My Dirty Secret
 


Written by: Spike Speigel
Author's Website






Summary: Buffy POV. Ever wonder what Buffy's thinking of when she's with Spike?
Disclaimer: The show Buffy the Vampire Slayer & all of it's characters belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, & Fox Prod.
Spoilers: Anything from season six thus far. Special consideration to Graduation Day II, Buffy vs. Dracula, Intervention, After Life, Once More, With Feeling, and Smashed.
Feedback: madureira9@yahoo.com





I know that it's wrong. Every fiber in my being says that I shouldn't be here. Almost every fiber. My head says no but it also says yes. Before I realize it, I'm in the crypt, Spike sitting in his favorite armchair, his leg hanging over the arm, while he's flipping through the channels. He turns around upon hearing the noise, a look of joy and content on his face as he begins to speak. I never hear what he says.

My lips are on his, my hands forcing him back into the seat. I feel his hands on my sides, gently caressing me as he moans into my mouth, I into his. My legs move to either side of his, my hips thrusting downward, closer to him. Always closer to him. The closer I get, the more I feel. I feel him react to my being on top of him. I ache for him, feeling him throbbing, swelling through the fabric of his jeans. My hands move from his face, sliding down to his chest.

As our lips continue their embrace, my fingers work their way in between the buttons, under the fabric. They hungrily graze against his skin before they pull away, tearing the shirt from his body. He growls into my mouth as I do this, his hands moving to the hem of my shirt, tugging it from my pants. His hands slide underneath the shirt, his touch making me audibly gasp. I will never get used to this. The cold, yet gentle nature of his touch. Dead yet very alive. God, I live for his touch.

His hands move up my body, the shirt moving up my body on his forearms. His hands gently cup my breasts as I lean closer to him, wanting him to fully feel what he's doing to me. My hands move away from his chest, continuing downward, my legs pushing against his, holding him securely in place. My fingers work to undo the button of his jeans, tugging at the fabric as his tongue begins to mingle with mine, dancing as only he can.

I whimper as his hands move under the fabric of the brassiere, his cold touch sending shivers through me. My fingers finally undo the button, moving to the zipper. I pull it down, splaying the material away from him. I know there is nothing else separating me from him. I knew it that night when I gave myself to him in the abandoned building. At first, I marveled at the audacity of him, to allow himself to be taken so easily. But now, I cherish the fact that he does it for me. He's mine. All mine.

I pull away from him, a sigh of desperation and wanting mutual between us. I lock his gaze as his hands continue their ministrations on my now tender breasts. My hands fall to my now rumpled top, slowly pulling it over my body, over my breasts. I adore the look on his face when I play with him. He frowns mockingly as I tease him, offering him only so much. He has to work for the rest. He always has to work for the rest.

His left hand moves away from my breast, his right continuing to touch me just right. His hand slides to the back of the brassiere, his fingers deftly unclasping the hook. I still marvel at the fact at how good he is at that. It's like he's been practicing that move with the numerous women he's had in his life. Then it hits me. The numerous aren't so numerous. As far as I know, I'm the first normal woman he's had. Well, the first living woman. Maybe that's why he loves me. He loves the way I feel, the heat emanating from my body as we dance. But I know better. I know better.

He slowly, yet violently pulls the small piece of cotton from under my shirt, holding it up for me while his other hand gently traces the crevice between my breasts, my lips emanating a small sigh as his fingers gently slide over me. Before I can register the feeling of him on me, the bra drops to the floor, his free hand now moving between us, to my jeans. He doesn't bother with unfastening, his hand sliding down the front of my pants, my underwear. I moan loudly as his fingers come in contact with my tender folds. He slides in slowly, making me gasp in ecstasy. My hands pull the shirt over my head, tossing it to the side, my mouth moving back to his. He always works for the rest. And he always succeeds.

My mouth punishes his for making me feel this way. For making me feel so alive. I feel my nipples harden as they rub against his chest, his fingers still continuing their exploration while his other hand moves from between us and into my hair, pulling me closer to him, deeper into our kiss. I instinctively grind my hips against his hand, feeling myself close to the edge as he growls and groans into my mouth. That's when I realize that I'm rubbing against him as well. I smile as we kiss, my hips now grinding against his hand as well as the area that's definitely harder now.

Spike pulls away from the kiss, an unwarranted gasp flowing against my cheek as I feel his hand, his fingers moving to the rhythm of my hips, moving faster in me. I can feel the want radiating from his body, from his eyes now. He desperately lifts himself up from the armchair, myself moving with him. Before I know it, I'm against the wall of the crypt, Spike's free hand moving down my side, pulling whatever clothing is covering his other hand. I try to return the favor, but before I can, Spike's head drops from my field of view, the sensation of his mouth and fingers on me driving me to the precipice.

My hands, my fingers entwine in his now errant hair. My hips, my back, arching toward the feel of him. My head tilts back, my eyes closed. My breathing becoming ragged as I feel him in me and all around me at the same time. His free hand is on the small of my back, pulling me closer to him as his mouth continues. I've never felt this way. I've never felt this free. Only with him.

