The first time she saw him he was perched on a rock, staring out into the ocean. He seemed very comfortable—his arms lightly resting on his knees, his cigarette gently resting in his fingers. She looked at him through her lens to get a better picture and was not disappointed. His lean, defined arms were pale, glowing in the sunlight, in contrast to his black tank. His shock of blond hair ruffled in the slight wind; his worn jeans were slung low on his narrow hips. But it was his face that stopped her, made her zoom in and take a flurry of shots in an attempt to capture him forever in her camera. His cheekbones were sharp, and his eyes squinted in the glaring sun, giving his face a tough look to it. His mouth puckered a bit around his cigarette, and as he looked down, his lashes spiked against his face. Stunningly gorgeous, she thought. She put down her camera for a moment to process the information, then quickly looked through her viewfinder again, afraid he might have disappeared. She found him and began taking pictures in earnest, zooming in on certain parts of his body, capturing his entire physique in other shots. She watched in fascination as he flicked away his cigarette, whipped off his tank top, unzipped his jeans to reveal black Speedos, and dove into the water. She lowered her camera and sat down on the warm sand. She noticed that she only had one more shot left on her roll. She snapped a photo of the empty slab that held the remnants of the hottie she had been ogling for the past 15 minutes and then quickly walked back to her townhouse to develop the roll.
The second time she saw him was surprisingly closer—still behind glass, but that of a window rather than a lens, and right next door, to be exact. It had been only a day since she had taken her photos, which had come out amazingly, and as she posted some up on her wall, she happened to glance out her window and see her mystery model. He had just left the townhouse adjacent to hers and quickly, perhaps angrily, walked out the backyard and strode out onto the sand as if in search of something important. He was dressed similarly, tank top and jeans, and she watched as he quickly disappeared over the dunes. She sat down, tape in one hand and photo in the other, and took in this new information. Her mystery model staying right next door!
She mentally thanked her parents for nagging her about staying in the beach house this summer. The beach house still belonged to her parents, despite the divorce, but it was hers this summer. They had been wanting her to take it for a while now, not only to relax but also to have someone stay in the house as opposed to letting it sit empty all year. It helped them justify having a townhouse right on the beach. Their reasons didn’t matter; only his proximity mattered right now. As the sun set on the close shores, she contemplated how she’d be able to meet him. Night came as her thoughts meandered through fantasies before finally reaching sleep.
Ch. 2: Separate but Equal
It was the loud yelling and heavy movement next door that woke her up. She could hear some kind of argument taking place, muffled yet harsh tones that piqued her interest but couldn’t satisfy it. She tried going back to sleep, tried listening to music, tried counting— but there was no going back. Her mind was furiously imagining what was happening, and sleep was fleeing from its ferocity. So, she decided to enjoy the otherwise still night.
She grabbed her short terry robe and climbed the stairs that led to the roof. Her parents had installed a tanning spot on their roof that she felt was one of the house’s best amenities, but she had never been up there at night. She breathed in the salty sweetness of the evening and allowed it to caress her legs and weave through her hair. She had always loved the intoxicating night air, and she was about to slide into a chair when a light next door caught her eye.
Having always been on the roof during the daytime, she had never noticed the skylights that ran across her neighbor’s roof— the sunlight must have reflected off them and made them difficult to see through. With the darkness, however, the lit rooms pierced the night with startling clarity. Unable to squelch her curiosity, she walked closer. The sundeck gave her the height to peer into the skylight and see what was happening. She couldn’t hear any more yells, so she assumed the argument had subsided, but she did see her model pacing his room. Bare-chested. She could tell he was angry by his rapid movements and the way he kept running his hands harshly through his hair. Every now and then he would cover his face with his hands and breathe deeply; she watched his chest move with each inhale and exhale, and she started to grow dizzy with focused anticipation. But nothing could have prepared her for his next movements.
She felt her cheeks grow hot and her pussy grow wet as she watched him unzip his jeans and sensuously slide them down his legs, watched him step out of them and kick them to the side, watched him slowly walk towards the other side of the room and out of sight. She stayed motionless, looking at the lit room, breath held. Had she merely imagined that? Imagined how his cock had slowly been released from its encasings and stared at her, as if it knew she had been watching? Imagined the way it had slowly waved as he kicked his jeans aside? Imagined his taut legs and tight ass as he walked away? She shook her head in amazement and began breathing heavily. It was then that she realized there were other skylights, other ways to watch. She quickly walked in the direction he had gone and hoped with her aching pussy that she’d be able to see what he was up to.
