“Don’t struggle, you’ll only make it worse.” He breaks away from her lips long enough to murmur in her ear, pausing to slide his tongue down her cheek as she tries to turn her head away from him. She’s not going to kiss him anymore; she’s going to beat the shit out of him. Spike chuckles as she tries to avoid his mouth, he just rolls his hips so she can feel the bulge in his pants and leans in to kiss her neck. Buffy stiffens as she feels his lips touch her neck, but it feels so good; slow wet kisses, his tongue scraping across her veins. He pauses for a second, considers biting down gently; not enough to draw blood, just enough to make her pulse rush, to drive his demon wild. He considers against it. He’ll save that part for later.
He’s not paying quite enough attention to holding her down, and she’s able to pull an arm free and violently push him off her. She’s up, fighting stance on in a second, it takes him a moment longer.
“Bastard. You think you can have me however you like?”
“Yes.”
“Bastard.” She lunges towards him, punching him in the face as he hits her back. She tastes blood, then she’s on the floor again, stars in her eyes from that blow. In a second he’s on top of her again, kissing the blood off her lips, as she claws at his back, trying to push him off, or trying to pull him closer, she isn’t sure. Spike reaches down to rub her cunt through her jeans, and she responds with a tell tale little whimper, he knows she wants this as much as he does. He undoes her zipper and pushes her hand inside those skin-tight jeans of hers, and she’s soaking wet already, arching into his touch, nails digging into his back as he pushes in harder, adding more fingers till she’s full of him.
Digging her nails into his back, she pulls at the fabric till it tears off, so much easier than trying to slip it over his head. She looks at his body; toned, pale, bruised, bitten. Much like her own. Spike responds to her undressing with some fast work of his own. Without breaking the pace he’s building up with his fingers in her, he wrenches open her shirt and bra, pulling on her skin, leaving welts from the straps, but she doesn’t care about that, not right now. Buffy crashes headfirst into her orgasm; intense and mind altering, and over way too soon.
His fingers drenched in her juices, he slowly begins to lick them clean, savouring her taste, unable to decide if he’d rather be drinking her blood or eating her out right then. Buffy pulls him back down to her, wanting to feel his cold hard flesh against hers, trying to undo his jeans with one hand, kissing him all the time. She’s vaguely aware of being able to taste herself on his lips, and is disgusted at that, or she would be if she could think straight. She kicks her shoes off and wriggles out of jeans, completely naked on the concrete floor now. Spike grinds his hips into hers, pushing her into the ground. Buffy winces.
“What’s the matter pet?” he leers at her, “Don’t tell me you’re not up for it.”
“Why don’t you lie on the cold, concrete floor and have your back scraped to shreds?” Buffy hisses back at him “It takes the edge off a little.”
“I thought you quite liked it, seeing as how you can’t ever seem to wait till we can find a bed.”
“What we do doesn’t need a bed.” Buffy spits back at him, her eyes flashing flash fire, and he knows he’s in for one hell of a ride.
She takes hold of the hair at the back of his head, and pulls hard, dragging him onto the floor. Spike isn’t going to give up that easily, and as soon as she lets go, because her arm can twist no more, he pounces, flipping her over so she is face down, and he’s on top again. She curses the air blue, but its not going to do any good, because he isn’t moving. He forces her legs apart with his own, and despite herself, Buffy arches her back, pushing her pussy in the air, an invitation if ever there was one. Spike licks right up her slit tantalisingly slowly, before lining himself up to give her the fucking of a lifetime.
With one hard thrust he’s inside her. She’s still wet for him, but there’s enough friction on the way in to make her shudder, half in pain, half in pleasure. After a few moments, she adjusts to the feel of his dick in her, pounding into her, balls deep each time. This is no delicate, sweet lovemaking. This is two people who hate each other fucking each other’s brains out. Neither of them speak, the air filled with moans and gasps and the sound of sweaty skin on skin. Buffy thinks she might explode, she feels so amazing. She’s being forced forward across the floor with each thrust, her breasts and stomach scraping on the concrete, a collection of grazes forming to join the ones from before. But she doesn’t care anymore, which is good because neither does he.
