Summary: Buffy comes to terms with her feelings for Spike as they hunt
for/run from a particularly nasty vamp from Spike's past. Spoilers: mid season
5-no spoilers to speak of. Disclaimer: The show Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all of it's
characters belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, & Fox Prod. Feedback:VVKS326@aol.com
~ Part 1 ~
He watched her silhouette against the window shade. Even in low light and at a
distance he could make out the curve of her breast as she lifted her arms to
change her blouse. The pile of butts beneath the tree was growing-he'd been
there three hours, waiting for her return. She'd been with the schoolboy again;
he could smell him on the air as she made her way up the walk.
His
frustration was like a corked volcano. How Harmony had laughed when, during
their last encounter, he'd murmured the Slayer's name at a crucial moment. Since
then he'd avoided Harmony, and even that release was lost to him.
If he'd
known to whom he might pray for deliverance, he would have pleaded for the
release of his demon, that he might battle the Slayer and kill or be killed. But
the bit of technology buried in his brain removed any hope of such a simple
catharsis. He closed his eyes and recalled his favorite fantasy-the one where
she chose him over the schoolboy, her little soldier-man, that guileless hunk of
muscle and sincerity that regularly partook of the only thing he burned for
these long nights. He'd lost his appetite and grown thinner-even the freshest
butcher's blood had lost its savor.
It wasn't like him to miss her
approach. Leaning against the tree, his eyes closed in reverie, he hadn't
noticed the front door open. In the last second, when it was too late, he'd
caught her scent. The Slayer greeted him with a sharp cuff to the jaw that sent
his head back into the tree's trunk.
"What's up, Spike? Dawn says you've
been out here for hours. Something I can do for you, besides end your miserable
excuse for an un- life?"
He rubbed the back of his head ruefully.
"Certainly can't say you haven't had your chance. When'll you finally get on
with it, Slayer? Your threats are old and I'm beginnin' to think you've not got
the wrinklies for the job."
The Slayer took two steps forward and in an
instant had a handful of that very part of Spike. His eyes widened and he
swallowed a groan, afraid it would sound more like pleasure than
pain.
"My wrinklies are in fine working order tonight, CadaverBoy. Now,
let's start again. WHY have you been hanging around my house? And don't play
games, I'm not in the mood." She punctuated this statement with a less than
gentle squeeze.
Spike gasped and grimaced, fighting for control.
"Let go, Slayer. I won't say it again."
"Is that so? I rather
think you're not in a position to be making threats." Her grip tightened once
and then released, but she did not step away. At that moment, the clouds
shifted, and a nearly-full moon revealed the expression on Spike's face. He
struggled to hide the burning in him, the desperate ache that threatened to
bring him to his knees.
The Slayer saw it there, only for an instant. She
was confused and suddenly frightened. Something vibrated within her. She
recognized it and it angered her.
She lifted her fist to strike again,
but she was off balance. Spike ducked and pivoted, and the Slayer found herself
flattened face-first against the tree.
Spike leaned forward, tentatively
at first, then pressing himself full-length against her. She did not struggle,
but was strangely still. The tension was exquisite in that moment. She felt the
bark of the tree against her cheek, the solidity of its trunk against her body,
and her mind went to ancient things that had always been and would always be.
He pressed closer and she awoke to other sensations. His lips, his
teeth, so close to her skin, yet she felt no alarm. His arms about her, nearly
protective in their grasp. And something else-a rising hardness against her
lower back. She smiled shamelessly and arched herself against him. Her power
over him at that moment was great, and she reveled in it.
Spike's body
tensed in agony. The very real danger of his position was clear to him, and his
instinct for survival begged him to flee. But other instincts were stronger, and
when she moved against him, he could not control his response. A low growl
rumbled in his chest.
He pressed ever closer, knowing that in a moment it
would end. She would knock him back, throw him into the bushes, and-if he were
very lucky-dust him dead.
"Bitch." His voice was hoarse with desperation.
"Stake me. Finish it. I can't bear it any longer."
"Well, Spike, you
never cease to amaze me." He loosened his grip and she turned to face him. There
was a flush on her cheeks and triumph in her eyes.
Her words were
taunting. His desire was clouded by anger and he grabbed her and forced her back
against the tree. He dropped his lips to her ear and whispered.
"So sure
of yourself, sweet Slayer. But why don't you kill me, then?"
Her breath
was soft, but her answer stung. "I'm not into to slaying cripples."
He
gasped and his fingers bit into her arms. The chip gave a warning spark, which
he ignored. Still, she did not fight.
"A cripple, am I? Careful, pet.
Provoke me one too may times and we'll see how crippled I am. I expect you'd be
surprised."
The Slayer knew that it was time to end the dance. And yet
she persisted, failing to recognize the peril in her tactics-and refusing to
acknowledge the heat that she felt between them.
"Go ahead, Spike.
Surprise me. I'm game."
His lips on her flesh were, at the same time, icy
and melting, as they searched for and found the sensitive spot at the base of
her throat. She felt his teeth graze her neck but registered no fear, realizing
that her blood was not what he sought. He pressed her back against the tree,
grinding himself into her with an intensity that stopped her breath, and when he
touched her mouth with his, she knew she was lost. The very hard, very cold tip
of his tongue made feather-like circles on her own, and she felt her entire body
clench.
Finally, he pulled away, and the cool air on her face was a
shock. He looked at her closely. His body was taut with the need to continue,
but he had no desire to take her by force-even if the chip in his head would
allow it.
She dropped her eyes to hide, and he leaned in one final
time.
"Oh, Slayer, what we couldn't do together. I've lived a long time
and I know what makes a man a good lover."
"You're not a man-you're a
monster."
He chuckled softly. "You have me there, pet. But I could make
you cry for me like a child-and forget that smug schoolboy forever. I could make
you lose yourself in pleasure-drown in it, 'til you didn't know your own
name."
