before.
"You think about that all day at school, pet. When you come home we'll
have us a time." He kissed her nose and released his hands. Buffy gulped
and left the room, a look of stupefaction on her face. Spike listened
from the second floor as Buffy grabbed her school bag and left the
house. He smiled knowingly as she struggled with the key in the lock.
The feeling returned fully to Buffy's legs a block and a half from her
house. English and chemistry were going to have a difficult time holding
her attention this day.
tbc...
4.
"Giles sure was research light today, huh Buff?" Willow hitched her
backpack straps on her thumbs and fell into step beside Buffy. The girls
walked down the quiet after school halls of Sunnydale High.
It was the truth. Xander read an issue of 'Hot Rod' magazine, Cordelia
applied three coats of nail polish and top coat and Willow started to
research her history essay; a decidedly non supernatural examination of
the political realities of the Roman Empire.
Buffy nodded dutifully while Giles expounded on his latest breakthrough
in the translation of some smelly scrolls. Mystical anagrams really did
it for Giles. Three cheers for gray matter! Excited Giles was a nice
change from grumpy and exasperated Giles or my-jugular's-about-to-blow
Giles. It was nice and normal, but without looming death and destruction
it was a bit uneventful.
Nodding, however, was a given when interacting with Giles. Eye contact
too, Giles was a stickler for eye contact. Just at the point her
weighted eyelids began to droop, Buffy summoned her superhuman powers of
concentration. Giles closed his notes with a flourish, sighed with
satisfaction and then scurried into his office to make himself a cuppa.
Yep, pretty much a non eventful, non debriefing of the team.
"Well, there's always a lull after a Big Bad goes boom, or poof--" Buffy
knit her brows together. Her last adversary was more squishy than solid.
Maybe that was what Giles had been talking about, the goopy guy --
SpongeBob DemonPants.
"It was more I like squlorch!" Willow attempted to imitate the sound the
demon made as Buffy ran it through with a detached parking meter.
"Ew, don't remind me. I ruined a pair of jeans on that thing."
"It didn't come out in the wash?"
"I don't think day-glo demon entrails was one of the stains Tide tested
for Will. The goopage was detergently resistant."
"Oh, I'm sorry about that Buffy. I suppose the whole saving the world
side line really does a number on your wardrobe."
"Yeah. You'd think the Council would at least spring for a clothing
allowance. I'm kinda out there as their representative. You'd think
they'd have an interest in me looking my best." What were those Watcher
bigwigs thinking? She was like their logo. Lately however, Buffy felt
more like monster fodder with a good right hook. How many of her blouses
had teeth or claw rips in them now? How many pairs of boots died ignoble
deaths in pools of demon fluids? The super hero deal really sucked.
There had to be a way she could swing a new wardrobe. The world was
worth it.
"Hey, you're right," Willow chirped in support. "I'll bet they're not
spending the cash on Armani. Giles has what? One tweed suit? Not that
you'd need a tweed suit necessarily, because that would be kinda butch,
not to mention restrictive in the movement department for slayage and
then you know, the hotness issue. Temperature hotness, not hubba-hubba
hotness. But it's not like you totally couldn't do justice to tweed, you
know, in that way..." Willow's earnest forehead wrinkled. "I'll just
stop talking."
Buffy smiled kindly. Willow's conversational tempo tended to accelerate
of late. The friends made their peace, but at times awkwardness still
came between them. Scooby talk always seemed to iron out the more
glaring difficulties, like Buffy bailing without so much as a "see ya".
Willow knew her friend was fragile now. A total super hero demon
nightmare for sure, but still fragile. Nothing was ever said but it was
the truth. The whole Angel/Angelus episode had injured Buffy in a way
Willow could understand. It was something else they had in common,
emotional vulnerability. Willow understood her friend a bit better once
that card had been played.
Buffy continued with their stream of conversation. "Now Giles is in the
no Big Bad on the horizon bubble, so that means--"
"Chamomile tea," Willow interrupted with a knowing smile. The girls
exited the building and started walking toward the street.
"And shortbread biscuits," Buffy continued, "until he double checks his
footnotes and slide rule and discovers yet another brewing apocalypse."
"Uh huh."
"The routine is comforting and yet deeply disturbing."
"Mmm hmm," Willow looked absently toward the parking lot. Xander and
Cordelia were chatting in a loose cozy embrace. Willow sighed. She
wanted a loose cozy embrace; an Oz embrace.
Ambition was becoming an unwelcome barrier between them. Apparently
being in a band required all sorts of non Willow time commitments:
practicing, traveling to gigs, not to mention actually performing.