She clenched the railing of the sundeck as she saw him sprawled out on a bed, one knee up and the other leg dangling off the edge. His hands were wrapped around his cock, slowly moving up and down. She felt her body tighten in response and sat down on the deck. She mimicked his position, one leg dangling over the edge and one knee propped up. She felt the night air kiss her lower lips, and she shivered. Reaching down to her slit, she slowly slid her fingers over the juice that had pooled during her spying. She stared at his face— head back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. His tongue darted out every now and then, curling under his teeth and sometimes licking his lips. His hands slowly but unceasingly slid up and down his cock, its head disappearing for a moment and then appearing with tense direction. It seemed as if his cock kept getting bigger and bigger, his movements urging its growth. She noticed the glistening cum and the sweat shining on his chest. She kept her movements in pace with his, using one hand to feel her pussy clench and the other to caress her clit. As his hips start to buck, she allowed her own to attempt to reach them. She was mesmerized by his cock and how he touched it powerfully, aggressively, knowingly. That power turned her on and kept her soaking. She wanted to throw her head back and imagine he was fucking her with that intensity, but she couldn’t stop watching him; she didn’t want to miss anything he did. He started jerking faster and his eyes screwed together while his mouth revealed his tongue pushed up against his teeth. She could tell he was close, and she was matching his every motion. She could feel her body rising, jerkily advancing to those heights of ecstasy. Suddenly he stopped, went rigid, and his cock exploded, pulsing cum all over his rigid abs. She felt her own orgasm crash all over her body, pleasure waves coating her with licks of delight.
She felt the air kiss her breasts, her robe having coming loose with her forceful movements. She threw her head back and enjoyed the aftershocks of her bliss, her body still hot with sex and satisfaction. When she finally opened her eyes and looked to her distant lover, he was gone.
Chapter 3: Look and Talk but Don’t Touch, much
“Buffy, wake up.” Joyce gently shook her daughter’s shoulder and smoothed her hair out of her face, but none of these movements caused any movement in Buffy. She tried again. “Buffy, it’s really too late for you to still be sleeping, and don’t you have any pajamas? It’s really quite indecent the way you sleep in the nude.” Still, nothing. She was going to have to bring in the big guns. “Buffy, if you don’t get up right now I’m not going to take you to the Ice Capades, and then when will you get to see Brian Boitano?”
“I’m up! Don’t leave without me!” Buffy jumped up with her eyes still shut from sleep. Slowly, confusion crept over her face. “Wait. Mom?”
“Yes, Buffy,” Joyce said with impatience coloring her voice.
“I thought you weren’t coming till 12 noon? And I thought we discussed not using the Boitano method unless we were in dire straits?” Buffy squinted at her mom through sleep-crusted eyes and clutched her sheet to her chest.
“Actually, it’s 12:15, and I’ve been trying to wake you for quite some time. I say that counts as dire straits. Now get yourself dressed and come down for some breakfast. Or lunch. And really, Buffy--pajamas. Think about it.” Joyce quickly left the room and headed down the stairs to fix up lunch.
Buffy slumped back into her pillow. Okay, brain. Wake up. Can’t lounge around naked with Mom here. Buffy unwillingly threw back her sheets and headed to the shower. She peeked out her window to see if anyone with a kick-ass body happened to be outside, but she didn’t see anyone. “Ah well,” she thought. That would’ve been too coincidental. She did a quick stretch and went to take a shower.
***
Spike had just come out the back door to enjoy a brief smoke, happened to look up, and was greeted with perky breasts being stretched out--breasts that disappeared as quickly as they appeared.
“Huh. I could’ve sworn the place next door was unoccupied. Well, maybe this summer’s gonna be different. Wouldn’t mind some more perky breasts, he thought to himself. He lazily scratched his cock, which was quickly starting to twitch, and slowly exhaled a long haze of smoke. He sat down at the back step and allowed himself to enjoy the quiet of the afternoon.
***
“Sorry about that, Mom. Had a long night.” Buffy smiled to herself, remembering the intense pleasure she had gotten through watching her neighbor. She frowned at the thought of contriving a meeting with him and was quickly lost in thought.
“…so if that doesn’t cut into your plans, I thought that’d be a nice first day at the beach. What do you think, Buffy? Are you up for some mother-daughter bonding over sandy food and sticky bodies?” Joyce looked hopeful, unaware of the images cascading through her daughter’s mind of washboard abs on sandy beaches.
“Sure thing, mom. Always up for the bonding.” Buffy blushed at her thoughts but maintained eye contact in an attempt to cover her wandering mind. Gotta stop thinking so much about him. Shyea, gotta start doing. But first, bonding with Mom. And then, bondage with yummy model. Ooh. No, bad Buffy. Be a good daughter! Mom just got here! Buffy tried to squelch the inner monologue that was heating up her brain and her cheeks and focused on finishing her coffee.
They finished their lunch pleasantly, chatting about Buffy’s upcoming photo projects and Joyce’s upcoming gallery acquisitions. They were simply enjoying each other’s company when they heard someone at the door.
“No, Hank, wait till we’re inside! You naughty man, you.” A high-pitched giggle and shriek pierced the former peace. There was more movement and noises that definitely sounded like lips smacking, among other smacked body parts.
“Oh, but I just want a taste, baby. You’re just so sweet.”
Gross, is that Dad? Ugh, what is up with that? Buffy’s lip curled in distaste, and she glanced at her mom, who was starting to look very angry, her lips tightly shut with her eyes revealing only slightly suppressed revulsion and anger.
They heard a few more awkward steps and heavy breathing until the couple finally appeared in the kitchen, the young bimbo’s shirt disheveled with Hank’s hand down her bra and Hank’s face peppered with red lipstick smears. When they finally noticed they had company, Buffy’s dad appeared not embarrassed or apologetic, as one would expect, but irritated that they had been interrupted.
“What are you guys doing in my townhouse?” Hank held steadfastly to his bimbo, despite her embarrassment at being caught and her desire to straighten her appearance.