His words were taunting, but his tone was oddly tender. Still,
she was humiliated by her own weakness, and rage coursed through her,
obliterating desire. Her head made solid contact with his chest, and he went
reeling, back into the bushes. She was on him in an instant, stake drawn, ready
to end it.
Spike sprawled in the bushes as she straddled him. He lifted
his head to meet her eyes, and in his face she saw his hunger, coupled with a
longing for death. She could not do it, but neither could she admit to herself
why she could not finish him.
"I could kill you now and no one would
care, Spike. Not anyone, alive or dead, would mourn you. How does that feel,
knowing that you are so utterly alone in the universe?"
"Yes, go on, be a
bitch, make me feel bloody awful, but please do get on with it, won't
you?"
"You'd like me to make it quick, Spike? Just when I'm enjoying your
misery so much?" The Slayer leaned over him, grasping him tightly with her legs,
noting with satisfaction that he remained hard within his jeans. He groaned in
defeat.
"You want me to beg, is that it? Is that how you get your
jollies, you silly bint? All right, so be it. Please kill me. Please."
The intensity of his plea stopped her cold. She leaned in closer, until
she was nearly lying on top of him. Her breath came fast on his face, and he
shuddered in an exquisite agony.
"No, Spike, I don't believe I'll kill
you tonight." Her whisper was barely audible. "I like this new side of you I'm
seeing, all vulnerable and humble. And I like to see you suffer." She leaned in
and bit his lower lip hard, tasting it with the tip of her tongue. Spike jerked
and bucked forward, throwing her off and jumping to his feet.
"I'm no
cripple, Slayer. I don't need your pity. And someday very soon you'll know it.
When I finally take you, you'll know very, very well."
"Oh, Spike,
you're pathetic." But she couldn't meet his eyes as she tucked her stake away
into her jacket and readjusted her clothes.
He straightened with wounded
dignity. He had lost this round, as he had so many before, but he sensed a
change between them.
She lifted her face into the dim light for one
moment, and what he saw surprised him. There was no pity there, only confusion,
and for a moment he felt sorry for disrupting her grip on reality. But he knew
that this burning between them was not to be denied for much longer, and even as
he turned to leave, her words echoed in his mind: "Go ahead, Spike. Surprise me.
I'm game."
And indeed, the battle was joined.
*~*~*~*~*~*
~ Part 2 ~
She couldn't believe she was doing this. WHY was she doing this? She should let
him get what was coming to him, the stupid undead jerk. Still, she quickened her
pace toward the cemetery.
Giles's call had come at the end of a
particularly nasty argument with Riley-one of a series they had been having
lately regarding the direction of their sex life.
She needed more. More
than the formulaic
'kiss-kiss-touch-touch-flip-her-over-and-pound-her-into-the-mattress-a-few-dozen-times'
that had become their regular routine. The boy had the stamina of a bull-she had
to give him that-but he lacked creativity and seemed perplexed by her desire to
experiment.
The incident with Spike a few weeks earlier beneath the tree
in front of her house had awakened in her a curiosity about the male body-what
made it respond, what made it shudder and squirm-that Riley had no interest in
satisfying. Just a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, her boyfriend, with no desire
to be made vulnerable. He didn't even like to be teased. It was only her genuine
affection for him that made her keep trying to improve things between
them.
When the phone rang, Riley had been telling her that maybe she had
a problem-some sort of kinky hang-up that would be better explored on a
therapist's couch than in their bed. She could have killed him for that little
suggestion. As it was, she left his apartment without another word to him, not
even bothering to tell him where she was going. Let HIM be curious for a
while.
And now she was off to the crypt of her nemesis, her
foe...her...her what? Spike really wasn't any of those things anymore. Their
relationship lacked definition, but that was ok. She was sick of drawing lines
around everyone and everything in her life, categorizing each interaction. This
is what she knew: Spike was potentially in danger, it was her job to help, and
help she would. Simple. Clean. Yeah, right.
She turned her thoughts to
the task at hand: warning Spike that his old "buddy" Butch was in town. Giles
had reported that Anya had overheard some whispered conversation in the alley
behind the Magic Box between a couple of lesser, nuisance-demon types regarding
a new gang of vamps on the Hellmouth led by a rival of Spike's from his
Euro-trash days. Butch had the usual pretensions toward being a Master someday
in the near future, and he apparently thought that taking out the local Big Bad
was an excellent step in the direction of his goal.
The moon had just
breached the horizon when the cemetery came into view. Buffy had an uneasy
feeling for no good reason she could name. Drawing her stake, she hit the gates
at a jog. A few yards past the entrance, she heard the unmistakable sound of
Spike's voice raised in a shout of pain.
The Slayer broke into a sprint
and hit the crypt door with a flying kick from five yards back. It flew open
with a crash, and the scene within was revealed. She allowed herself a moment
for absolute rage to wash over her.
Spike had very apparently been caught
unaware and unprepared. Barefoot and dressed only in his jeans, he hung by his
hands, suspended from a chain looped through the chandelier at center of the
crypt ceiling. A sqat, homely little vampire, who could only have been the
aforementioned Butch, stood next to him, and several others lounged at a
distance-Butch's gang, out for a night of sport.
At the center of Spike's
chest there was an angry red mark that was the exact size and shape of the end
of the lit cigar that Butch held in his hand. The skin there was still
smoking.
Five vamps taken by surprise by a Slayer on a mission. Then just
three, as two were dusted on their way out the door. Finally, just Butch
remained, a perplexed look on this face. He'd seen Slayers in action before-but
THIS bitch was like a demon herself and obviously took more than a professional
interest in her work.
She circled him slowly, wondering how she could
best take him out. He wasn't a Master-not nearly as old or experienced as
Spike-but dangerous just the same. She was a breath away from leaping at him
when Spike yelled a warning-as a sixth, previously unseen vamp emerged from
underground to take the Slayer. She whirled, she kicked, she spun, she staked-he
was dust. But Butch was gone, taking the opportunity to make his escape through
the still-open door of the crypt.