Future stardom was very demanding and oddly annoying. Smoochies were
fewer and farther between these days.
"Maybe there's some kind of demon college or prep school where they all
take apocalypse 101 and then think they can accomplish it, kind of like
home ec last semester and the great cupcake disaster." Buffy snorted at
the recollection.
"Uh-huh." No comprehension from the Willowverse.
"Cupcakes are quite diabolical, not unlike apocalypse-es," Buffy
wrinkled her forehead. "Apocalypsi? Ees? Will, help me out." She looked
at her preoccupied friend. "Yoo hoo, Willow?"
"Yeah Buffy, that's right." Willow snapped back and covered badly.
Reflexively, she twirled a long lock of hair between her fingers. Buffy
looked over and saw Xander and Cordelia holding hands.
Stability, devotion and public displays of affection; why the hell did
Cordelia Chase of all people merit that little loot bag of snuggly
goodness? And with Xander of all people. Xander, who was once a hapless
bug wriggling under Cordelia's socially upscale boot.
It thoroughly amazed both of them that Xander and Cordelia would be so
perfectly suited as a couple. Their effervescent happiness was
frequently irritating to others. Especially others who were dealing with
frequently absent or totally non-existent boyfriend issues.
"Happy couples make me puke." Buffy suddenly realized she said that out
loud. Bad form Buffy, she chastised herself internally, be happy for
your friends. They're happy, so you be happy. Positive thinking all the
way. And the ricochet happy vibes would be arriving...when?
Willow blinked nonchalantly. She couldn't begrudge Xander his happiness
even if it came in the person of Cordelia and her never ending parade of
expensive leather handbags and handbag accessories.
"How's things with Oz these days?" Buffy tried to sound neutral.
"Great!" That perky outburst didn't even convince Willow. "Okay," she
added thoughtfully, "he's busy rehearsing with the band. A lot."
"But that's a good thing, right? Success with the band?" Willow nodded
as her mind wandered.
Of course it was good. The Dingoes were a fabulous band and bound for
certain stardom. Oz was just so outrageously attractive he'd be swarmed
with groupies everywhere he went. He'd be in constant danger of being
suffocated by groupies due to his unrestrained manly magnetism.
Oz was an irresistible force of nature, plain and simple. And fame was a
hard mistress. Willow had seen "This is Spinal Tap" enough times to know
what was what. He was bound for super stardom as the wry and world weary
Dingoes' philosopher. Willow would never stand between Oz and his
destiny. She'd--
Willow blinked and looked at Buffy, unsure of what had just been said.
Oz business occupied a good part of Willow's brain power these days.
Perhaps Buffy was unaware that Willow's attention had lapsed. Buffy
looked at Willow with an earnest expression that usually meant some
reply was going to be required.
"Huh?" Willow offered. It seemed like a reasonable response.
"You wanna hit the mall for big gulps?"
It was a well known fact that beverage consumption alone was a great
problem solving tool. Giles had his tea. Joyce had hot chocolate. Xander
had this green carbonated crap he swore by but maybe that was more
because of the restorative belch afterwards. At any rate, big gulp
sippage was calling.
Willow shook her head. "I've got that science fair thing, Buff." Willow
was an extra credit magnet. "And Oz is coming by later for some cheery
escapist video." Her face lit up with hopeful anticipation. "He's
bringing something Japanese, so that means either stern faced samurai or
big eyed anime." It wouldn't matter as long as Oz was part of the
potentially smoochy package.
"Sounds fun."
"Just patrolling for you, then?"
"I guess."
"Seeing much of Angel these days?" It wasn't an accusation, just talk.
Buffy shook her head.
"It's easier that way, less with the gut wrenching pain." She hadn't
seen Angel in two weeks, but Giles was keeping tabs on him.
"I better go Buffy. I'll see ya."
"Yeah Will, bye." Buffy turned and started walking toward the mall.
*
Buffy approached her house with an anonymous bag chock full of Spike's
list of necessary items. She'd need to do some extra reading on the
thrall. Spike's opinion that it didn't technically exist wasn't working
with Buffy. Her muscular legs hustled her over to the mall and into the
Walmart in record time. There was some passing thought of perusing the
shoe stores, but with near preternatural acumen Buffy found herself
touring the aisles of the pharmacy department with nonchalant aplomb and
a metal basket.
She passed down the aisles several times, only grabbing items in passing
when the coast was clear. Twenty minutes of cashier watching passed
before the line dissipated enough for Buffy to strike forth toward the
exit. In order to appear casual Buffy grabbed a package of butterscotch
candies and an attractive spatula from housewares.
