Red to White
Written by: Larissa a.k.a Elle
As Buffy stomped up the stairs to bed, fully convinced that Spike was the biggest prick on the face of the Hellmouth, a dead shell of a man stood on her doorstep - disbelieving, lovesick, desperate, confused.
Spike's nose and body still reverberated from the force of the heavy oak door slamming in his face. Slowly, a realisation hit him; for the first time tonight, he'd danced alone. He had taken the
biggest risk of his unlife and now he was locked behind an iron curtain that rose up to bar him from his love's home. He felt as if his unbeating, unbeaten, heart had been ripped from its resting
place.
"Slayer's getting good at wrenching the hearts out of demons," Spike thought with a wry, self-deprecating smile. "First, he captured Angel's heart and damned him with her love. Then, she tore out the heart of that beast of burden, Adam, with her hot little fist."
The shock of the deinvite began to wear off and Spike staggered down the front stairs and walked off slowly in the direction of his crypt. From the vantage point of her bedroom window, Buffy stared at his retreating form until it blended with the dark of the night. She dismissed the curious, deep-seated feelings that licked at her consciousness and at her conscience like a slow-burning flame.
"Creep!" she muttered, turning from the window and starting to undress for bed.
But his words still echoed in her mind.
"This, with you, is wrong. I know it. I'm not an idiot!"
"Idiotic 'woman-in-chains' routine. What was he thinking?" she whispered to herself, petulantly stripping her pants off and kicking them into a corner of her room.
"It's not pretty, but it's real," the voice in her head insisted.
"Delusional fool! It's not like I ever gave him any reason to hope…" Buffy paused as an older memory came to her.
"I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance," Spike's deep voice cajoled as she pealed off her red blouse, the one with the heart-shaped bodice.
Donning a sheer gossamer nightshirt, Buffy recalled the passion of beneath Spike's words and the pressure of his hands on her arms. Irrevocably, her own words closed in to betray her.
"Say it's true. Say I do want to…"
Blinking away the memory, Buffy draped her delicate blouse over the foot of her bed and spent a moment enjoying the beautiful effect created as bits of white coverlet peeped through the garment's decoupage lace. Buffy left the blouse where it was and stretched lazily as she burrowed under the white coverlet and pulled it and a pristine white sheet up to her chin.
Her feet hardly disturbed the delicate red blouse spread over the foot of her bed as she closed her eyes. Even with her eyes shut, however, she could hear his voice, his words, haunting her.
"I *love* you - This, with you, is wrong. I know it. I'm not an idiot! - I'm drowning in you Summers - All that's left is you in a dead shell…"
"Bloody hell!" she grumbled, annoyed by the fact she had used one of *his* pet phrases. She slid into a new position and, determined to slay all thoughts of Spike, cleared her mind, punched her pillow petulantly, and curled into a defensive, foetal position.
Very soon, the arms of Morpheus swept her away and a deep sleep stilled her self-righteous indignation. The realm of dreams welcomed her weary spirit.
***
Cunningly, surreptitiously, she watched the naked beast in action. She could barely see him through the mist. She was empty of motion, like a hunter lying in wait. Bold and unashamed, the slayer's gaze snaked down the trunk of its body, taking in every ridge, plane and groove of its splendour. Then, as it twitched slightly, the tip of its cock distracted her. A milky-white substance oozed at its head - glistening, twinkling, beckoning. She licked her lips involuntarily.
God! She wanted to take it into her mouth, feel its stony-cold vitality slip back and forth into her warm orifice. At the thought of it, the slayer salivated. She wanted to envelop the turgid member
with her lips then suck it down until she choked, until the slick, soft surface of the beast's cock slid into her throat, until it cut off her air supply and she climaxed.
But before she could do so, she would have to get rid of the ridiculous veil that swayed before her. She swatted ineffectually at the film in front of her. The film was a translucid, white sheen
spotted with blotches of red. The red spots, like cherries, danced before her eyes.
Vaguely, the slayer remembered wearing a dress with a similar pattern in a dream she'd had long ago.
For the life of her, she couldn't recall that dream. All she knew was that the cherries concealed her view of her prey's cock, shielding it from her perusal, frustrating her no end.
Luckily for her, the shaft came into focus once again. It was attached to a beast whose face she couldn't name. Suddenly, through the filtered light, she saw he was no longer alone and, for some reason, her body began to sway back and forth.
"The cunt's with him," the slayer snorted derisively.
"Fuckin' ho," she added.
As she prepared to watch the beast and the slut perform their mating ritual, she stroked her own pubic hair lightly. Then, purposefully, she dipped one of her fingers inside her wet core. Lost in her own desire, her breathing became shallow. She closed her eyes and never noticed when the veil dropped from her eyes.