She turned to go after him, then
considered her options. If she left Spike here, dangling like bait, Butch would
probably return-she could take him then. If he didn't return this night,
well...he'd be back at some point. She turned to look at Spike.
"You
OK?"
"Ta, pet. Had visions of a...blistery...sort of evenin' 'til you
arrived."
There was something about him hanging there like that, feet
barely touching the floor, all the muscles in his arms and chest revealed and
pulled taut by gravity. It made her think things.
"Bit of help here,
ducks?" His voice was subdued-he was embarrassed by his position and excited by
her nearness at the same time. Couldn't get much more vulnerable than that-or so
he thought.
"You want me to let you down?" There was a smile behind her
words, but her face remained innocent.
"No, by all means, luv, let me
hang here all night-maybe Butch'll come back and roast me good an'
proper."
"Now, why would I let him do that after I took the time and
trouble to save your sorry undead ass?" She stepped closer as she said this,
circling him. Suddenly, she was fascinated by the quality of his skin-it glowed
ivory in the dim light and appeared to have the texture of velvet. She stood
behind him briefly and reached out to touch his back. His intake of unnecessary
breath was a hiss.
She circled around to the front again and leaned in to
examine his wound.
"Hurt much?"
"S'fine." He swallowed the large
lump in his throat and hoped she didn't notice the larger one growing in the
front of his pants. "Let me down now, Slayer."
"Mmhm, yeah, ok, just a
sec." She leaned in blew gently on the red mark at the center of his chest. He
closed his eyes and hung there-what else could he do?
He felt rather than
saw her retreat. When he looked again, she was removing her jacket, then her
boots and socks. Barefoot, as he was, in a thin white tee-shirt and black
slacks, she glanced around the room, finally spotting a small metal stool in the
corner. She retrieved it, set it down about six feet directly in front of him
and perched on it. She said nothing.
He tried to speak-nothing came out.
He cleared his throat and tried again. 'Slayer...what's this about then? Let me
down now." He tried to look stern. "I won't say it again."
"Mmmm...where
have I heard that before?" She stood up and approached him again, very, very
slowly. She saw his eyes widen. "Scared, Spike?"
"What?! Scared...of you?
What I am is...is irritated...an' a might peckish...an' I want you to let me
down."
"What if I won't? Whatcha gonna do about it, you
big...bad...vampire?" With each word she took a tiny step closer until he could
feel the heat of her body beneath her clothes.
He knew this game-had
played it himself a more than a few times. Dru was always one for kinky, and
chains and ropes and blindfolds and gags had been some of her favorite toys-but
Dru had preferred to be the one tied up. She had rarely been interested in
restraining him-it took more energy than she was inclined to muster.
A
part of Buffy's mind remained detached and horrified at what she was doing. But
it was a small part, and she shut it up with threats of violence. Her curiosity
was too great to pass up this chance. What could she do to this creature? How
far could she push him? She had seen the bulge in his jeans immediately, and
knew she was having some effect-and THAT was having an effect on her, in turn.
She hadn't stopped to put on a bra before leaving Riley's apartment, and now she
could feel her nipples swelling and hardening beneath her tee-shirt.
Her
hands snaked around his waist and she pulled him off his feet to grind his
pelvis against her. His head fell back, exposing his throat and she fastened her
lips there, licking and nibbling. Abruptly, she let him go and returned to the
stool. He swung limply, trying to process the experience and decide how best to
react.
Once seated, she watched him struggle to control his response.
Finally, he lifted his head to meet her eyes.
"Never had you figured for
a bondage freak, Summers." He fought to keep his tone light. He was afraid to
reveal the depth of his arousal-it would have given her too much power, and she
had more than her share as it was, given the circumstances.
"What can I
tell you, Spike? I'm on a voyage of self-discovery...and you are coming along
for the ride...so to speak." She gave him a grin that could only be described as
evil.
Spike's head dropped back again and he let slip a moan. He was
beginning to think that he had been safer in the clutches of Butch than in the
hands of this girl, on this night.
Still perched on the stool, she
considered her next move. Didn't want to push him too far, too fast-might as
well make it last, since there wasn't liable to be a repeat performance.
"Are you really hungry, Spike? I mean, can I get you something, make you
more comfortable..." Her voice trailed off as she realized the absurdity of her
question. He looked at her oddly.
"Well, luv, to be honest...I've known
more comfy restraints...perhaps you could loosen..." He looked meaningfully
upward at his hands.
"Yeah, right. I loosen, you escape, there goes all
the fun and games for the night. Don't think so, but nice try." She followed his
glance upward. "But I suppose I could take some of the pressure off your arms."
Leaping up gracefully onto to large sarcophagus that served as his bed,
she loosened the chain from the chandelier, allowing him to drop his weight
fully onto his feet. She heard him sigh with relief. Leaping down again, she
approached him.
"Better?"
"I s'pose...but how about a drink?
There's a bottle of bourbon around here somewhere..." He motioned with his head.
She searched briefly, finally finding it among his stash of personal items. With
it, she found several magazines of the pornographic variety.
"Why, Spike,
you pig!"
"Oh, I'M a pig! Look who's got who chained to the
ceilin'!"
"But I FOUND you this way..." They smirked at one another. Then
a rather evil glimmer-one that made him decidedly nervous-found it's way into
her eye. Very deliberately, she unscrewed the bottle and upended it briefly down
the front of her shirt, soaking it to near-transparency. He watched,
transfixed.
Walking over to stand before him, she brought the bottle to
his lips and tilted it, giving him a long and much-needed gulp. Then she poured
the remainder of the liquid down HIS chest.
"OWWWW!! You stupid bitch,
that hurts..." He screeched as the alcohol seeped into the burn on this
chest.
"Oh, God, Spike, I'm sorry...I wasn't thinking..." Doing the only
thing she could to relieve his pain, she leaned in and affixed her mouth gently
to the red mark on this skin. Sucking at it tenderly, she felt a strange rush of
emotion-almost warm and fuzzy-toward this creature of the night.