She needn't have bothered. The bored cashier only looked for the
scanning code of the items she purchased. That was a huge relief as
Buffy feared she was giving off creepy sex freak vibes. It was an effort
not to look like the naughty girl she felt like inside. It wasn't such a
bad feeling, just not one for public consumption. The woman behind the
counter handed her the change and the bag of items.
On the walk home she found herself swinging her bag of purchases and
practically whistling a happy tune. The weekend beckoned and she felt
incredible. When had this happened? Whistling was what happy, wandering
mountain climbers did.
God, was she happy?
Her house held a horny vampire who was probably ready to pounce as soon
as the door handle turned. Oddly, that didn't seem like such a bad
scenario. However, her heart still held a wounded vampire whom she had
hurt terribly.
That was damage she'd never be able to repair. She wanted something
other than pain for herself and Angel. Tossing agonies back and forth
like some weird knife throwing act was getting old. They both deserved
more than that.
Why shouldn't Spike make her feel what Angel could not? She deserved
something just for herself. She was the tissue the Council blew their
monster nose with. When she was used up they simply reached for another.
The future was never bright for the Chosen One. She'd never be married
or see kids grow up. That was a truth she could not evade either.
So too was the truth that she had needs. Personal needs that demanded
satisfaction. Platonic friendships didn't cut it and Xander's constant
stream of set up introductions was sweet, but annoying. Chad from the
wrestling team may be an All State champion, but she could snap him like
a twig.
After that night in the motel with Spike, she knew human boys were not
going to cut it. She didn't have to be careful with Spike. She didn't
love him, so he could never hurt her like Angel did. She didn't hate him
any more either. They both got something out of this too. She may not be
a femme fatale, but Buffy knew satisfaction and she saw it on Spike's
face. It wasn't a trick either, because if he wanted to lull her into a
sudden attack he could have already done it. Several times.
It didn't matter. Spike was here, in her house and he wanted it. He
wanted her. And Buffy wanted him badly. That was her deepest secret now.
Buffy no longer fantasized about Angel in that way. It was all Spike,
and the dirtier, the better.
Buffy quickened her pace as the prospect of the evening ahead of her
caught in her throat and beat a thunderous path through her abdomen. She
skipped up the front path in a breathless giggle and bounded onto the
porch.
She felt light and energized and ready to be pounced upon. The only
thing that might threaten her good mood was if Spike got a chance to say
something unhelpful. She'd have to cover his mouth and stop that from
happening. She had those scarves still tied to her bedstead. Oh yeah.
That would shut him up in a sexy way.
She unlocked the door and jumped inside with an expectant squeak, ready
for the pouncing to commence.
Nothing.
No pounce, no growl, no sexy smirk. No Spike.
Her house was as silent as the grave.
tbc...
5.
Buffy stood in the front hallway of her house and tried to think. Where
could Spike be? What if this was some ploy to distract her by sending
her off to school and then shopping for unmentionable pervy stuff while
Spike plotted the destruction of puppies and apple pie? Okay, this was
Spike she was dealing with and he was memorably disastrous at the
logistics of evil plots. Besides, the sun shone all day long. Maybe he
was--
"SLAYER!" Spike bellowed from her room. Right, Mr. Lazy Bones is just
getting up from his nap. Buffy dropped her backpack and jacket and
walked slowly up the stairs with her purchases.
He better have behaved himself, she thought. Buffy's feet slowed at the
thought of what an antsy vampire could have been up to in her absence.
He could have drank all her mom's wine coolers or eaten the box of
truffles on top of the fridge. He could have spent the day chatting long
distance at premium billing rates. Buffy's eyes bulged. What if he spent
the day on one of those phone sex services? No, that required a credit
card. At least she didn't have a credit card he could max out ordering
pizzas, grammy panties and over the phone lines jollies. She approached
her bedroom door with suspicious agitation. He wasn't going to mooch off
her and get away with it.
"Your cable package sucks!" Spike pronounced from atop her bed.
What met her eyes was not precisely one of the series of bad, badder and
baddest scenarios that flew through her mind while walking up the
stairs. He flicked his wrist and turned off the remote. Spike lay on her
bed surrounded by her menagerie of stuffed animals, all posed just so in
a collective cuddle. His sweet grin soon devolved into a suggestive
smirk, with accompanying eyebrow flex.
Buffy stood in the doorway to her room and surveyed its contents. It was
spotless. Everything look picked up, examined and put down in a slightly
altered position. Her bed looked laundered and were those crisply ironed
creases on her pillow cases? The room looked better than it ever had,
even after Joyce's frenzied spring cleaning jags.
