It had been a long night following the Slayer around like a lap dog, helping her slay his kind--not that that bothered him, per se-- listening to her whine about Riley and Angel and whatever shit she could come up with to annoy the hell out of him. Finally, the sun had begun to rise and he had an excuse to get away from her and return to the sanctity of his crypt.
Stretching out like a corpse on his marble slab, Spike dragged his tattered blanket over himself and quickly drifted to sleep...
...and into a familiar dream.
Blood ran hot and wet from gaping wounds in the throats of the Slayerettes. His own clothes sticky with ichor, his demonic features stained with red, Spike moved gleefully from corpse to corpse, arranging them artfully. Yanking down Harris' pants, he rolled him between his former demon girlfriend's legs and shoved her skirt up to her waist.
Knickerless and shaved...
Musing over the nice image, Spike grabbed Willow's arm and scowled as it half tore from her body. "C'mon, pet," he muttered as he stripped her pants from her and shoved her crotch over the supine Watcher's mouth. Finally he propped Tara up against a tombstone, ripped her skirt from her, and stuck her hand down the front of her sensible white knickers.
Stepping back, he gazed at the scene and grinned wickedly. Just looking at the lewdly posed corpses made him hard, and he stroked himself through his jeans, as he imagined the Slayer's reaction.
Horror, shock, sorrow, devastation, pain...sweet, sweet pain...
Would there be a tingle of lust?
Spike closed his eyes as the image of a sobbing Slayer formed in his mind, and continued to stroke himself slowly, savoring the pleasure of arousal.
A loud purr broke his concentration and he opened his eyes. A black and white cat rubbed against his legs, then sat on its haunches and licked its paw. Spike frowned and let his hand slip off the bulge in his jeans. Mesmerized, he watched the cat's pink tongue lick delicately between each toe, over and over.
Time passed and Spike slowly became aware that he was no longer in the cemetery. An opulently hung bed formed before his eyes and the cat strolled towards it, tail cocked, nose sniffing the air. It jumped on the red and gold brocade coverlet and morphed into a very familiar blonde.
His grandsire stretched out on her back, her pale nudity gleaming in the light of dozens of candles. From out of the shadows, Angelus emerged, equally nude, his hair long and pulled back with a piece of black velvet.
"My darling boy," Darla purred, reaching for her dark childe.
Spike watched silently as Angelus slipped between strong, soft thighs and lowered his mouth to the blonde's in a reverent kiss. They were both pale and almost obscenely beautiful in the soft yellow glow of the candles.
Her legs rose, sliding around his waist, and her hands gripped his shoulders as her body arched against his. Angelus' hands caught her hips, raising her to him, as he eased torturously slowly inside her.
When Angelus lifted his head, Spike was startled to see that the blonde his sire was making love to was no longer Darla.
Buffy writhed beneath the dark vampire, clutching him to her and panting his name over and over, as he rocked against her.
His erection throbbed, demanding attention, and Spike glanced down, not really surprised to find himself naked, his cock angled up against his stomach, the tip weeping with need.
As he encircled the base with one hand, he felt the atmosphere change around him, the lights brighten. The hard wood beneath his foot changed to carpet, and he looked up again.
He was in the Slayer's dorm room, and she sat cross legged on her bed, tossing her stuffed pig, Mr. Gordo, from hand to hand. Music filled the air and Spike frowned.
He was willing to bet the entire contents of his crypt that the Slayer had no clue who Iggy Pop was.
"Why are you naked?"
Spike smirked and wiggled his cock in her direction.
Buffy frowned and dropped the pig, reaching onto her night stand for a tube of lipstick. Removing the top, she carefully applied blood red color to her lips. "I'm going to kiss it bloody."
Slipping from the bed, Buffy dropped to her knees in front of Spike and lowered her mouth over his erection. He gasped and tried to step back, but was suddenly against a wall, pinned there by her strong hands. She sucked hard and fast--just the way that always got him off--and he watched helplessly as her head bobbed and her lips left red marks all over his pale cock. The heat and wet sent bolts of lust through him.
