Patrolling-Schmatrolling
 Parts 1 & 2

Written by: Ten
Author's Website





Summary: Buffy gets distracted while patrolling, mostly PWP. Spoilers: Early Season 6, before the musical.
Disclaimer: All characters are the property of the god which is Joss Whedon (all hail and bow low before him), and WB, UPN, Mutant Enemy and probably some other people. I just enjoy playing with them.
Acknowledgements: Thank you Ditto & PK, my fellow Spikettes, for your encouragement and efforts to turn me into a bona fide fanfic addict and, now, writer. It's ALL YOUR FAULT!
Feedback: is joyously welcomed! teneniel@flashmail.com






CHAPTER 1

Buffy walked through the cemetery with a less than serious concern about patrolling. It had been a slow night; no vamps, no demons, not even a passing car, which was weird but hardly alarming. It was just dull. Her attention wavered to the squish of her shoes in the recently watered grass and the distant flapping of night wings, sounds in the dark that didn't make sense unless you were she who hangs out in cemeteries. She chuckled aloud, that's what Riley used to call her, "She who hangs out in cemeteries." At the time it had annoyed her, but now it amused her because it was so true. To an outsider, that's what she was, what she did. She who hangs out in cemeteries.

Her heart tugged a little. She had loved Riley, not in the same way she loved Angel, of course, but she had loved him all the same. And they were a good team, in both fighting and loving. She felt a warm tingle at the thought of him, his muscular arms, and the muscular ... rest of him, all wrapped around her touching her in so many delicious ways. Buffy's mental filing cabinet opened up to the word "yum" and remembered the full day they had spent in bed. On bed. Under bed. Against bed. Nowhere near the bed. Okay, they were under a spell, but they hadn't known that and it was hour after hour of touching, feeling, loving, exploring, tasting, tingling, tickling, licking, ummm ... what was she thinking about? Oh yeah, patrolling.

She shook her head to clear the naked Riley image which was stuck there, sighed, and began listening to the steady squish of her boots again.

There he was again. Riley. Knocking at the door of her thoughts, trying to get in. Urg. She was spending so much time mentally trying to shove those memories in a closet that she didn't anticipate the Angel visions sneaking in the side door of her memory. Ack! There he was, foremost in her thoughts, touching her face, stroking her hair, kissing her. Oh geez, Angel kissage. The man had 240 years to practice and he hadn't wasted a moment of it. Just thinking about his lips made her knees feel a little weak and her face flush.

She stopped, stomped her foot and chided herself, "Geez, Buffy, need some much?" She sighed the obvious answer, looking desperately up toward the starlit sky, "God yes!" And she began the tromping march through wet grass again thinking about puppies and folding laundry and Giles cleaning his glasses and Giles and his mother and, oh geez, please let's not go there.

Lost in her thoughts she didn't see the tiny trail of smoke dancing in the air from amongst the thick gathering of trees and rocks. Spike watched her quietly, amazed that she hadn't noticed him, as he wasn't exactly low profile standing there in plain sight smoking. He rather enjoyed that she was distracted. It gave him a chance to do some Buffy watching without being caught, and he was tempted to give her a little surprise to remind her that she shouldn't be daydreaming on patrol. A wry smile spread across his lips as his mind turned in ways that he could ... well, in evil ways. "Hey ... evil .... remember?" he reminded himself. He continued to watch her as she strolled past him, completely oblivious. He got prickly that she didn't at least feel his presence. She was the bloody Slayer, how could she not feel him, an evil, blood-sucking vampire? Well, evil anyway. His smile crept back in. He could either jump her and risk getting staked or he could taunt her with their usual verbal foreplay. It always amused him that she never saw that for what it was. For a Slayer, she could be pretty dense. He licked his lips in indecision, then snubbed out his cigarette. Option two it is.

"So, little girl, what goodies are you taking to Grandmother's house?" said Spike, with a hint of wolfish intent.

Buffy whirled around. Dear God she had been so distracted that she didn't feel a vampire THIS close?? Even Spike?? She was visibly flustered and then she caught a look at him. There he stood, tall and sculptured, casually up against a tree with his arms folded, that trademark smirk on his lips, his usual black duster over black jeans and shirt. There was something different, a touch of masculine jewelry around his neck, on his fingers. It stood out starkly against his black wardrobe, as did his bleached, slightly mussed hair. He looked ... extraordinarily attractive, and she felt something inside her begin to warm. She quickly looked back down at the ground. Uh-uh. Oh no, we are so not going there. Puppies. Laundry. Spike. No! No, no Spike. Uhhhhh. Her thoughts were pierced by the persistent vampire.