"Vacuuming fetish, Spike?"
She turned to her desk and saw that it too had been meticulously
organized and if she wasn't mistaken, dusted. She put down the plastic
bag and walked toward her endangered toys. She couldn't decide which
looked creepier, Spike surrounded by her benignly cheerful stuffed pals
or her toys rubbing shoulders, beaks and fur with this eccentric
creature of the night. A rainbow of plush fur didn't exactly compliment
slightly tousled, needs some gel and a comb, pillow kissed platinum
hair.
Buffy scooped up her toys in armfuls and plopped them down into her
empty laundry basket.
"Birds always have a thing for stuffed animals. Why do you think that is
Slayer?" Spike propped himself up one an elbow and draped his other hand
over his bent knee. He lay there relaxed and expectant like he owned the
place, simply enjoying her awkwardness. Buffy's lips began to tighten,
her mind awash with the incongruity of having Spike draped seductively
over her bed like some debauched potentate in really tight jeans. Okay,
that line of thinking merely instigated some bejeweled slave girl belly
dancing fantasies. Not helpful at all.
"You better not have corrupted my stuffed animals." There was anger in
her impulsive statement. It was a ridiculous thing to say, even Buffy
could admit that, but it was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
"What?!" Spike chuckled, "we had a grand old time. A little telly, a
little cuddle and then the fur really started flying. I'll tell you
Slayer, I never knew bits o' fluff could be so bloody insatiable." He
tilted his head and pursed his lips. She didn't get the joke.
"If you don't want to die Spike, surrender the pig." She held out her
hand as the color rose in her cheeks. He handed over Mr. Gordo. "And the
chicken." Spike sighed and handed her a tiny stuffed yellow chick in an
enormous cowboy hat.
"It was a lark, pet." Spike explained dryly. "Trying for a smile is all.
Nothing untoward happened." Why the hell was he defending the reputation
of fun fur?
"It better not have." She still looked cross; peaked with petulance.
Spike hardened and shifted in order to find a modicum of relief. It was
the pout; that bloody pout did it every time.
"Well, actually, I can't vouch for their behavior while I was snooping
in other parts of the house." Buffy let out a sigh. He probably took a
detailed inventory of all her stuff.
"Of course you snooped, you're evil." Buffy tossed her furry friends in
with their plush posse and moved back to the doorway. She folded her
arms across her chest. A little distance couldn't hurt.
"One hundred per cent." He said the words with venomous pride in case
she had any doubt.
"And you probably sniffed your way through my underwear drawer too." Her
voice betrayed no emotion.
He nodded at the satisfying memory. "Point of fact, pet, I'm wearing
your watermelon thong as we speak." He couldn't hold his smirk as her
eyes flew to his crotch.
"You are not!" Buffy's voice burst with panic. Spike laughed heartily at
her reaction. He quirked his mouth back into a teasing bow and swung his
legs over the edge of her bed.
"You're more than welcome to find out, Slayer." That time his tongue
tickled his top lip while his palm drifted back and forth low on his
abdomen.
"No thanks, I think I can control myself." A blank facial expression
revealed nothing. Her body however had a mind of its own, a mind that
resided well south of her cerebellum.
"We'll see about that." Spike stood and slowly walked toward Buffy. She
stood defiant in her doorway, a scowl etched on her face.
"Couldn't
save your lamp." His voice softened. Buffy remembered it smashed to the
floor during some vigorous and athletic dresser top antics. Spike came
to a stand still in front of her and reached up to grab the door frame
over her head.
"I hated that lamp," she confessed. Spike casually looked down at the
plastic bag slouched against the edge of the door frame.
"Been shopping?" His face opened with the question.
"Yeah and don't ask for the change 'cause you're not getting it." She
was weakening, but still defiant.
"Spare change is not what I'm after," he wrinkled his nose at her.
"What a surprise." She spoke with exaggerated breaths and added an eye
roll for good measure.
"Let's see what treats you bought, shall we?" Spike reached down and
snagged the bag and peered inside. Good girl. She bought everything on
his list. He reached into the bag and pulled out the baby blue kitchen
spatula. "Oooh, Slayer. Go in for a little discipline now, do you?"
"What?" Buffy's eyes opened widely when she thought of the cashier
looking at her items and possibly putting two and two together. The
spatula was supposed to be a cover, the item that said: "hey, definitely
not a sex pervert here, just an everyday shopping experience...See?
