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Hi everyone! This is the start of a
new story, the sequel to "No 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...
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