Licking
the wound clean of all alcohol, she finally soothed him and stood. Looking down,
she noticed that the pain hadn't erased his erection. Smiling slightly, she
stepped forward and put a very tentative finger on one dark, round nipple. His
reaction was most gratifying, so she increased her pressure, pinching and
rolling the nub between her thumb and forefinger.
If he had needed to
breathe, he would have been out of luck. The sensation sizzled from her fingers
down through the pit of his stomach to the tip of his cock and back again. His
erection pushed painfully against the buttons of his jeans, and for the first
time in years he wished he owned a pair of underwear.
She didn't stop.
Instead, she added her lips to the mix, affixing them to the other nipple,
gently at first. Then she bit down on him and pinched hard at the same time,
wondering how much was too much. Apparently, not that much. He gurgled in the
back of his throat helplessly.
She let go abruptly and stepped back. When
she walked, she could feel the swelling between her legs. This was way too much
fun. Seating herself again, she let her hands slide gently over her wet torso,
noting that that Spike licked his lips when she did. She stripped off her
tee-shirt. Her nipples were nearly as dark and hard as his, and when she
squeezed them she heard him make a rumbling noise in his chest.
"Spike?
Tell me what you want."
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came
out. He tried again.
"Please..." It was a whisper. "Pants...too
tight...."
"Oh!" She stood up quickly, but when she was directly before
him, she became shy. Reaching for his belt, she wondered if she should call a
halt to it now, before they were both too far-gone. Glancing down indecisively,
she saw that his hips were straining forward towards her hands, and she knew
that she had to continue, if only to understand the power of her own sexuality
for once and for all.
His belt off, the buttons undone, his cock sprung
loose in a manner that almost frightened her. It certainly wasn't the polite
penis that Riley sported. She should have expected Spike to be
uncircumcised-Angel had been, although she had never really gotten a very close
look at him.
Interested-fascinated, in fact-she knelt to tug his jeans
from his hips. Her breath on him there made the room swim in front of him. He
lifted his feet mechanically to kick off his jeans and lost his balance, falling
against her. His cock brushed her hair and the smooth skin of her face and he
cried out. She jumped back in alarm.
"Are you OK? I mean, maybe we should
stop..."
"Please...Buffy...I need you to touch me...anywhere...for pity's
sake, girl..."
She felt a mix of confusing emotions. On one hand, her
inexperience and lack of knowledge was never more apparent to her than at this
moment. On the other, she felt a surge of power, and an evil urge to torment
this monster as he had tormented her in his pre-chipped days. She stood and
moved away from him. He groaned.
"Are you suffering, Spike? Do you like
it?" She decided in that instant to keep this night in the arena of
gamesmanship. Something told her that if she allowed any deeper emotions to be
accessed, they would both pay for it later.
The moon had risen high and
cold light spilled in through the open door. She stepped outside for a breath of
air and looked at the ground around the crypt. There, in the grass, she found a
long, stiff crow's feather. Perfect.
She was holding something behind her
back when she returned to him. He watched her warily as she approached. Her
naked breasts glowed, and his bound hands opened and closed in frustration,
aching to touch her. Then she produced the feather.
He started in real
fear. As a child and a young man, before he was turned, he had been
exceptionally ticklish. It had shamed him, this unmanly bodily response, and he
had learned to steel himself against soft caresses for that very reason. Now, in
this vulnerable state, he knew that he would be unable to control his
reaction.
"Wha...what are you doin'?"
"I'm going to touch you.
Isn't that what you said you wanted?"
"NO!!" He kicked at her blindly.
She jumped back in surprise.
"Hey! Cut it out, Spike! You act like I'm
going to pour acid on you or something...now hold still." She gripped the muscle
at his waist firmly, and then surprised him by planting a friendly kiss on his
lips. "It's OK. If you hate it, I'll stop, I promise. OK?"
He looked into
her eyes and saw that he could trust her-perhaps the very first person he could
trust in his entire existence, living or dead. He nodded and steeled
himself.
She ran the tip of the feather slowly from a spot behind his ear
down over his ribs and abdomen and hip. He shuddered and bucked, but not in
discomfort. He was surprised at the pleasure that surged through him at the soft
touch of the feather as she circled behind him and began the stroke again on the
other side. At the same time, he felt his frustration mounting. It had been at
least half an hour since this little scene had begun, and except for some
incidental contact, nothing yet had touched his aching cock.
Then she
stood behind him and coaxed apart his legs slightly, giving one of his buttocks
a gentle squeeze. She stroked the tip of the feather from the place where his
nearly white hair met the skin of his neck, down the center of his back and
between the cheeks of his ass. As she did it he shuddered, so she did it again,
more slowly this time.
She had begun to find her own pants to be slightly
uncomfortable. His response to her ministrations was so gratifying that she had
a wild desire to unchain him and let him take her-but knew that she wouldn't.
Not this night. Most probably, not any night. But that didn't mean she couldn't
give herself some relief and heighten the stakes for him at the same time.
Returning to the stool, she unzipped her slacks and peeled them off, checking to
see if he was watching.
"Pink cotton, Slayer? And here I was anticipatin'
a black leather thong on a kinky bird like you." He chuckled deep in his throat,
staring intently at the few curls that escaped around the elastic edges of her
panties and wishing with all his heart that x-ray vision was part of the
vampiric special-powers package. He took a deep, absolutely unnecessary breath
in order to catch her scent, and was rewarded by a soft muskiness that was the
unmistakable clue to her arousal.
Seated again on the stool, she dragged
the black feather down between her breasts and dropped her head back,
concentrating intently on the sensation. As if of its own accord, her right hand
found itself pressed against her crotch. She spread her legs wide to give
herself better access and him a better view and began stroking her clit lightly
through the soft cotton cloth. She heard him growl and opened her
eyes.
"If you'd let me go, I could do that for you, Slayer. I'd do a good
job." His voice had a pleading, ragged edge to it, and she noticed that his hips
had begun to thrust ever so slightly in time with her fingers' strokes on her
clit.