***
She scooped out a generous gob of her own lubricant and applied it to the end of his penis. With her index finger, she gently blended the juices on the tip of his cock. At her touch, his cock tightened perceptibly and rested fully against his lower belly. He watched her face and burned for her to see him. Pushed past mere desire, he waited to see what her next move would be.
She knelt before him, swiftly, with absolute economy of movement, and grabbed his cock at the base with both hands. Roughly, she wrapped her lips, tongue and teeth around the end of his prick and sucked voraciously. Then, she repeatedly stroked him with both her mouth and her hands. Slide up and down. Up and down. Up and…
He moaned, trapped by the power she wielded over him.
At length, his legs started to tremble and she stood once more. Like a predator, she laced her fingers behind his neck and dug her nails into his scalp. Savagely, she jerked his head forward and plunged her multi-flavoured tongue into his mouth.
He almost ejaculated on her stomach.
She pulled away abruptly and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, quite satisfied with her performance. Her lips still glistened with spittle and various juices; a wild brushfire burnt within her. "Take me, now" she growled, rubbing her stomach against his arousal.
Released from her spell, his passion sprung forth. He scooped up her right leg, lifted her feet off the ground and thrust into her cunt full-force from a standing position. With only one of his hands pinioning her spine and his penis holding her in place, her body bucked rhythmically as he thrust into her again and again. She dropped her chin to her chest so she could catch glimpses of his cock as it appeared and disappeared into her body - the bitch's body.
It wasn't enough. She knew he was holding something back.
Sparing her.
She hated him for it. Hated him for not taking it, taking her, all the way.
"If you can't fuck me hard, don't bother fucking me at all!" she exclaimed.
His engorged cock sprang out of her as she sprang away from his body and leapt into a dark red abyss.
***
Buffy stumbled back against a stark white wall.
Dimly, she was aware that she was in her own room. And she wasn't alone.
Spike stood before her in all his white-marble glory.
It was too late now; the beast had followed her past the point of no return.
"What the bloody hell do you want from me?" Spike yelled, drawing his hands through his platinum hair, in a frantic attempt to tame his rebellious curls and his lust.
He watched as the wordless creature before him - his slayer, his Buffy - stalked toward him. She grabbed his shoulders tightly and with a single, brusque shove, tossed his body on the bed scrambling over him with feline agility. Then, she rammed his shoulders into the headboard so hard they almost dislocated.
"I want you to pump into me until you bore a hole straight through me, until drops of my blood spatter this white sheet and I can wear it to my funeral!" she spat.
Inflamed beyond reason by her words and her actions, Spike threw her off him toward the foot of the bed. She lay on her back and he jerked her hips forward so that, with her legs bent, her feet could rest against the headboard with her legs pressing around him.
Experimentally, he nibbled at the tender skin high up on her inner thigh. In a flutter of eyelids and a succession of encouraging moans, Buffy consented to his wordless request and he sank his fangs into her femoral artery and drank. Down, down, down.
Almost immediately, Buffy felt an orgasm mounting but Spike stopped draining her just as she was on the cusp of coming. Holding her shoulders down on the mattress, he brushed the tip of his nose against hers and made as if to swoop in for a blood-tinged kiss but, instead, he thrust his cock into her savagely.
"Yes!" she screamed, grabbing hold of his upper arms and licking her own blood off his lips.
"Yes, fuck me! Into me. Through me".
Spike, saddened by her masochism, acquiesced. He didn't want to hurt her – only pleasure her. But it was out of his hands now. Buffy was in control now as she rolled her hips and arched against him as he plumbed her depths.
"Harder, harder!" she cried.
As Buffy's warmth burnt beneath him, Spike realised that, despite their concerted attempts to ride each other into oblivion, neither of them seemed to be achieving a climax.
The cinders of violence and sex were linked and were feeding off each other, but no flame seemed strong enough to consume them entirely.
Abruptly, Spike stopped thrusting into Buffy's taut, bucking body and sprang back against the headboard, bashing his head on the hard surface in disgust. Buffy, who'd had her eyes closed the entire time he was inside her, suddenly looked down the length of her body to where he sat, slumped.
"What are you doing?" she said in a dead voice.
Spike didn't answer and, after a bit, made a move as if to get up from the bed.
"Where are you going? We aren't done here," Buffy said, feverishly.
With blistering speed, she stood up on the bed and placed her feet on either side of his hips. With dead seriousness, she crouched and rubbed her damp pubic hair into his nose and mouth before sliding down, taking hold of his hips and impaling herself on his cock with a satisfied grunt. Once again, Buffy kept her eyes closed as she rode him. Captivated, Spike watched her as she bobbed on him, seemingly disinterested in what she was doing. Only his sustained arousal
belied his cool indifference. When sweat started to bead around Buffy's temples, he finally broke his silence.