“Excuse me? Your townhouse? I believe we both own this place, so don’t go throwing ownership in my face. And I don’t know why you’re surprised to see us, or at least Buffy. We did have a conversation where we decided that she would be here for the whole summer, or were you too busy getting blow jobs from your slut here to pay attention to that little piece of information?” Joyce spat out these words with a vengeance, her earlier calm now replaced by venomous words. “And how can you not at least be ashamed in front of your daughter with your hand groping a fake breast? Buffy, aren’t you disgusted by your father’s indecent behavior?”
“Mom, I just—“
“My indecent behavior? Well, just because you haven’t been able to date since our divorce is no reason to get upset about my ability to attract young, beautiful women. And Candy is actually--”
“Oh, please. Spare us. Just because Buffy and I don’t share your tastes doesn’t mean you have to make us hold back vomiting.”
***
Spike’s quiet afternoon was interrupted by a seething Angel.
“Spike, get your pasty ass in here and apologize to Dru for last night.”
“What? For telling her to go find some other play toy--say, oh, her boyfriend?”
“Angel, see how he’s so mean to me, the one who first discovered his light, his glowing nature. Get him, grr.” Dru hid behind Angel and continued taunting the two to fight.
“Spike, don’t you insult her.”
“You are such a poncy ass. I’m not insulting her—if anyone is, you are. You’re the one who’s pretending that she’s some little girl-thing that can’t be without a strong man.”
“Did you just call me an ass?”
***
“So, Buffy, you’re saying that you don’t like seeing your father? Because last we talked I thought that we were completely satisfied with the way things were going.”
“Actually, da—“
“Satisfied? Maybe you were, but Buffy wasn’t. How can you expect her to be happy when she sees her father a total of one time a year, and sometimes even that is brief and in the presence of your flavor of the month.”
“Mom, I was ju—“
“How dare you accuse me of being lax in my duties towards my daughter? Do I pay the bills? Did I pay for her tuition? Was she ever lacking in any way?”
“Dad, I want you—“
“You think that money is a substitute for a father figure? You have some really deluded ideas about family. Buffy has often talked to me about your lack of communication, and quite frankly, she’s been hurt more than you know.”
Buffy stayed quiet, stewing in her irritation in being ignored, at having private conversations with her mom being aired in front of her dad, and at Candy, who was attempting to make an ally of her. Like I’m going to make nice with you, ya ho. Buffy rolled her eyes and continued to squeeze her knife.
***
“My sweet William, save me from angry Daddy. He is not being very nice. Naughty Daddy.” Drusilla grabbed Spike’s waist and moved him in between the two arguing.
“Oh, no. I’m not a bleeding idiot. Solve your own problems.” He tried to disentangle himself from Dru’s arms, but she held on tightly and pressed her breasts against his back.
“Get your tits off him, you slut.” Angel jerked forward and grabbed Dru’s arm.
“Ow, you’re hurting me.”
“Ey, now, don’t talk to the lady like that, and don’t you fucking think about hurting her.” Spike glowered at Angel, angry that he had clearly disregarded any respect he had for his so-called girlfriend.
“Oh, William, my sweet knight in shining armor. Yes, protect me from Daddy.”
“Who do you think you are, trying to get Dru to like you? She belongs to me.”
“What? Did my rejection of your girl last night make it unclear in some way that I don’t. want. Dru.”
***
“Why are you even here? If this is supposed to be Buffy’s summer here, why is best friend Mom invading Buffy’s space?”
“Oh, please. Stop trying to make her turn against me. Buffy invited me here so that we could spend a little time together before she starts her job with the magazine. You remember that, right? Oh wait, you didn’t call her back when she left you that message.”
Buffy decided that it was time for her to leave. She could still hear them yelling at each other, their voices escalating as they continued to insult each other in the ways they knew best. Buffy grabbed her purse, walked out the door, and slammed it behind her.
***
“Why are you trying to keep her from me? And why is she clinging to you?”
“Oh Angel, he’s trying to keep us apart! Why won’t you come and save me and let me be your princess again?”
“What?!? Dru, you are one crazy bird.”
“Hey, what do you mean by calling my beautiful princess crazy?”
“Why are you afraid to embrace all of who I am? Insanity is not always so terrible. You never see all of me.”
“Know what? Bugger this. I’m not getting sucked into your bizarre love triangle made of two.” Spike shrugged off Dru and pushed her towards Angel, rolling his eyes as they embraced and then kissed passionately like they had just overcome some obstacle, which was quickly followed by more shouting. He grabbed his keys, walked out the door, and slammed it behind him.
***
The simultaneous slamming of doors caused the slammers to look up, both startled out of their angry faces.
Buffy blushed instantly, imagining the rock hard body that stood clothed before her.
Spike casually hazarded a glance at her breasts, noting their perkiness and smiling at the memory.
A beat passed, both basking in memories.
“Bad day all around, it seems. So, you wanna get away from all this shit?” Spike said, gesturing to his motorcycle.