He used a playful, sing-songy voice, "Slayyyyerrrr? Hello? Are you in there?" The bloody girl was sure distracted enough. Twelve vamps could have had the bloody twelve apostles for dinner in front of her and she wouldn't have noticed.

"What?!" She suddenly snapped at him, finally looking up directly into his face, her eyes both flashing and smoldering. And she knew at once her eyes had betrayed her. Damn.

Spike's grin spread even further. Oh, this was too tempting. The slayer out patrolling, all distracted, and with the heat of passion in her eyes. A glint of evil mixed with his own passion flared in his eyes. He looked deeply at her, then took a deep, intoxicating breath, not to breathe, but just to see if he could catch a scent of her arousal on the night air. He was rewarded, and his smile broadened.

Buffy flushed and looked away. Damn those vampire senses. He'd caught her and there would be no end to the jokes and snide remarks. She suddenly dreaded the rest of her natural life, well, this one anyway.

He stepped toward her casually, and pitched his voice low and almost whispered, "So, Slayer," he said, deliberately standing too close to her, letting the breeze carry his own, musky scent to tease her. She bristled uncomfortably. This was going to be fun. "Finding any action out here tonight?" It was deliberate. He knew it, and more importantly, so did she. She felt stripped and exposed and very, very caught with un-slayerlike thoughts on her mind. Damn.

She lifted her chin indignantly and opened her mouth to protest and then stopped. He looked so good tonight. Why couldn't he look all grr and fangy and dead like other vamps? It just wasn't fair that instead of looking pasty his skin shown like alabaster, almost polished and a stark contrast beneath his always-black clothing. It wasn't fair that, even beneath his duster, she could still see the definition of his arms and chest. Not fair that his soft blonde curly-ish hair begged to be tousled and touched. Not fair. Not fair. Not fair!

"Slayer!" He was insistent.

"What?!!" she snapped.

"I said, are you finding any vampires or other nasties about tonight?"

Nasties? He said nasties? He was mocking her, he knew damned well that her mind was not on her work or beasts or vampires, well, not vampires in general. He was enjoying this. Damn. Damn. Damn. "Okay, Buffy, regroup," she thought to herself. "Now, you could handle this in one of several ways. You could stake him right here, usually the first inclination anyway, but he honestly hasn't done anything to deserve it just now. You could punch him in the nose, always a good option. You could shove him up against that tree and press your lips to his, parting them slightly and letting your tongue ...... no, no, no that is NOT one of the choices. What are you thinking??? Ack!" She shook her head to clear it and looked up at him again, a mixture of innocence and confusion, and said, "Huh?"

A soft, almost seductive chuckle rumbled from deep in Spike's throat. "Girl, whatever you have, you have it bad. Did some naughty college boy steal another piece of you?

That was it. She clocked him. Her fist came smashing right across his well-chiseled cheekbone and took him down. He hadn't been expecting it, at least not yet anyway, so down he went onto the soggy ground. Before he could recover, she was on him, straddling his ribcage and looking like she was going to pound him into dirt. Except she didn't. She stopped, looking at him angrily. He was cool beneath her, cool against her inner thighs, her knees and every other part of her that touched him. She tried not to think about it, but her body suddenly became insufferably hot, her breathing more shallow, and she felt a tightness in her lower body which was threatening to spread.

She placed her hands on his chest, and Spike cringed, thinking, "If she has a stake up her sleeve, I'm dust."

Almost reading his thoughts, she took off her jacket, peeling it off her body slowly, too slowly, almost like she was ... Spike began to take notice and thought, "No, she wasn't doing that ... was she?" and the moment passed as she threw her jacket on the ground next to them.

Her eyes flashed down at him, and she pressed her hands onto his chest again. Then she curled her fingers into his t-shirt and without warning ripped it wide open.



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CHAPTER 2


Spike involuntarily gasped. "Okay, that was unexpected," he thought.

She looked down at him, studying the highly-polished marble of his torso, the cuts and definition of his muscules. She pondered a moment, "How did he do that?" Her breathing began to quicken and she was at that moment of indecision, that moment of truth when she could either kill him, torture him, or .... option three it is.

She dug her nails into his skin and leaned down, planting a hungry, fiery kiss on his lips, tugging at them, tasting them, then drawing his lower lip into her mouth.