"No, Spike. Sorry. Stop talking now. Need to concentrate." She
dropped her head back again and her hand began to move faster. Soon he could see
a dark spot of moisture forming beneath her hand, and the scent of her filled
the room. Her body was growing tense, but she wasn't ready to finish yet.
Sighing, she stilled her hand, and slowly removed the now sopping
panties. Dropping them to the floor, she walked slowly over to stand before him,
both of them totally nude. The nearness of him made her skin jump. She wanted to
wrap her legs around him, lower herself onto his cock and ride away into
oblivion.
Instead, she dropped to her knees and began again to stroke him
with the feather. He hadn't been expecting it, and when she dragged the soft tip
of the feather from his ankle up to his inner thigh, he hissed like a trapped
animal and tried to kick at her again. She caught his calf in a killer grip that
stilled him and forced him to endure it again, and then again on the other leg.
Then she backed up several inches and began to contemplate his cock and balls.
Her face had an intent, almost academic look as she studied him.
He
swallowed thickly. "Cor, Slayer, you look as if you've never seen a hard-on
before." He struggled to keep his tone even and failed.
"Well, I can't
say I've ever seen one this...fancy...before. So many moving parts." She was
fascinated by the way the rose-colored head protruded from beneath the
foreskin.
"Yeah, well, I've one of the old-fashioned models, I suppose.
It's a shame the way they hack 'em up these days." He tried to laugh and found
he couldn't.
Slowly, she raised the feather and touched the tip of it to
his balls, making small, deliberate circles.
He couldn't stand it. He
pushed away from her with both feet, bending at the waist, desperate to
escape.
"Stop it, Spike. Hold still, or I swear I'll walk out of here and
leave you like this." She didn't mean it. She wouldn't do it. But he didn't know
that.
He forced himself back into position, grinding his teeth as she
began again to stroke his inner thighs and balls with the feather. "There, now
that's not really so bad, is it?" He shuddered violently in response.
The drops of pre-cum that had been forming all the while finally spilled
over the edge of his foreskin and dribbled down the shaft of his cock, soaking
the tip of the feather. She discarded it, realizing that his torment was extreme
and that her own was reaching the point of no return.
She lay down on her
back at his feet and stared up into his face, which was twisted into a sullen
pout. Bending her knees, she spread her legs wide and dragged her hand up and
down her slit.
"Stick out your tongue, Spike." Her voice was thick with
desire. "Let me see your tongue."
"I'd rather let you feel it, Slayer."
But he did as he was told. At the sight of it, she shivered and began stroking
her clit double-time. Within seconds she was at the edge of orgasm. As she
tumbled over, she opened her eyes wide and stared into his. She saw wild golden
sparkles shoot over the surface of his corneas and the planes of his face shift
slightly. She felt rather than heard a growl vibrate through him, and watched as
his cock swelled even larger and grew an angrier shade of purple.
The
spasms broke over her again and again and she rocked against her hand like a
thing possessed. He rocked too, thrusting blindly against the air, praying that
she would find it in her merciful heart to give him some release before he
simply blacked out.
Then she was still. One hand remained buried in her
slit and the other clutched one breast. Never before had she come like that. Her
heart continued to pound in time with her throbbing clit, and she fought the
urge to simply curl up and sleep there on the cold stone floor.
Finally,
she looked up at him. He was staring at her in mute agony. The pre-cum that had
been several drops only minutes before was now a small, clear puddle between his
feet. His balls were a deep shade of purple, verging on navy, and she knew he
must be in pain. She was sorry, and now she intended to fix it.
It took
her a moment to find her feet. Steadying herself, she leapt up onto the
sarcophagus again and disengaged the last of the chain from the chandelier.
Without the chain to support him, he stumbled, nearly falling. She jumped down
and grabbed him about the shoulders, removing the chain from his wrists and
massaging them gently. She led him to his bed, such as it was, and helped him to
lie down.
"You...you're leaving?" He steeled himself for her response.
"No. Not yet. I just need to catch my breath...OK?"
She sat on
the edge of the sarcophagus for a moment and stroked his hair absently. The
scent of her was intoxicating to him, and he shuddered. She glanced over and
noticed how hard he was trying to remain calm, patient, even respectful.
She urged him to slide upward a bit to give her room to maneuver.
Propping herself up on his only pillow, she began to gently nuzzle his inner
thighs and balls with her mouth and tongue.
His response was
instantaneous. Every muscle in his body, every nerve ending began to sing. He
had to bite down hard on his own tongue to keep from crying out.
She slid
up a bit and, bracing the shaft of his cock against two fingers, she made the
tip of her tongue into a hard point and inserted it gently into the tiny slit at
the tip of the head.
His hips jumped off the stone once, twice, three
times as she held her tongue there and wriggled it ever so slightly. The room
began to spin around him and a burning sensation spread throughout his body,
much like he experienced at the moment of a kill.
She took the entire
head of his cock into her mouth then, sucking gently and chewing softly on the
foreskin. He began to sob with pleasure. She continued, taking more of him into
her mouth, nibbling and sucking while squeezing his balls and shaft with one
free hand.
Her strokes became more aggressive and insistent. His cock was
large, larger than Riley's, and she couldn't take the entire thing without
choking-at least not without some practice. It didn't matter. He was too
far-gone and her mouth and hands were too sweet and hot for him to bear much
longer. He tried to hold back and make it last, knowing it might be the last
time they would ever be that close. He sat up slightly and tangled his hands in
her hair.
The muscles in his abdomen clenched into a white-hot ball. The
spasms began at the soles of his feet, traveling up his legs to break against
him in wave after wave of the most intense pleasure he had ever experienced in
his existence, living or not. He fought to stay conscious, not wanting to miss a
moment of it. He fought to keep his hips from bucking too roughly, not wanting
to hurt her. Finally he gave into it, riding it out, and allowed his beast to
emerge as he ejaculated a monumental amount of seed into her mouth.