I scream out in ecstasy, shuddering against him as my orgasm tears through my body. My hands tug at his hair as his mouth, his tongue continue to move even though they have accomplished their task. I gasp for air as I feel him trailing kisses up my abdomen, his hands on my hips, trying to still my legs. I'm glad he does because I'll probably collapse to the ground, my knees buckling underneath me, were he to let go of me. Before my mind can process what Spike has just done to me, I feel him entering me slowly.

I shudder as he slowly pushes into me, his mouth falling onto mine once again. As our tongues intermingle, I savor the taste. He tastes of cigarettes, of whiskey. Of me. As I focus on our kiss, I gasp into his mouth, our lips breaking their contact as he deeply thrusts the remainder of himself into me. My eyes fly open, falling onto his. He's panting with me even though he doesn't have to. I relish seeing what I do to him. His deep blue pools staring intently back into me. While the smile on his face has an air of smugness, his eyes say different. His eyes always give him away. His eyes always tell me that he's afraid that this will be the last time. The last time we'll be this close.

I push the thought away, my lips frantically moving back to his as my legs wrap around his hips, my feet locking at the small of his back. He feels the urgency of the kiss, reciprocating in kind as he begins to move rhythmically in me. The heels of my feet push against his back, forcing him deeper into me as I whimper uncontrollably at the touch of him. His hands cup my rear as he begins to move faster, harder in me. My hips move to his rhythm, savoring the sensation of him in me, of hot against cold.

He pulls his lips away from me, his mouth now falling onto the crook of my neck. Every time he touches me there, a part of me wishes that he'd claim me like Angel did. Like Dracula did. But Spike never does. He wants me to know that the man loves me. He needn't bother. I already know. I knew it when I saw him after he was tortured by Glory. No one would be able to endure such atrocities for someone who they weren't in love with. I knew it then that he loved me. And I know it now as he moves in me, his teeth grazing against my now hot, flushed skin, his sighs echoing in my ear.

I feel myself once again at the edge, my moans becoming more erratic, more urgent as Spike continues to move deeper in me. He pulls away from my neck, looking attentively into my eyes as I moan to his touch. The look is almost enough for me to lose myself in him. However, I maintain my composure as our sighs, our groans continue to reverberate throughout the crypt. After a moment that feels like an eternity staring into each other, he moves his mouth to the hollow of my neck, his tongue lavishing the skin there. He moans against my neck as he begins to move erratically in me, wanting to feel me as much as I need to feel him. He pulls me farther over him, groaning as he forces me open. I can't help myself as I envelop all of him, holding onto him as my life depends on it. For all I know, it does. Being with him is the only time I feel normal. Feel alive.

Spike growls as his demon flashes over his face as he loses himself in me. I match his scream as I feel him flowing into me, myself joining him on the downward spiral. I pull his head up to mine, our lips once again reuniting like lovers after years of absence. I lean forward, my kiss pushing him backward, our entwined bodies falling to the floor of the crypt. Even as we fall, we never let go. Even as we hit the floor, we never let go. While our bodies move against each other, the rhythm slowing, I focus on our lips, our tongues, our sighs. Even with my eyes closed, I can feel the demon fading away from him, the man once again in its stead. After all, Spike wants me to realize that the man loves me. However, it's not that simple. I know the truth. The demon loves me as well. And while that should terrify me, it doesn't. Because he loves me. All of him.

Our bodies slow as he gently pulls his lips from mine. I groan at the absence before I open my eyes. Looking down at him, I see only love in his eyes. I wonder what he sees in mine as I lay on top of him, feeling him still inside of me, our bodies both warm by the heat I have generated. Spike told me once that he needed me to live so we'd both be living. I now understand what he meant as I lay over him, feeling the warmth between my legs, against my thighs, against my chest. I give him a small smile before I rest my head against his chest, needing to regain some of my strength. I know Spike wants more, but he'll wait for me. He always waits for me. Even in death, he waited for me.

Now the guilt begins to wash over me as I lay still against him, feeling my heart race at the touch of him. I know he'll always be here for me. As long as I never tell him. As long as I never tell the others about us. As long as this remains ours. But I know that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about us. This is my life. Only I can live it. But I can never tell him that. Never.

Spike nuzzles his lips against the top of my hair, whispering obscene nothings to me, hinting that he wants to move to the bedroom by complaining about the floor being bad for his back. I softly plant a kiss against his chest, indicating to him that I just want to be here for a moment more. Before, his crude behavior would have gotten to me. But now I know better. He's trying to maintain his bad boy composure. But I see through him now. He can be loving if given the chance. He can be everything I need if I let him. But I can never let him. If he ever knows, he'll leave me like all the others. I wouldn't be able to survive if he left me. So, he must never know my dirty little secret. One I'll keep to my dying day.

I love him.




The End


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