“That would definitely be of the good.” Buffy followed him to his bike, doing a sexy Snoopy dance in her head at the goodness of the Powers That Be in allowing her to meet NaughtyNeighbor and the greatness of the Powers That Be in allowing said NaughtyNeighbor to have a motorcycle—both leading to a fabulously satisfying ride, despite the uncomfortable helmet, clutched to tight abs and pressed up against a sexy leather coat.
Chapter 4: What Looks Right
“How’d you find this place?” Buffy asked, looking around in awe at the view before them. After 15 minutes of cheek to leather—both on her face and between her legs—they drove off the side of the road, walked a few minutes on the side of a cliff, and found themselves in a sizable niche overlooking the ocean. There were parts that were completely shaded and others that were sparkling in the sunlight, creating a beautiful cave dance of shadows and light framed by the large expanse of ocean and curbed by the sounds of rolling waves against the sand. “It’s just gorgeous. Amazing. Breathtaking. And terrifying,” she said as she slowly backed away from the steep edge.
“You can say that again,” Spike muttered under his breath as he watched her daintily creep around what had been his asylum for the past several years. He took out a blanket from his bag and spread it on the floor. He sat on the blanket and leaned against the smooth rock. Taking out a cigarette and placing it in his mouth, he squinted into her golden presence and watched her rummage through her purse in confusion. “Whatcha lookin’ for, pet?”
“My camera—my digital camera, that is. My real camera is too big to just carry around in my purse. I just wanted to take a picture up here, capture the moment and all.” Buffy moved all the items in her purse around one more time, hoping that she’d see the camera’s hiding place. “Aha! Found it.” She looked out into the horizon and snapped a few shots, attempting to harness the blue and shut it in her memory box. She turned to look back at him and saw a cloud of smoke circling a body curved against stone. Perfect. She aimed the camera at him while he glanced away and took a picture.
“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Spike looked up abruptly when he heard the clicking of the camera.
“Sorry—moved to do it, the whole artist thingy. You didn’t really mind, did you?” Buffy hesitated, wondering how he would react to her roll of him and his body.
“No, pet, don’t mind—just thought maybe I should get a warning. And maybe a name? Mine’s Spike, by the way.” He waved two fingers at her in greeting, as if they had just been introduced.
“Whoa, I’m so sorry for not introducing myself earlier,” Buffy said hastily. They had both been so comfortable from the moment they had seen each other face to face, and thus the introductions hadn’t even come up. “I’m Buffy. Yes, that’s my real name. No wisecracks, please.”
“Wouldn’t even think of it, Buffy,” he said slowly, emphasizing the foreignness of her name on his tongue. “It’s cute, in that really dumb way.”
“Gee, you really know how to compliment a girl.” He watched him smirk in return and defiantly shot another picture of him without warning.
“You know, if you really wanted me to model for you, all you had to do was ask.” Spike arched his eyebrow lasciviously and grinned. She took a picture.
“Hm, I don’t know if you’re my kind of model, you know, since you don’t have those California looks that are so attractive in pictures.” Spike’s mouth gaped in mock horror. She took a picture.
“C’mon, love, these cheekbones are just made for the camera,” he purred, giving her a long, intense look. She took a picture.
“Well, I’ll consider it if you take off something,” Buffy said saucily. Spike looked slightly shocked. She took a picture.
“Will you stop bloody taking pictures? It’s right distracting.” Spike stood up, threw out his cigarette, and moved towards her, motioning at her camera to keep her from taking another picture. “And why’s such a beautiful girl behind the camera instead of in front of it?” Buffy halted, processing his compliment, Spike used her momentary surprise at his words and took the camera from her hands.
“Hey, give that back! And be careful!” Buffy tried to take the camera back from him but only succeeded in wrapping her arms around him and pressing herself against his chest in an attempt to reach around his back—true success indeed.
“So, the girl doesn’t like being on the other side of the camera, ey? Likes to hide a little?” Spike smirked and kept the camera away from her grasp. When she looked like she was beginning to get irritated, he looked her directly in the face. “Look, I’ll make a deal with you. You let me take some pictures of you, and I’ll be your own personal model, since you like taking so many pictures of me. Deal?”
“What makes you think I want any pictures of you?” she said quickly, trying to look aloof but only succeeding in pouting. She tried not to think of her favorite pictures detailing his abs and dive into the water.
“Other than the fact that you’ve taken my picture four times already?” Spike asked in disbelief, trying not to be sucked in by her pouty lower lip.
“Uh, yeah. Those were just--oh fine. I do think you’d be good on film. And I have a project that I’m trying to finish that I need a model for. But only if you’re serious.”
“As long as you’re serious about letting me take pictures of you,” he said with a glint in his eyes. “So why don’t we take turns. And since I have the camera right now, I’ll take the first one.” As she opened her mouth to protest, he took a picture. “See, now that wasn’t so bad, was it? Actually, now that I look at it, open-mouthed shock doesn’t always look pretty on the camera. We’ll have to try something different next time.” He envisioned her open-mouthed under her, coming in his arms. He shook the image away--though he was attracted to her physically, he also felt a different kind of connection, and he hoped to learn more about her.
“Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel special. Besides, taking pictures and being in pictures--they’re two very different things. And just because a person is hot doesn’t mean he’ll be a good model,” she snapped, holding her hand out for the camera.
“Are you calling me hot? Because I think I feel kinda special.” Spike grinned at her frustration.