Spike's eyes flew open in surprise. "Okay, also not expected," he thought. It took him a moment to respond to her, but respond he did, parting his lips and drawing her tongue deeply into his mouth, swirling his own around hers and moaning softly. She pulled back slightly, their eyes searing into one another, desire and want glistening on them both in a silent moment that hung in the air like time standing still.

"What am I doing???" Buffy thought, her breathing still fast and her hands still digging into Spike's flesh. He didn't even feel it. He was so thrown by what was happening he hadn't even noticed she had broken the skin and tiny drops of blood had formed around her nails.

Suddenly horrified, Buffy released him and stood up, standing straddle over him, staring down in disbelief. Then, without warning, she ran. She didn't care where as long as it was away from him. Far, far, far away from him. Her mind was screaming as she ran. Not Spike. No, absolutely NOT Spike. She'd find Parker Abrahms first. NOT SPIKE!!

Spike was stunned. Worse than that, he was aroused. Very aroused. And she was ... gone? "Bloody hell," he murmured as he tried to stand and catch his balance. He caught glimpse of her running into the woods and made a snap decision. "After her, you mindless nit, you want her, you've wanted her a good long while, now she wants you. Why are you still standing here? Go!" He headed for the woods in pursuit, gaining on her quickly, which surprised him. She was being careless, desperate, and it made catching up to her that much easier.

Spike caught her arm and pulled on her, knocking them both a little off balance, and her enough that he could get a firm grip on both her arms. He held her there, both of them staring at one another, the only sound her rapid breathing. It was as if the entire world melted away behind them. Their eyes were locked into one another, saying nothing and saying everything.

He pushed her up against the large trunk of a pine tree, pinning her there by the shoulders. He looked at her, filled with confusion, but overpowered with whatever this desire was that consumed them both. He ran his hands down her arms then pushed them up over her head, holding them there by the wrists with one hand and letting the other trail back down her arm to her shoulder. His eyes never moved from hers, not even to blink. He stepped in closer, close enough to feel the heat from her body spreading to his own.

His lips very softly brushed against hers. There was nothing urgent about it, nothing overwhelming, it was sweet and gentle and Buffy was completely thrown by it. She thought he would be rough, almost brutal. He wasn't. As he lingered there, savoring her lips, Buffy relaxed into him, softening her body and opening her mouth to him. He was cool and delicious, and she felt her hunger for him building inside her. His free hand moved past her cheek and into her hair turning her face up and into him further, and she thought to herself, "Oh my god, how could anything feel this good," and she felt her knees go weak.

Spike caught her as she faultered, pushing her wrists harder into the tree and pressing his body against hers to secure her there, his torn shirt hanging open revealing his smooth, glistening chest. A wisp of breeze sent a burst of his musky scent into her making her feel even more weak and helpless. The kiss broken, he looked at her again, drinking in the lines of her face, the fullness of her lips, and the desire which smouldered from her eyes. Nothing in this world, or any other world, could make him release her right now.

Buffy could hardly breathe, either from passion or fear, she wasn't sure, but all she could do was surrender to him. His kiss, his touch were so powerful, it was as if all her will had bled into the ground beneath her. As he steadied her, she felt the hard truth of his arousal pressing against her, urging her to surrender more of herself to him, to open to him and let him in; not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually, entirely. Spike's hand slipped from her hair and trailed tenderly down her neck, across her collar bone and very lightly brushed across her nipple, making it harden beneath it's lacey covering and sending a wave of pleasure throughout her body. He went further, down to her waist, sliding his hand beneath her blouse and around to her back, spreading and curling his fingers so that they lightly scratched her suddenly sensitive skin. Their eyes locked. Neither of them dared to look away but instead swam deeper into the reflection of their want, passion in the forefront, amazement in the background. "This was Spike, how could he have this affect?" His knee worked it's way between her thighs and pressed up into the fire burning there. She thought she was going to pass out from the pleasure of it.

Spike himself couldn't believe he was holding the Slayer, touching her, caressing her bare skin and feeling the wetness of her arousal. What she did not know was that she held him as well, in some intense, unseen, and magical way. He at once wanted to ravish her and to savor every inch of her, torn between wanting everything all at once and wanting to make it last. He leaned in to taste her lips again, finding them open and welcoming to him. His tongue slowly and gently stroked the inner edge of of her upper lip while at the same time his hand slipped up her back and easily released the clasp of her bra, allowing her breasts to relax into his bare chest. It was both exquisite and agonizing, and they were both still dressed.

