Self-Indulgence
 


Written by: Spikelicious




Summary: In answer to VicNoir's challenge, stated below. B/S sort of, Spike and Spike's Left Hand most definitely
Challenge: And so, a challenge, my first: a PWP, featuring Spike and his left hand. The fic must include 1) ice cream, 2) the smell of new leather, 3) the words "Get the bloody hell out of my fantasy, you dozy bint!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" characters, they all belong to Joss Whedon, & Mutant Enemy Productions &* Fox Production.
Email for Feedback: spikelicious2001@yahoo.com




Buffy scuffed the soles of her new ankle-length brown leather boots as she made her way home slowly, carving spoonfuls of Double Fudge Chunk out of the open container she carried with
her. After an uneventful patrol, she'd decided a little self-indulgence was the order of the day. Especially after a day like yesterday; for God's sake, Dawn had been making out with a vampire?! What had she been thinking?

Buffy paused, spoon lightly clenched in her teeth as she cocked her head to the side, relishing a memory of cool lips covering her own with fierce possessiveness, cool fingers trailing down her
neck to stroke the vein throbbing gently under the skin. She recalled the passionate phrases muttered into her ear--endearments and sweet somethings spoken softly so her temporarily blind watcher couldn't hear. Yes, Buffy knew exactly what Dawn had been thinking.

She shook her head, realizing that she had been recalling her brief engagement to Spike, rather than her doomed relationship with Angel. She attacked the container of ice cream ferociously, thanking the lesser deities that the convenience store had had plastic spoons. Nothing like instant gratification after a long night of boring.

As Buffy rounded the corner she realized that she'd made her way to Spike's crypt without even realizing it. She sighed heavily; this was happening entirely too often. But the vampire's calming
presence--much different than his frenetic energy of earlier in the year--was the only thing she could count on to soothe her jangled nerves.

Shrugging, Buffy entered Spike's crypt quietly, not even sure if he was home. As she absently spooned another mouthful of ice cream out of the container, some dripped off the spoon and onto the toe of her boot. 'Aw, shit,' she muttered, bending to examine the offending dollop of chocolate. She brushed it off with a finger, then used the cuff of her sleeve to wipe off the remaining ice cream. 'Damn, I just got these boots. Maybe Spike has some...' Buffy cut her own thoughts off, realizing that a) Spike wasn't likely to have any kind of anything cleaner in his crypt, and b) Spike didn't seem to be present or accounted for.

Glancing around, she was about to call out his name when she heard a voice call out her name, "Buffy!"

Thinking Spike had sensed her, she made her way quietly down the ladder to the crypt basement. Hearing movement, she took another bite of ice cream then peered around the corner towards
the bed.

Ice cream forgotten, she swallowed instinctively as her eyes widened at the sight before her. Without thought, she tucked her body away so that she could watch without alerting the vampire
to her presence.

Buffy's breath became shallow as she let her gaze travel from Spike's face, which was contorted with pleasure and concentration, down to his left hand, which was busily pumping up and down over his ivory shaft, which see could see very clearly thanks to the small light by the bed.

'Wow' Buffy thought as she tried to focus her thoughts. 'Spike is very...gifted.'

Thoughts from earlier intruded and suddenly Buffy had the image of a cool hardness sliding into her wet core, stretching her, filling her, making her complete.

Without realizing it, she moaned as her hand traveled of its own accord down to the crotch of her jeans, caressing herself over the fabric to the rhythm of Spike's hand.


* * * * *


Spike was completely lost in his fantasy of making love to his resurrected Slayer when he heard a moan--not one of his own, either. As his hand stilled, and his senses cleared a little, he
immediately scented a woman's arousal. Not just any woman, either. The unique cocktail of scents, a mixture of vanilla, new leather, and for some reason, chocolate, gave her away. Buffy.

A slow, knowing smile crossed his face and he began pumping even faster. If she wanted a show, he'd give her one, free of charge.

Throwing his head back, he moaned, "Oh, Buffy! Yes, yes!" He heard a surprised squeak from the nook where Buffy was hidden and grinned, smelling a fresh flood of arousal coming from her. God, he wished she'd just come out and join him!

Rubbing the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb as a bead of precum appeared, Spike groaned. As the sensation of his hand meshed with the scent of the nearby Slayer, Spike
became lost in his fantasy again, picturing Buffy's golden head bobbing up and down as she took his length into her mouth, alternately sucking and licking as she tickled his balls with her
fingertips. He growled, "Oh, god, yes pet! Yes, suck harder!"

He dimly heard a softly muttered 'shit!' and the sound of something hitting the floor. Unable to continue pretending that Buffy wasn't tantalizingly close, he slowed his hand's rhythm and
said softly but clearly, "Come on out and join the party, luv! It's fun to watch, but it's even more fun to participate!"

A strangled moan came from the Slayer as she emerged, looking ashamed and embarrassed, and directing her gaze above Spike's neck.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I didn't mean to..."

Spike chuckled as his hand came to rest at the base of his shaft. He squeezed so that he wouldn't come at the sight of her standing before him as he wanked off--such were the things fantasies were made of, after all. At least some of his earlier, more lusty ones. These days, his fantasies tended to revolve around making love to Buffy slowly, sweetly.

His cock jumped at the thought and he squeezed again, bringing his attention back to Buffy.

"What, pet...You didn't mean to come down here or you didn't mean to get turned on? Or...you didn't mean to stay and watch?"

She swallowed thickly, her glance flickering down to his crotch before she pulled it back up to his face.

"Uh...I...didn't mean to...spill ice cream on your floor!"

Without another word, she turned and fled up the ladder to the crypt, not able to deal with her heightened state of arousal around the blonde vampire. 'Maybe someday I'll be able to stay,'
she thought briefly as she made her way out of the crypt.

Spike shook his head at the departed Slayer then got up, pulling his jeans up around his erection, and went over to where Buffy had been sequestered. He spied a half-empty ice cream carton
on the floor with a pool of melted chocolate around it. Sighing, he scooped the ice cream into the container and threw it into the trash bin by the stairs, noting before he did that it was the same
kind of ice cream Harmony used to bring home after she'd 'knocked off' a convenience store and all the clerks.

As Spike settled back into his bed, he began stroking himself again, not yet satisfied. An image flashed in his head, of one time when Harmony had used the ice cream to dot her initials on
his chest and then lick them off. He tried picturing Buffy doing it instead, but Harmony's face kept intruding.

Frustrated, Spike pumped faster, just wanting to be sated enough to go to sleep.

Suddenly, a voice in his head whined, "Spikey, when are you taking me to France?"

Roaring, Spike came as he thrust angrily into his hand, "Get the bloody hell out of my fantasy, you dozy bint!"

As he calmed down enough to clean up the mess he'd made--deciding the other mess that Buffy had made could wait til later--Spike gleefully recalled the look on Buffy's face as she'd glanced at his crotch: wonder, surprise, lust. No disgust, no hatred. Settling back into bed, he nodded to himself. She'd been interested, all right, and now all he had to do was get her to admit to herself that they could be incredible together.

As the vampire drifted off to sleep, his left hand wandered down to the already tented area under the sheets as visions of a chocolate-covered Slayer suffused his mind.



The End



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