“You know what? I think I’ve got enough shots of that grin. Let’s try something different. Lose the coat.” Buffy smiled triumphantly when he looked at her, aghast at the suggestion. “I’m serious, and you said you’d be serious, too. I think the coat definitely conveys a message, and I want something a little different.” Buffy tried to keep her voice even, but her mind was sending her all the messages of the coat--“Fuck me, use me on the ground to keep you from rug/cement/rock/grass burns, let me cover you and swallow you, you know you want to”--and it was all she could do to push down the blushes that seemed to have set up camp on her cheeks.
Spike hesitated in taking off his coat, but he had agreed to take the modeling seriously so he complied, if slowly. He laid the coat gently on the blanket and then ran his fingers through his hair. He heard the camera click.
“Hey, now. Thought we were going to be serious with the whole modeling thing.”
“I am serious. As much as I’m going to tell you what to do, I also like just being able to take pictures when I see something that looks right. And eventually this whole swapping of the camera is going to get on my nerves,” Buffy said, looking down at the photo she had just snapped. Yummy biceps. She held out the camera to him and savored the warmth of their brief contact.
“Okay, serious. So I’m supposed to take a picture when I see something that looks right, as you say? Well, then, this should be easy,” Spike said flirtatiously. When Buffy rolled her eyes again, he waited for the blush to come that he had seen earlier. He looked down at the photo, looked up at her beauty, and glanced at the photo again. “Yeah, it looks right,” he said gently.
Buffy noticed the change in his voice, and it made her heart pulse with anticipation. She knew he had been flirting with her, but the flirting had seemed so natural for him that she didn’t think he meant anything by it. His gentle voice, emerging while looking at her picture, gave her hope that they might have something substantial between them.
“So, my turn? How about you move towards the edge of the cave, right where the sun hits the ground.” Buffy gestured with her hands and then watched him through the camera. “Tilt your head up a little--there. Good.” She took the picture and smiled at how the sun caught the highlights of his hair and sparkled. These photos were pretty good, and she looked forward to getting home and playing with them, among other things. Bad Buffy! She tried to look nonchalant as she handed him the camera.
“Poses, eh? Let’s see now. How about you lean against the wall and prop your leg up. Yeah, like that.” Spike looked through the lens and ogled her thighs, how her skirt sidled up her leg to reveal toned, tanned skin. He was really enjoying the time spent with her, and the added bonus of taking pictures with her was turning out to be rather sexy. He just hoped that the camera didn’t make his stirring cock too apparent.
“Can you lie down? I want to take a picture of you with your eyes closed, sun on your face.” Buffy knew her suggestion sounded a little risqué, but she didn’t care anymore. Her artistic eye was starting to demand control of her, and she could never resist for long. Plus, making him close his eyes would give her the freedom to check him out more thoroughly. “Can you put your hands behind your head? Yeah, good. Now close your eyes. No, don’t clench them; just pretend you’re sleeping and let them look naturally closed,” Buffy said as she moved in closer. There are those luscious biceps again. And that flat stomach, and oh, hello, she purred to herself. Finally, she took the picture.
“Getting a little pickier now, are we? How about you lie down? But prop yourself up with your arms.” Spike sat up but stayed on the ground, patting the space next to him. “Yeah, like that,” he said as he watched her ease her body down and lean on her elbows, making her chest push forward. He noticed the sun glistening in her hair and her hazel eyes shyly looking at him. “Does it make you nervous to be the model? I know I teased you before, but seriously. Does it?” He waited for her answer before taking a picture.
“A little. I’m just so used to making other people move for me that posing for you is a little, well, un-Buffy. I know how to move someone else’s head and body to make it look good, but I don’t know how to do that for myself. I can’t visualize what I’m doing,” she said pensively, looking down and biting her lip. She looked up quickly when she heard him take the picture.
“Well, I’m no pro, but I think you look amazing. Keep doing whatever you’re doing, Buffy.” Spike smiled in assurance and watched her blush again. He tilted his head and looked again, amazed at how comfortable he felt with this woman he had just met this morning.
“Thanks. But you--I really think these pictures are going to be good. And if you wouldn’t mind, maybe we could take more pictures with my other camera--this digital one’s just my portable camera.” Buffy wondered if she would ever tell him about the pictures she already had, but she figured she’d wait to see if an appropriate moment came up. “Lie down again, but on your side, with your head on propped on your hand. And look down,” she said, becoming the demanding photographer again.
Spike moved his body gracefully and leaned on his side. He looked down, as he directed, and tried to ignore the erection that was becoming harder - to ignore. He heard the snap and sat up again, hoping that the crossed legs in front of him would hide his erection a little longer.
“Your turn. Why don’t you just stay like that and maybe tilt your head a little, so I can get a little bit of that lovely sun?” She moved her head, and slowly looked up at him.
He reached to move a strand of hair out of the way before taking a picture and enjoyed its smoothness on his fingers. He gently ran his fingers through her hair again and then trailed his fingers down her cheek. She looked up in confusion, wondering if there was something else he needed to do before taking the picture. Looking into her eyes, he whispered, “Perfect.”
Buffy’s breath caught in her throat as she heard his soft voice caress her skin. She looked down and blushed, her heart fluttering in anticipation, her mind attempting to logically understand how things were progressing so quickly. Her wetness just didn’t care.