"Look at me," he asked, clasping her chin between his thumb and index finger.
"No!" she answered, breathlessly, continuing her wild ride and flinging away his hand. Hair flew from side to side and random strands wound around his neck like tentacles.
Finally, on one of her down strokes, Spike clamped his hands on her hips and tilted his hips into her brutally. Buffy's eyes flew open.
The Slayer glared at Spike and they both froze, livid with rage.
"Look at me, bitch." Spike's voice shook as he once again ground his member into Buffy. "Look at me or, I swear, I'll screw you dry. You'll still feel my cock inside you weeks from now."
Buffy's eyes darkened.
Now he had her full attention. Good, because he hadn't had enough of her yet to be done with her.
"I'm going to make you beg for it! Make you mine," he hissed as he drilled into her one last time.
Then, to punctuate his statement, with cool deliberation, he pushed Buffy off his cock then spun her around so she was positioned on all fours in front of him. He swiftly drew his left index finger down the cleft of her buttocks and thrust it into her anus. Taken aback, Buffy gasped.
An altogether new sensation, a drugging sensation, seeped through to her bones. Once she got used to the pressure, Buffy leaned back against Spike's probing finger, wanting to increase the feeling of being filled with cool, searing fire. Her own juices ran down her thighs as she felt him bite into her left ass cheek and draw blood. A trickle of blood ran into her own flowing juices and dripped onto the sheet beneath her.
Keeping his finger in her anus, Spike spread her legs further apart and positioned himself so that his mouth had access to her gaping, tumescent outer lips. With fatal precision, his tongue darted around her clitoris before delving deeper within her. Thirstily, he drank down the vaginal tears she had shed, and gently he drained the fluids from her. When he was done, he laved her with his tongue and sucked on her clitoris with his soft, bruised lips. Buffy let the gentle tugging lull her even further into a sedated state and she let herself sag against his mouth languidly.
That's when Spike bit down on her labia and greedily sucked the blood that ran out.
Buffy writhed in joy; she whimpered in pain. For the first time in her life, she was experiencing the type of pain that pleasured. I was unbearable yet she wanted…
"More?" he asked, removing his mouth from his cunt and his finger from her puckered hole. On an impulse, Spike ran his fingers along her lower abdomen and he felt a ripple of satisfaction as the tiny swell under her navel quivered involuntarily.
"Yeeessss," she muttered, helplessly, face first into the mattress.
She desperately wanted to watch what he was doing but didn't dare move. Instead, she summoned all her strength and let their dance continue. When he made no move to touch her, she groaned:
"Give it to me! Please!"
"What do you want me to give you?" Spike asked, drawing concentric circles on her buttocks and brushing her anus using feather-light touches.
Suddenly, for the first time in months, Buffy knew exactly what she wanted.
"I want you to fuck me up the ass," she whispered.
"What? I didn't quite hear you, luv?" he said, continuing his slow, hypnotic torture.
"I want you. To fuck me. Up the ass," she gasped. She raised her face from the mattress and twisted her head around to glare at him briefly.
"Please!" she begged. "Do it now. Now!"
Spike's cold blood chilled as her pleading words ran through him but his desire ran too hot for him not to fulfill her wishes. He got to his knees and grabbed her hips, firmly.
Buffy resisted in no way. She waited.
Using one hand, he positioned the tip of his cock and inserted it into her tight entrance. Then, he let her brace herself for the invasion. Buffy anticipated and craved what was coming without really knowing what to expect. Instinctively, she grabbed a handful of the blood-spattered white cotton sheet beneath her. Poised behind her, Spike watched, enthralled, as his penis began to disappear into her body. He felt her inner muscle give way. Spike hesitated a moment and Buffy got impatient. She reclined onto his cock and suddenly her tight passage sucked him deep inside her body.
"Fuck me! Fuck me, now!" she ordered, overcome with sensation.
And he did. Deaf to her screams, he penetrated her completely, repeatedly, steadying her hips with his hands. He felt each stroke into her like a stab to his heart. He pounded into her orifice for several minutes, rubbing her clit intermittently but, as an unbearable pressure settled around his cock, it became clear that there would be no climax for either of them.
Spike had never felt as desperate, not even when he had fought demons and slayers for his unlife. For months now, without really trying to, he'd attempted to show Buffy how to face the darkness within herself.
She had a death wish, as sure as he did. He could see it in her posture, in her eyes, in everything she touched.