Spatula." Jesus. The spatula said, "spank me, I'm yours". It was a
really soft rubber too, and baby blue, that had to be extra perverted.
Buffy took a deep breath. "You try any of that AC-DC stuff and you'll
find yourself in a world of hurt." It was another ridiculous statement.
They had pummeled each other bruised and bloodied more than once and
each time well beyond the limits of what even a well designed spatula
could inflict.
"Sorry pet, not dissuading me one bit. Vampire here, a sweet promise
like that makes me think you might actually care." He raised his
eyebrows at her look of perturbation. "And AC-DC is a band, Goldilocks,"
he informed her with a look approaching pity. "What you're stumbling for
is dominance and submission." She could have sworn she heard the
beginnings of a snarl in his throat. He had some nerve.
"I--" The gaping maw of a pissed off slayer was suddenly engulfed in a
kiss. That was enough talk for both of them. It's a good thing Spike had
some insight into unreasonable females. Buffy could have stood her
ground arguing for hours. She was one tenacious bint. Where were those
scarves again?
Buffy roused quickly from the kiss. "I have to, um, pee." Spike didn't
release her yet.
"You have a big lunch today?"
"I had lunch, yeah."
"Good." Spike took the enema kit out of the bag and handed it to her.
"Use this now and no more food tonight."
"Hey, I have left over pizza in the fridge." It wasn't five star fare by
any means but reheated congealed mozzarella just spoke to her in a most
satisfying manner. She didn't seem to catch the purpose of his
instructions.
"Slayer, you have a living, working digestive system. This little
package will be helpful for what I have in mind." Buffy swallowed
heavily and turned to the instruction panel on the box for a quick read
through. The corners of her mouth lowered with each passing sentence.
Suddenly his voice was in her ear. "I could help you out with that if
you'd--"
"NO!" she refused as a matter of reflex. "And EW!" Buffy's forehead
wrinkled in thought. It was adorable. Her hesitancy aroused him more
because his nose sniffed the truth. The slayer was anxious but curious.
A saucy little kitten nosing about in the yarn basket. "This better be
worth it," she groused sourly. Spike's hands circled her waist again and
gripped her muscular bottom firmly.
"Oh, it'll be worth it." His voice dripped on her like honey. Buffy
dropped the small box and attacked his mouth. When the kiss subsided,
Spike picked up the box and handed it to her once more.
All this prep work seemed a bit extreme to Buffy and if she was honest,
a little gross. There better be some impressive orgasms to go along with
this little maneuver she was about to undergo because foregoing pizza
was a huge sacrifice. Well, she'd microwave a slice later on regardless
of Spike's dictates. It wasn't like he was the boss of her or anything.
She was her own boss, not him.
He just showed up out of the blue and reduced her to a puddle with his
evil tongue and its acrobatic resolve. Spike's tongue alone had improved
Buffy's opinion of him a good thirty percent. With his head between her
thighs and his tongue enthusiastically engaged, his incarnation as an
evil creature bent on evil deeds seemed very far away. She could admit
to herself that his other parts weren't so bad either.
Periodically during her day at school Buffy's mind wandered back and
forth over a perplexing question: whether or not it was theoretically
possible to fuck the evil out of a demon, Spike specifically. She
thought it was an idea worth putting to the test using the basic
guidelines of the scientific method: questioning, forming a hypothesis,
conducting the experiment, and observing the results. She may have not
paid much attention in chemistry class earlier in the day, but she had
previously. Lab work was something she excelled in.
Besides, it was research, pure and simple. Giles would be proud. Okay,
no he wouldn't. Giles would be shocked and appalled and give her that
breathy choked chicken look while he loaded the crossbow and started
quoting Shakespeare.
What the hell did Giles know anyway? He was a mastodon among frolicking
bunnies. What did a mastodon know about sex anyway? They were big with
the extinction, therefore not much groiny goodness there. It wasn't the
best analogy perhaps, but Buffy was pleased with it.
Giles was so beyond help in that department. When was the last time he
dated, let alone felt all squiggly and pervy? Buffy shook that
disturbing image from her mind. Pervy Giles was an absolute incongruity.
See what fucking your enemy does to you Buffy? With a goofy, glassy eyed
grin Buffy scooted into the bathroom and shut the door. She was ready to
start collecting some empirical evidence.
tbc...
A/N 1: Spike's other...um...appetites also figure in this story, which
takes place over a short time span (less than 48 hours). There's more
nasty, adult naughtiness to come. What do you think, is it too much?
A/N 2: Some lovely reader has nominated "No Vacancy" at the Vampire
Kisses Awards. I say *squee* and thank you. :)
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