She
was amazed at his orgasm. It seemed to go on for a full minute, and when he
finally released his icy load, she counted no less than twelve spurts. Luckily,
she was ready for it, and found the taste of it to be more pleasant than she
expected-less bitter and more refreshing. But maybe she was just
thirsty.
He fell back onto the stone with a thud and lay there like the
dead thing he was. She realized after a few moments that he was unconscious. She
untangled herself from him with a sigh-male things were all very much the same
after all. Finding her clothes, she dressed quickly, wishing she had worn a
watch.
She was pulling on her boots when he awakened.
"Slayer?"
His speech was slurred, drugged sounding.
"Yes, Spike?"
"You
alright?"
"Fine. And you?"
He sighed and stretched, turning onto
his side. "Hhmmmhmmm." It was a rumble and a growl and a purr and a moan all in
one. She turned to smile at him.
"I have to go now."
"Have
to?"
"Yup."
"Absolutely must?"
"Yes." Her voice was
determined.
"I generally fancy a cuddle afterwards...don't
you?"
She didn't answer him. Instead, she picked up his jeans and tossed
them to him. "Here, you'd better get dressed."
He looked at her in
surprise.
"Well, you can't stay here. Butch might come back, and I can't
hang around all night waiting for him."
"Are you laborin' under the
impression that I look after myself, Slayer?" There was an edge of irritation in
his voice. She was pleased. Things were getting back to normal right on
schedule.
"Look, Spike, you can stay here and wait for Butch and whoever
he might bring with him, or you can come home with me and hang out on the sofa.
Your choice. But I'm not going to stand here and argue anymore-I've got class in
the morning." She gave him a pointed look. "And as for looking after
yourself-well, think about what might have happened if I hadn't shown up here
tonight."
"Oh, perish the bleedin' thought." He grinned at her and tugged
on his jeans. In a few moments he was fully dressed, including his duster, and
they were making their way through the cemetery.
As they walked through
the entrance she rather casually questioned him, "Do you always make
those...noises?'
"Noises?'
"Yeah, you know, when you..." Suddenly
she was shy again, and he was enjoying it. After the torture she had put him
through earlier, he thought he deserved a bit of his own back.
"What do
you mean, luv?"
She took a deep breath. "When you came. You made these
noises. Like different animals."
"Oh, I see. Well, that's to be expected,
darlin.' The beast in me, an' all that. I suppose I howled?"
"Yes and
barked at one point I think. And roared like a lion towards the very
end."
He stopped and turned to face her. "I BARKED???! AN' ROARED!?!?"
"Yeah. It sounded like you were channeling a petting zoo there for a few
seconds."
He threw back his head and laughed at the sky. Then he tossed
an arm about her shoulders and gave her a hug that was pure affection. She
returned it without thinking.
"Full marks, pet. Can't say that's ever
happened before."
They walked the rest of the way home in companionable
silence.
*~*~*~*~*~*
~ Part 3 ~
She hadn't slept well, knowing he was down there on the sofa, channel-surfing,
maybe raiding the fridge during commercials. Not that her mom was likely to
stock the O-neg, but she'd seen him tuck into a platter of wings often enough to
know that he could get friendly with the people food.
When morning light
finally broke, she crept downstairs to check on him. She found him sleeping,
curled beneath his duster, the TV still on but muted, and an oddly contented
look on his face. She watched him for a long minute, listening to the voices in
her head tell her what a fool she was for letting him anywhere near her or her
family. But she didn't feel foolish-she felt-what the hell DID she feel?
Powerful. Yeah, that was one thing. The way he responded to her, the way he
hungered for her made her feel more powerful than all the dusty vamps and
averted world-endings of the last few years combined.
But there was
something else.
She stood at the foot of the sofa, noting with surprise
that he'd bothered to remove his boots before lying down. Well, perhaps he
hadn't actually been raised by wild beasts after all, despite all the
interesting sounds he'd made last night when he...oh, let's not go
there.
He was awake then, and looking at her. So still, his face, as if
carved from the finest marble. Her breath caught in her throat when he
spoke.
"Mornin,' pet."
"Spike. Sleep well?"
He didn't
answer. He'd only really been asleep for a few minutes, just long enough to
dream a sweet dream in which she was touching him again, only this time his
wasn't suspended from the ceiling, and she was allowing him to touch her
back.
"You need to get downstairs before the sun starts blazing in here.
I don't have time to vacuum up your dirty ashes before I leave for class, and my
mom has strict rules about leaving dusty vampires on the carpet." Her words were
bracing, but her smile was sweet.
"Downstairs?"
"Yeah, as in
basement, as in you, as in now."
"How 'bout I just borrow a blanket and
toddle on back to my crypt instead? Don't mean to reject your kind invitation,
but, really, luv, I'm fairly certain Butch won't be around. He's no bigger fan
of the sunshine than I am. Besides, I'm half-starved."
"Don't be an ass,
Spike. I'll stop back at lunchtime and bring you some blood. In the meantime,
get some sleep. You'll need it."
"Yeah?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.
"More plans for me, darlin'? Can't get enough of the trussed and helpless thing,
eh?"
She didn't bother to blush. That was one of the things that was nice
about her relationship with Spike-she didn't have to pretend that she was
remotely innocent. Riley-now HE was big into the whole sweet and almost-virginal
routine, and was not a happy camper when she let that mask slip, which she had
been doing far too often lately.
She walked around the sofa to stand at
his head, so that he was looking up at from an acute angle. Gently, she ran her
hand through his blonde curls, then grabbed a handful and yanked sharply.
Leaning down low, she looked directly into his eyes. He didn't look
away.
Her hair fell on either side of his face. Her scent was of sleep,
and dreams, and the soft cotton nightgown she wore was very thin.
"I
mean that tonight we're taking out Butch and the rest of his gang, assuming
there are more of them." She grasped his hair more firmly and darted toward him,
capturing his full lower lip between her teeth and sucking it into her
mouth.
He lay frozen on the sofa, except for the sudden and extreme
hardening in his pants. She released him all at once and turned to go. He
stopped her with his words. "Buffy?" She looked back at him. "Have a nice day,
luv."