Now, it occurred to him, in a moment of clarity born of exhaustion, that perhaps the little death eluded them because what they were in fact seeking through their coupling was a more permanent release. Spike considered this and began to pull out of Buffy again but she
barked:
"No! Don't leave me yet! Don't leave me again. Don't leave me alone! Alone in the dark."
Spike wrenched himself away from her and rested against the headboard in quiet anguish; Buffy collapsed on her stomach and buried her face in her hands deep in the mattress.
"No. No. No."
Spike fully realised that Buffy was racked with anger, disappointment and unfulfilled desire. It was the light she craved after all! And here he'd gone and blanketed her in blood, sweat, tears and darkness.
But, he was a coward. He couldn't do it, couldn't bring himself to take her into the light that came in the form of searing white pain. And though he had branded her body with bright red streaks, he couldn't bleed her white because then he too would be alone. Alone in the dark.
He couldn't bear the thought of existing in a world without her in it.
Spike felt there was nothing he could do for Buffy physically that would rid her of her sense of self-loathing, of the weight of being alive. As despair washed over Spike, he heard a sound that pierced through his pain.
Half wrapped in a bloodstained white sheet, Buffy had curled herself into a little ball and was making a strangled mewling sound as she sobbed into her fists.
"Even Spike can't get off on me!" she thought.
The physical pain she was experiencing was nothing compared to the dull ache she felt in her soul.
"Make the pain go away. Make it stop. Let the end come," she prayed silently.
Spike reined in his own pain and, gently, began his final assault. He rolled Buffy onto her back using his legs. Tentatively, as Buffy watched him, he began to run his hands up her body, gliding over her toes and feet, and then sweeping up her legs possessively, mapping her supple skin. When he reached her hips, he pressed his cold palms into her hipbones, leaving ephemeral white head prints behind. He traced circles over her ovaries with his thumbs and kissed her along
the pale furrow of hair that ran from the pubic hair to her navel.
Buffy no longer cared that he was seeing her discomfited, defeated, dead. She couldn't get any more naked than she felt so she abandoned herself to the touch of his hands and his lips. Gradually, she relaxed her arms at her side and unclenched her fists and felt the cool white sheet with the pads of her fingers.
Suddenly, he was looking into her eyes and she found that they held no censure, only sadness and a deep understanding.
Overcome with his show of compassion, a cry rose in her chest like that of a fatally wounded animal. Hot tears burned tracks down her cheeks and neck, pooled in the creases of her mouth and ran into her ears. Spike soothed her by fitting his hands under each of her breasts and laying his head between them.
As her first cry faded into another in the dark, Buffy kept Spike's head clasped to her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, feeling infinitely comforted by the weight of his upper body grinding into her lower ribs and abdomen. He was no longer a separate entity; she now carried him in her womb.
When Buffy's crying began to sound more human, Spike turned them both onto their sides. Buffy kept one leg hooked over his hip and clutched his head to her breast as she tucked her chin firmly, possessively, into his tousled hair. Spike enveloped her slim frame with his arms and his body. When he spoke, his words resonated against her ribcage and he spoke directly to her heart.
"Shhhh. Stop crying, luv. Stop crying. Shhhh. Please stop crying. I love you. Don't cry. I love you. Shhhh. I love you so. I loveyou. Shhhh. I love you. I love you so. I love you…" he keened
continuously.
That's when they came - the little deaths.
Hers came in waves that broke in time with his words of comfort and love, as she held his head against her chest and rubbed her mons into his hip.
His came when she tilted his head back and looked into his eyes, asking, begging to see him. As he gazed deep into her eyes, something deep within Spike shattered. Carefully, he settled inside her one final time, and came home.
Lying against the crushed-cherry bloodstains on a snow-white background, they saw each other into being.
***
Spike bolted upright in his bed. All he knew was that the smell of desire and pain lingered in his heart and in his imagination.
***
When Buffy began to awaken, she didn't realise she had seen into the heart of darkness.
"This, with you, is wrong. I know it," she mumbled, as the dawn burnt through the morning's misty veil.
"But I need it," she sighed as she slowly drifted into consciousness.
Buffy opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was the beautiful pattern at the foot of her bed. Somehow, however, the patchwork of red to white didn't seem the same as it had the night before.
Buffy rose and walked to the foot of her bed. As she knelt, she sensed the wetness between her thighs. Gingerly, she ran her fingers over the double curves that formed the bodice of her red blouse and sighed as her nipples pebbled against her nightshirt and a faint aftershock orgasm overcame her.
Buffy exhaled slowly. She knew it had all been a dream and she was safe now. But she also knew you didn't get fucked in your dreams unless you wanted to and beasts didn't speak to your heart unless your heart was willing to listen.
The End