Spike leaned in closer and kissed her lowered eyes gently. Their cheeks touched tentatively, then softly, rubbing against each other, breaths mingling and lips dancing around each other. Buffy’s tongue darted out, tasting his skin and taunting him, until their lips finally touched in urgent sweetness, and then sweet urgency, and then more. They kissed slowly but thoroughly, tongues undulating and quietly sucking. Spike ran his fingers through her hair, cradling her head with his hand; Buffy softly massaged his neck and began stroking his hair. Both of them felt their bodies sizzling from the contact, from the slow build-up of anticipation finally meeting in burning heat.
They finally broke away for air, but Spike kept his hand behind her head, keeping their foreheads together. Buffy licked her lips and tried to steady her breathing.
“Wow, that was--”
“Amazing. You’re amazing.” Spike gently stroked her hair and looked deeply into her eyes. “I can’t believe I only met you today. I feel like I know you, have known you. Do you feel it?”
“Yeah, I-I’ve been feeling it.” She began playing with his fingers and rubbing his thumb with her tiny hands. “I’ve felt it since I first saw you.” She paused, wondering if she should continue.
“Fate, or something. Living next door, coming out at the same time, needing to get away--I think the gods would be offended if we didn’t go along with their plans.” Spike smiled and ran his fingers over her thighs as became more and more comfortable with each other.
“Yeah, it does seem kinda oddly coincidental, especially since--“ She hesitated for a moment. “Well, since I actually saw you before we rode here together.” She waited to hear his response.
“Actually, I saw you before also. But you tell me first.” Spike hoped that her nervous lip-biting meant she had seen something good, because her flashing might have been unintentional and perhaps embarrassing when he finally told her. But he felt this need to be honest and completely open with her. It was a good feeling, one he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Okay. I kinda took some pictures of you a few days ago when you were swimming.” She looked at him, wondering if he would think she was some kind of stalker. “I was just taking shots of the ocean and of different people on the beach, and I saw you on this rock. And the camera really likes you, so I took a few, uh, maybe more.” Buffy shut her eyes and waited for him to respond. “Don’t think I’m weird, please. Sometime my inner artist is a real bitch, and she just takes what she wants. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever end up meeting you.”
Spike watched her get all flustered, her nose scrunched and her eyes screwed shut. He just couldn’t resist and impulsive leaned in to kiss her. She opened her eyes abruptly. “Hope you don’t mind my kissing you. I just had to, with your cute face all worried I was going to think you were a weird stalked chick with a thing for black speedos. Yeah, I figured you saw that,” he said when he saw her blush again. “Yeah, I really hope you don’t mind my kissing you, because I plan on doing it a lot.” He kissed her again, letting his tongue linger a bit longer.
“I’m glad you don’t mind. They came out really well, those pictures. I’ll let you see them some time.” She smiled, glad that he hadn’t gotten weirded out and left. However, she decided not to tell him about her secret cum-fest on the roof. That’ll be my little secret, she thought, licking her lips at the memory.
“What are you thinking about? You look like you’re thinking of something delectable,” Spike said, leaning in to lick her lips. He decided not to mention the breasts just now.
“Oh, nothing. And if you keep doing that, my mind won’t be able to complete any thoughts for a while.” Buffy ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him fully, basking in his soft lips and talented tongue.
Their kisses became harder and deeper, and Buffy moaned when he began kissing her neck. She threw her legs around his waist and began rubbing herself again him. Feeling his cock leap against her, she became bolder in grinding her hips against him.
Spike moaned into her neck, feeling her body press against his and rhythmically rock in his lap. He wanted to lift her hips and slam into her, but he felt that things were moving so quickly, too quickly. She had enchanted him, and he didn’t want this to be a quick fuck.
“Buffy, love,” he breathed into her. “I’m not going to want to stop.”
“I know,” Buffy said, breathing heavily. “I know, and my mind is saying slow down, but god, Spike.” Buffy stilled her body, her chest heaving.
“Hey, we got all the time in the world, right pet?” Spike said, forcing himself to slow things down.
“Yeah, and we got all the time it takes to get back to the condo,” she teased. “Oh, I wonder if my parents are still arguing. God, I completely forgot about them. And what were you upset about? I can’t believe I didn’t ask earlier.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if I would’ve told you before. We’re much better acquainted now,” he joked, running his hands over her thighs straddling his waist.
“Much better.” Buffy leaned in and kissed him again. “So, what was it? Is it still too personal?”
“No, it was just my stupid cousin and his crazy girl. She came on to me last night, and I turned her down, and then they both turned on me this morning. I was just a little frustrated, and I needed to get out.”
Aha! So that was what happened. A little pent-up sexual frustration. At least it wasn’t his nightly ritual, she thought to herself, grinning. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything too bad. My parents fight all the time--it’s what eventually led to their divorce. And then my dad just kept dating the young skanks--not exactly something you want to see your dad doing. Anyway, he showed up at the condo unexpectedly and then acted like a jerk. I’m so used to it, but I still get annoyed when they forget that I’m there and that I’m not a little girl anymore.” Buffy played with Spike’s t-shirt while she thought about her parents’ earlier fight. “I just hope he’s gone by now.”