*************
He had been quite deeply asleep when she'd
left the mug of microwaved blood at the top of the stairs for him. By the time
he awakened and found it, it was cold, but he didn't want to risk startling her
mum or the kid by showing up in the kitchen to nuke it again, so he drank it
that way. Besides, he'd often wondered if the waves of radiation did something
funky to the blood-destroyed something he needed from it.
Late in the
afternoon, the slamming of the back door awakened him again, and he listened
intently to hear who had entered. It was Buffy, accompanied by the school-boy.
Joy to the friggin' world.
They were arguing. Moving from room to room,
often just out of earshot. He crept up the stairs to listen at the cellar
door.
"I'm just saying that I wish you would have told me where you were
going last night. I waited up for you for hours."
"Look, Riley, I said I
was sorry. I meant it. Now drop it, please. I have things to do..."
"What
things?"
"I told you. There's a new vamp gang in town. Spike and I are
taking them out tonight. In the meantime, I need to shower, and make dinner for
Dawn because Mom is working late again."
"Yeah, that's another thing.
Why are you and SPIKE working together on this? Why can't I help you take these
hostiles out?"
"I told you that too. Spike has a history with the leader
of this group. He knows his MO, and besides, this vamp is gunning for Spike. I
need to take care of it."
"The vamp is gunning for Spike and you need to
take care of it? I don't get it, Buffy, why the hell don't you let Spike deal
with it by himself? What's the worst that could happen? Spike gets dusted? Now,
THERE'S a loss."
Spike couldn't hear her answer because she didn't have
one. He did hear Riley moving across the floor. Then: "Come on, Buffy. At least
let me shower with you. We haven't made love in almost a week. I need
you."
"Yeah, well, I need some stuff too."
"I know. How about
this-I'll let you do whatever you want, OK?" Even at a distance and through the
door, Spike could hear the tone of condescension in his voice. Simperin'
prat.
"Don't do me any favors, Riley."
"Come on, Buffy. Please?
I'll even-you know-go down on you if you want."
"Like I said, Riley, no
favors. Don't knock yourself out on my account." Spike could hear the anger and
humiliation in her voice. "You should just go now. Call me tomorrow or
something. I gotta get moving."
Spike heard her start up the stairs. He
heard Riley sigh dejectedly and slam out of the house. He heard the shower two
floors up turn on. And then he sat down on the steps to
think.
********************** The phone began to ring just as she
stepped out of the shower. She let the machine pick up.
"Buffy, it's me.
I'm staying over at Carrie's tonight to study for Algebra. I called mom
already-she's ok with it. See you tomorrow."
Ok, well that was one less
thing she needed to worry about.
The entire time she had been in the
shower, her thoughts had ping-ponged back and forth between her latest argument
with Riley and the fact that there was a vampire waiting for her in the
basement. AND the fact that the vampire in the basement made her feel better
about herself than Riley did. How could that be?
But now she was dressed
and had some time to kill. Since she didn't have to cook anything nutritional
for Dawn, she could make with the junk food, and maybe catch the news while she
and Spike worked out a plan for tonight.
She stood in the kitchen, in
front of the cellar door, undecided. After all, he WAS a guest and she should
probably knock, but that just seemed silly. Still-
The door flew open in
front of her and he stepped out, holding the empty mug.
"Thanks for the
snack, pet. What's the plan for this evenin'?"
She looked at him sharply,
expecting to see his usual suggestive leer. It was absent.
"Um-thought
I'd eat something, then maybe we could talk about it-that sound
ok?"
"S'fine. You didn't by chance bring anymore of this, did
you?"
He walked to the sink and began washing out the mug.
"Um,
yeah, in the fridge."
"Ta, luv." He turned to look at her. "How much do I
owe you?"
She was mesmerized by his very normal, relaxed demeanor.
"Huh?"
"The blood, ducks. How much do I owe you for the
blood?"
"Oh. Oh, don't worry about it-it's nothing-it's..." WHAT the hell
was she babbling for?
"Right, then. 'Preciate it. Now, could I trouble
you for a shower?'
"WHAT?"
"A shower. I know, you probably think
all us vamp-types enjoy bein' down an' dirty an' all-but I've never fancied
stinkin' up the place... an' after last night..." He didn't finish. He just
looked at her. And she wasn't embarrassed, and she wasn't ashamed, and it was
just OK. Just really OK.
"Upstairs. You can use the guest bathroom, last
door on the left. There should be towels and stuff."
"Right."
She
watched him walk out of the kitchen, and heard him climb the stairs, and tried
not to think about him after that. She tried really, really
hard.
*********************** He came down the stairs a short time
later to find her flipping between Headline News and Entertainment Tonight. The
sky had finally darkened enough that he didn't need to avoid the living room
picture window, so he joined her.
He smelled clean. Not that he had
reeked before, but now his skin and hair had a fresh scent that was
extra-appealing.
"Um, Buffy?"
She looked at him.
"I'm goin'
out back to have a smoke, alright?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Did you smoke in
our basement? I'll KILL you if you smoked in my house!" Why was she suddenly so
pissed at him?
"No! I haven't had a cig all day, cross my dead, unbeatin'
'eart." He looked at her with as much sincerity as he could muster.
"OK.
Go ahead, but make it quick. We need to plan."
He stood on the back
porch, dragging hard on his cigarette. The time had come. He ground out the butt
beneath his boot heel and made his way back through the kitchen.
"OK,
Spike, let's figure this out. What do you remember about this Butch vamp that we
can use?"
"Buffy."
She looked up at him. His eyes searched her
face so intently.
"Before we start with the game plan, luv, I need to
say something."
She had a sinking feeling that she wasn't going to be
pleased by whatever he had to say.
He joined her on the sofa, without an
invitation.
"Look, pet, I heard you and Soldier Boy this afternoon. I
heard what he said to you."