He liked it this way. He knew it was beginning to torture her, and he wanted to prolong this as much as possible, but his pulsing erection was begging to be released from it's black denim prison. This was going to take a lot of self control. She squirmed, lifting one leg to wrap around his hips and pull him in closer, wishing their clothes away, and wanting him to fill her. He took her ankle in his free hand and drew it down his leg, leaning further into her and whispering across her ear so that it almost tickled, "Not yet, luv." Buffy moaned beneath him and he had to stop himself from almost coming right then. Yes, this was going to take a lot of control.

Spike lowered his knee slightly, smiling to himself as her body followed it down, not wanting to break the pleasure of him against her. Their lips met again as his hand moved between them and deftly unfastened the tiny buttons of her blouse which fell open. Her skin glistened in the moonlight, moist with perspiration and desire. For him. This was for him. And he knew it. And he wanted to reward her for it.



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Her loosened bra dangled in front of him, obscuring the view he wanted, so with one swift movement, he yanked it free, snapping the straps and sending it hurling to the ground. He lowered his head to her now exposed chest, and in one long stroke licked a slow trail in the valley between her breasts. She whimpered. So he did it again, only this time continuing over to the right and darting his cool tongue around the edge of her hard and aroused nipple. She couldn't stand it and wrythed beneath him wanting more, twisting her body so that his mouth could take in the darkened, aching tip. He pulled back slightly and, with a mischevious glance up at her, blew gently across it, watching it pucker even more. She moaned, loudly, and he was delighted, taking that opportunity to pull her throbbing nipple deeply into his mouth and suckling on it, teasing it with his tongue at the same time and then letting out a long, "mmmmmmmmmmmm" which vibrated against her skin sending thousands and thousands of tiny prickles through her every nerve. She lost herself to him then, to his skill at reading and playing her body in this forte of pleasure.

As his mouth engulfed hers yet again, she felt his hand at her waistband unfastening her pants, sliding them down as his skilled fingers sought the source of her passion. The Slayer was more than just wet, her juices had already soaked through her panties and covered her inner thighs. His fingertips dances in it, spreading it around and slathering in it. His hand became a skilled instrument rubbing gently but urgently over the damp, satiny fabric and pressing in at just the right spot where he could feel her hardened nub aching to be found and fondled. He pressed in again, rubbing her mound in a large, slow circle, feeling her hips move with him, silently begging for more.

Masterful fingers whisked the silky material to the side and slipped inside her depths. First one finger, then two, twisting as they entered her, the heel of his hand skillfully pressed against her clit moving in slow, deliberate circles and then replacing it with his more agile thumb, gently flicking and circling until she screamed in release as the first orgasm washed over her, throwing her head back as her body released even more of her precious juices into his hand. He pushed his digits just a little deeper into her, pressing that ultimate g-spot and prolonging her pleasure a few more seconds before withdrawing and gently closing the folds around her now shuddering and overly-sensitive sex, massaging her gently as she came back down to earth.

Gasping for breath, her heart pounding in her chest, she could hardly speak, though she did try. Spike looked into her eyes again, cooing seductively ... "What, luv?"

"More .... please"

He didn't need to be told again. He released her wrists, her arms falling to her sides immediately and he used both his hands now to remove her pants and thong, tossing them on the growing pile of her clothes on the ground. He pushed her blouse off her shoulders, peppering her neck and shoulders with long kisses, sucking bits of flesh into his mouth and then releasing it before moving to another, more sensitive spot. Her fingers tangled into his hair, pulling slightly and urging him on, his own desire threatening to take over and let himself spill into her. Somehow sensing that, she urgently reached for the buttons of his jeans, strong Slayer hands ripping them off rather than fooling with unfastening them. His hardened cock emerged pulsating into her hand, droplets of precum glimmering. She spread it around the tip with her fingers, then engulfed his cool shaft with her hand, squeezing until she felt him cringe in pain, then relaxing her grip slightly as she began to pump the full length of him. He was large by any standard, long and thick, and Buffy desperately wanted him inside her.

Throwing her arms around his neck she wrapped her legs around his waist, his duster covering them. She hovered over him for a moment, just long enough to force him to make the move. He pushed her into the side of the tree once again and plunged all the way inside her, both of them crying out as they came together with his first, powerful stroke. He stayed there, inside her, grinding his hips against her, emptying himself in long, slow spurts and feeling her come against him over and over again each time he moved. His head fell against her chest, both of them panting almost in unison. Murmured sounds and non-words passing between them as the streams of passion ran down both of their bodies in release.

They remained there a long time ... until Spike broke the silence. Still deep inside her, he looked up into Buffy's eyes and whispered, "More ... please," and they fell to the ground.
 



Continued...

 

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