“Well, I guess we should find out. But if you’re not busy later, I’d love to take you out. Do a real date with dinner and all.” He ran his fingers up her arms, lightly touching the skin under her sleeves.
“I’d love to. I don’t even want to leave, but I guess we might as well face reality again. We could always come back here if it’s still bad, right?”
“Right. It’ll be our little haven.” He smiled at her and kissed her on the nose. “But I can’t go anywhere with you around my waist.” He reached behind him and pulled at her ankles.
“Next time, you’ll be my little prisoner,” Buffy said, laughing.
Spike threw on his coat and picked up his blanket. They began walking back to his bike, and he furtively eased his hand into her, sending sparks through Buffy’s body.
As they drove home, Buffy snuggled into his back and let herself embrace the calm that flowed through her.
Spike felt her tighten against him and smiled.
Chapter 5: Steel Memories
“Mom? Mom, are you still here?” Buffy called out, her step light and her heart bouncing from the newness of kisses and fresh intimacy.
“In the kitchen, Buffy,” Joyce replied, her voice weary. “Where did you run off to?” Joyce leaned against the counter, slowly blowing on a mug of hot cocoa.
“Oh, I just went out for a walk, you know, get away from the bad vibes of Dad,” Buffy said, helping herself to a cup. “Is everything okay? Is he gone?”
Joyce sighed and closed her eyes. “For the time being, he’s gone. He just makes me so angry sometimes,” she said, irritated. “I wish I could be the better person and not be drawn into his games, but I can’t help myself.”
“Oh, you’re perfectly normal. He’s the one with problems. God, I can’t believe his latest. Did you see how young she was? What is up with that? Can we say, ew?” Buffy rolled her eyes in disgust as she opened and closed cabinet doors in search of those little marshmallows she loved. “I’m so glad you never went through that phase.”
Joyce stirred her cocoa absentmindedly. “There aren’t any marshmallows. I didn’t even think to restock for you. Sorry about that,” she murmured.
“Mom, are you okay? I know it’s always kind of weird to see Dad again. I—” Buffy paused, thinking about the plans she had made to see Spike later on that evening. She imagined seeing him, his smooth cheekbones and smoother arms. She smiled but then caught sight of her mom, listlessly stirring her hot cocoa with a blank look on her face. “Mom, do you want to do some girl bonding? Maybe watch Steel Magnolias and eat lots of ice cream?”
“Oh, Buffy, that sounds perfect.” Joyce smiled, her face creased with contentment. “We haven’t done that in ages. Are you sure you don’t mind staying in?”
“Not a problem. I might consider going out later on tonight, you know, when the freaks come out, but dinner and a movie are definitely doable.” Buffy reached out and gave her mom a squeeze. “Besides, Summers women are always more important. It’s the Summers men that have the problems.”
Joyce leaned into her daughter’s arms and enjoyed her daughter’s company. “Thank God we did something right. It’s amazing you’re as normal as you pretend to be,” she said laughingly.
“Gee, compliments all around.”
They both giggled and took sips of their hot cocoa.
***
Spike’s phone vibrated into his thigh.
“Hello? Oh, hey pet. Sure, I’ve been thinking about you,” he said, smiling. He had been thinking about her for the past few minutes and was thinking about really thinking about her for the next half hour or so.
“Oh, really? Yeah, sure, you should do that. Get your kumbayayas out and make your mum feel happy. Yeah, I’m up for doing something later on. Do you want me just to come by, or should I wait for you to call?” He imagined what she looked like talking on the phone—her shiny hair, her sexy eyes, her luscious mouth… “Uh, what? Sure, definitely. I’ll see you then.”
Spike threw his phone onto the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. I know I just met her, but I can’t help it. I think I’m going to have to.
Spike closed his eyes and ran his fingers down his thighs, imagining her petite body straddling his.
***
Buffy sniffed loudly. “That Sally Fields really knows how to cry.”
Joyce blew her nose. “And Julia Roberts still looks good in a hospital bed.”
“I know how it ends, but I cry every time. I’m such a sucker for this movie.” Buffy stretched her arms and put the popcorn bowl back on the table. “Nothing like a sad movie to make you appreciate what you have.”
“I love you, too, Buffy.” Joyce slowly rose from the couch. “You don’t have to hold back any longer. Go ahead and call that boy you met today.” Joyce smiled as she saw her daughter feign disinterest.
“Huh? But we were so cozy,” Buffy said, not wanting her guilt to answer her mom.
“Oh, Buffy, I’ll be fine. This was really great, but I’m not one to wallow. Hank irritates me, my daughter loves me, and Sally Fields cries for me. All is right with the world.” Joyce squeezed Buffy’s shoulder. “I’m going to get going soon, anyway. So go call.”
Buffy hugged her mom tightly. “You are so the best mom. Definitely the best.” She ran up to her room to call.
Joyce put away all the dishes and stretched again, languidly. She stifled a yawn when she heard the doorbell ring.
***
Even before they got off the phone, Spike headed next door. Right as he pressed the end button, he rang the doorbell. Expecting to see Buffy, he froze when he saw the woman at the door.