'You heard? ALL OF IT?" Her humiliation came
crashing back in on her, and her first instinct was to take it out on him. "You
sneaky, eavesdropping, filthy...after I saved you last night...after I...after I
let you stay here to keep you safe...how DARE you?"
He let her sputter to
a stop. Then, still looking intently into her face, he began.
"First of
all, I THANKED you for saving me, I'm MUCH OBLIGED, more than you know, BELIEVE
ME. An' what happened after, well, frankly, I haven't really let myself think
about it too much-afraid it'll turn out to be some sort of wanker fantasy of
mine. An' as for the other, I apologize for the eavesdroppin.' I DO know the
difference between right and wrong, but I have to tell you that my sneaky ways
aren't really the trouble you should be addressin' here, luv."
"Oh, and I
suppose you're going to tell me what problems I SHOULD be
addressing?"
"Well, for openers, there's the little matter of the
boyfriend who doesn't have half the brains God gave cabbage."
"Shut the
fuck up, Spike."
"I will not." She saw the surface of his face ripple
slightly, and bright yellow sparkles shot across his eyes. She realized that he
was genuinely enraged.
"What the bleedin' hell is wrong with the poncey
prat anyway?" He began to mimic Riley's patronizing tone. "I'll let you do
anything you want. The sod will LET you? He'll LET you?!? The pillock should get
down on his bleedin' knees and thank whoever it is he prays to that you take the
time to LOOK at him!"
She was surprised. And strangely
grateful.
"Buffy, tell me you don't allow that fool to make you feel
badly about yourself? About what you need?"
Suddenly, she felt her lower
lip begin to tremble. Great, Buff. Burst into tears, why dontcha? That oughta be
good for a chuckle or two.
The sight of her hurt feelings seemed only to
fuel his rage. "BLOODY HELL!!!" Suddenly, he was up and pacing, swinging his
arms around to punctuate the longest, most graphic string of curses she'd ever
heard.
"Doesn't he KNOW? Doesn't he CARE? For pity's sake, there you are,
out there, bein' a student, a big sis, yer mum's been sick, savin' the world
right an' left, takin' time out to rescue MY sorry arse...although I don't
suppose he'd be much impressed by that...and he can't find it in his heart to
love you like you need to be loved...what a waste, what a sinful waste of a
beautiful woman..."
He stopped. He'd gone too far. He hadn't meant to let
his own feelings for her get tangled up in his diatribe against
Riley.
"Sorry, pet." He came to sit down beside her on the sofa. "Didn't
mean to get all worked up. My point-an' I DO have one-is that you mustn't let
him make you feel dirty about what you need. He's the one with the problem, not
you. An' you sure as hell shouldn't be goin' about lookin' for thrills in the
darker corners of our fair city. You'll get yourself hurt, an' then where will
we be?" His smile was tender, but the golden sparkles had not yet left his
eyes.
She stared at him in wonder. Her brain was in serious danger of
shutting down completely.
"Buffy. Luv. Whatever it was that happened with
us last night, whatever that was about for you, you shouldn't have to come to me
for it. You should be able to go to him."
"I can't." And now the tears
fell. "He doesn't want it. He can't handle it. He's got all these ideas about
what sex-what it's supposed to be, what it's not supposed to be. He always wants
it to be romantic."
Spike slapped his own face in his frustration. "That
soddin' git wouldn't know real romance if it reared up an' bit off the head of
his dick."
Something about that image made Buffy begin to giggle. The
last of the tears squeezed out of her eyes and down her cheeks as she held
herself and rocked back and forth. Spike relaxed a bit.
Finally, she
stopped. "Oh, Spike, thank you. Thank you for not making me feel dirty and
disgusting because I don't want it always to be about flowers and moonlight. And
I'm sorry about last night."
"Sorry? Pet, you've nothin' to be sorry
about. My god, do you KNOW what you did to me? Nearly twenty-four hours later
and my balls are still achin'...in a good way." Now the evil grin that she had
grown used to was back. The moment had lightened considerably.
"We should
get going."
"Yes, pet, but one other thing."
"Hmmm?" She was
slipping on her boots.
"Did I hear that idiot prat say that he would
consider goin' down on you...like it was a special present or
somethin'?"
Buffy winced at that. It hurt to know Spike had heard it, but
they were well beyond pretense now.
"Yeah. What can I tell you? It's not
his thing."
Spike reached out and grabbed her tightly by the shoulders,
forcing her to meet his eyes.
"He's a fool, Slayer. Any man in his right
mind-any monster, for that matter-would jump at the chance to please you that
way. I know I would." There was no smirk on his face. He was deadly
serious.
She didn't answer for a long moment. "Well, honestly, I've never
really understood what all the fuss was about...I mean..."
He dropped his
hands from her shoulders and fell back onto the sofa. "Lord, pet, then no one's
ever done right by you, have they?"
"I don't know, Spike. How would I
know?"
He shifted his glance to her face. She was looking at him with the
same curious, intent expression she'd had the night before.
"Maybe
sometime you'll let me show you?" It was a shot in the dark, and if he'd had any
breath, he would have held it.
"I don't know, Spike...I'm very big with
the confusion right now."
He sat up and turned toward her again. "Right,
then. We should get a move on." He stood and reached for his duster. She grabbed
his hand before he could move away from the sofa.
"Thanks, Spike. I feel
better."
His eyes had reverted to their human shade of blue. His smile
was sweet, but his words burned through her body.
"I want to make you
feel more than better, Slayer." He leaned closer. "I want to make you feel
things you didn't know were humanly possible. I'm very good, you know. Had
decades to perfect my technique." He showed her the point of his tongue peeking
from between his very white teeth. "Never had any complaints."
All the
blood that had been swishing about in her brain made a beeline for parts south
at the sight of his tongue and the sound of his words. She was
paralyzed.
"But now, luv, we've got a mother-ugly little vampire to
track. Although I believe I may take half a mo' to thank Butch before you dust
him." He picked up his duster and stalked out of the room, leaving her vibrating
on the sofa, one boot still in her hand.