Reaching down, he grabbed her head, shoving her mouth down farther. Dimly he realized she wasn't choking, but was deep throating him like a pro, but the pleasure was too much for him to rationalize anything. His hips began to pump and still she sucked, her hot mouth and lashing tongue driving him insane.
With a growl, Spike bucked uncontrollably and shot his semen down her willing throat.
Trembling, he slumped against the wall and looked down. Buffy lifted her head and licked her lips. Her lipstick was unmarred, except for a tiny pearl of semen at the arch of her top lip.
Refocusing his attention on his cock, he saw that it was covered in red kisses, and was still hard as stone.
Dizziness swamped him and he groaned softly, his eyes falling shut. The next thing he knew, his cock was surrounded by heat again, and something soft was beneath his back.
Pleasure rolled through him, but he forced his eyes open.
Buffy knelt above him, clad only in the fuzzy purple sweater she'd been wearing when he first saw her. She was nude from the waist down and she was riding him at a wild pace. Her inner muscles squeezed, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"Ride you like a gallop," he murmured, remembering her words of the prior Spring. "Make me pop, luv."
"Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme."
Buffy's head rolled back and her body arched as she ground down on him, driving his cock as deep as it would go. Her pussy was like an inferno and Spike could only groan and ride the heat, his hips arching helplessly to meet her thrusts.
The volume of the music increased, 'Sister Midnight' washing over them.
*You know I had a dream last night Mother was in my bed And I made love to her*
For a split second Buffy morphed into Joyce, then back again, leaving Spike gasping and pumping rapidly, shocked and aroused even more.
*Father he gunned for me Hunted me with his six gun*
Over Buffy's shoulder, Angel appeared, his face blank and emotionless. Slowly he lifted a gun, aiming for her back. As Spike reached to roll her, Angel disappeared, and Spike's claws tore the sweater, baring her perspiration slick breasts.
*Calling Sister Midnight What can I do about my dreams Listen to me Sister Midnight You put a beggar in my heart Calling Sister Midnight You've got me walking in rags*
Lifting her arms, Buffy pulled the remnants of fuzzy wool from her, never losing her stride as she fucked him hard and fast, pounding their bodies together. His hands grabbed her breasts, squeezing the soft globes until she whimpered and clenched her inner muscles again.
Spike's eyes rolled back in his head and his orgasm crashed through him.
*Hey where are you Sister Midnight Can you hear me call Can you hear me well Can you hear me at all*
Slowly regaining his senses, Spike opened his eyes again to find himself alone, still lying on the Slayer's bed. Something was tugging at his sore cock and he peeked down, then cursed loudly.
The stuffed pig was alive, though still fuzzy, and was slobbering over his dick. Horrified, Spike slapped it away, then cradled his wounded member. Each place there had been a lipstick kiss there was now a bite mark.
As he whimpered, Buffy strolled across his line of vision, still nude, leather straps dangling from her hands. Behind her, attached by two of the leashes, crawled Angel and Riley, both naked and staring at her with eyes full of slavish devotion.
Stopping by the bed, Buffy dangled the third leash over Spike's chest, smiling at him in anticipation.
Spike bolted from the bed and fled the room. As he ran, he heard her say in a pouting voice, "Well, pooh, I was hoping to have one of you in each of my holes. I guess I'll have to make do with watching Angel fuck the shit out of Riley."
With a loud crash and the pain of sudden bruises echoing through him, Spike jerked awake to find himself flat on his stomach on the stone floor next to his crypt bed.
"Fuckin' hell," he muttered, as the images of the dream rotated through his dizzy brain. Not in the mood to analyze them, he reached up for his blanket and dragged it down to cover him.
At least he couldn't fall off the floor.
The End