As his orgasm hits him, with a huge amount of willpower, Spike pulls out of her, letting his cum fall across her back in spurts. Buffy hates to be dirty, and he can feel her rage rising as she realises what he’s done. She rolls over and scrambles away from him, full of rage and frustration.
“You are so gross! I can’t believe-”
“Can’t believe what? That you’ve fucked me again? That you enjoyed it way more this time?”
“That I let you do this to me.” She’s standing now, looking down on him, hair messed up, dirt on her face, cum on her skin. She looks like shit, and has never looked better. Spike stands up and moves to push her hair out of her eyes. Buffy slaps his hand back down.
He takes hold of her wrists, and pushed her backwards. She stumbles slightly, but he doesn’t stop, he just drags her back till he’s got her pinned against the wall by her arms. Buffy spits at him, he doesn’t even flinch.
“Oh come on pet, I’ve had just about all your fluids in one way or another by now. What’s a little saliva between friends?” He leans in close and whispers in her ear. “We are friends aren’t we?”
She has no idea what they are. For once she can’t think of a damn word to say, so instead, she takes a deep breath, draws in his smell. Cigarettes and leather and something else she can’t quite work out. It’s sexy as hell and she’s caught by him. Again. Buffy shivers as he runs his tongue down her neck, across her collarbone down to her breasts. He circles one nipple with his tongue, sucking and gently tugging it between his teeth. Buffy moans at this, feeling both her nipples harden. He moves downwards again, licking and kissing a trail across her stomach, kissing her cuts and bruises, licking up the tiny drops of blood on the newer ones. Spike lets go of her wrists and drops to his knees, pushing open her legs, dipping his tongue between them to taste her again. Buffy lets her arms drop to her sides, no intention of fighting him right now.
She makes the best and dirtiest noises he ever heard. Low moans that spread through her body, primal sounds that make him feel pretty damn primal too. He growls as he shifts to game face, and lets his fangs scrape across her clit, and the network of blood vessels and veins that are flowing dangerously close to the surface of her skin. Buffy feels this and pushes her hips forward, willing him to drink, to suck and bite and push her violently into her climax. Spike obliges, sliding his teeth easily into the soft flesh of her inner thigh as her legs give way and she drops to the floor as he licks, sucks and drinks her in. Every orgasm should be like this, she thinks, briefly, as she tries to get a hold on the smooth floor, feeling like she’s falling away.
Spike knows he has to stop drinking, but the taste of her is like nothing – no one – he’s ever tasted before. Her blood is potent and as full of desire as any of her other fluids. It makes him hornier than any striptease or foreplay, and more alive than he ever felt as a human. Buffy pulls him up her body till he’s lying flat on top of her and she’s kissing him deeply, tangling their limbs together as they tumble across the floor, mimicking their fighting, each seeking out the upper hand and neither getting it.
They fuck again and again, till her muscles ache, till she’s covered in sweat and cum runs down her legs and he’s as bitten as she is. Her lungs burn as she fights for breath in between kisses and frantic exchanges of meaningless words, all she can think is that she might die if this doesn’t stop soon, and she definitely will die if it does.
It does stop, eventually. They come to a rest against the stone tomb in the centre of the crypt, still wrapped in each other. Buffy’s not sure how she feels about being in Spike’s arms, there’s not supposed to be comfort in this, but she’s too tired to complain. They’re not talking, not on purpose, but because there doesn’t seem to be anything to say. Ignoring her body screaming at her to lie down and sleep for a week, Buffy stands and dresses slowly in what’s left of her outfit, leaving half of it in scraps on the floor.
“I hate you.” She says simply as she stands at the door.
“I know,” he smiles as he lights up a cigarette, “So, see you tomorrow?”
She slams the door behind her.
THE END