“Mrs. Summers,” Spike said with surprise. “Joyce.” The second time he said her name was softer, the memories of his lost virginity and their intimacy heating his face and pushing him back into time.
Chapter 6: Matter over Mind
8 years earlier…
Joyce stepped outside as she waited for the water to boil. The evening air was refreshingly chilly by the sea, the perfect weather for hot chocolate. Overwhelmed by the innumerable calls and paperwork surrounding her messy divorce, she took a moment and basked in the distant sounds of sea gulls, of the tireless ocean, of…someone crying?
She looked over and saw a teenage boy sitting on the back porch of the townhouse next door.
“Are you all right? Is that you, William?” Joyce asked cautiously, concerned about the sweet summer neighbor who had just spent his first summer away from England.
William looked up slowly, his glasses clouded with tears and his face pale. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Summers. I’m okay.” He wiped away his tears and tried to smile.
“Oh, call me Joyce, really. I, well, I was making some hot chocolate. I had a long day, too. Would you like to join me? I’d have enough for two, and the weather’s just perfect for cocoa.” Joyce smiled sympathetically and tried to make herself approachable. Something in William’s demeanor made her feel for him, want to be a friend to him.
Spike sniffed and exhaled slowly. “Actually, that sounds lovely. Do you happen to have those little marshmallows?”
Joyce smiled widely. “Of course.” She opened the door and beckoned him in.
Upon entering the kitchen, Joyce began putting all the ingredients together, grabbing two mugs and stirring the chocolaty concoction.
“No, no, sit down. You’re a guest,” she said when she saw William moving to help her. “I want you to sit back and tell me how you’ve enjoyed your stay in the States so far,” she said lightly. She wanted to hear what was wrong, but she didn’t want to pressure him too quickly into sharing his thoughts.
William shrugged. “It’s not been too terrible, I suppose,” he said with a sad smile. “I didn’t really want to spend the summer away from Mum, but she was so sick and had such difficulty keeping up her strength. I think it was better that she didn’t have to worry about me being around. And my cousin Angel lives here in the US, so I’m not completely alone.” He reached for the steaming mug and blew on it gently. “I do miss her. She’s the one I always talked to when I had problems or just when I had a bad day.”
Joyce pulled up a stool next to him and sipped her cocoa slowly. “Well, you can always tell me, if you want. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener. And I’ve had a bad day, too, so we can trade stories, if it makes you feel better.” Joyce smiled at him.
“Okay, maybe I will. But why don’t you go first? My mum always taught me to allow women to go first,” he said. His posture relaxed a little, and Joyce could tell he was starting to feel more comfortable around her.
“Well, where do I begin? My husband of 14 years left me for another woman, a younger bimbo of a thing, and now I’m trying to sort through all the mess that has resulted from his affair. Somehow he is off gallivanting with a woman, and I’m stuck with the paperwork. I’m not sure how he was able to pull that off, but I’m not surprised. So I’ve brought all the work here, because I just couldn’t stand being at the house we lived in together.”
“Oh, Mrs. Summers. I’m so sorry. I hope you don’t think all men are evil because of his reprehensible actions.” William looked at her, his face conveying his sincere regrets at her situation.
Joyce looked into the swirling cocoa and smiled thoughtfully. “This beach house is a place where my daughter and I usually came when Hank was away on business trips. Most of my memories here don’t involve him. So, I figured it was a safe haven for me.” She finished off her cocoa and got up for a second cup. “But I’m not as angry with him as I thought I would be. I mean, I think I feel betrayed, but I don’t feel that it was unexpected. Maybe I knew things had been bad for a while. And really, you can call me Joyce.”
“Uh, okay…Joyce. You are a strong woman to be so secure after such a tragedy. I hope that you will find someone more deserving of your character.” William caught the last few drops of cocoa on his tongue. “And you really make great cocoa.” He grinned sheepishly at his greediness in licking up every last drop. Joyce took his cue and gave him another cup.
“Well, cocoa has always been my comfort drink. It’s better than alcohol, I say.” She leaned back against the counter and looked at him. “But now it’s your turn. Why the sad face today?”
“Oh, well I feel silly telling you about my tales when you’ve obviously dealt with something so much more serious than my frivolous problems. It’s not a big deal,” he said dismissively.
“No, I insist. No problem is silly if it makes your heart ache. Please, I promise it’ll make you feel better.” She moved to sit down next to him.
“I suppose it can’t hurt to talk about it with someone.” He drew in a deep breath as if preparing to unload a large burden. “When I first came here, I didn’t really know many people beyond my cousin. I’m quite shy, so I didn’t make friends right away. I tend to observe people first, and then I write down my perceptions in my journal. Sometimes I fancy myself a poet, but I know it often comes out as drivel.” William absentmindedly stirred his cocoa. He looked up, as if replaying a scene in his mind. “There was one girl who stood out to me, who seemed to have a kindred soul, calling out to my own. And so I began writing poetry about her. Cecily.” He said her name with such anguish that Joyce couldn’t help but feel bad for the poet next to her.
“What happened?” she asked sympathetically.
“Well, I thought—since I felt she was a kindred soul—that I could share some of my poetry with her. So this morning at the beach, I approached her with my journal. I wanted to talk to her quietly, but she said she couldn’t hear me very well. In the end, she took my journal and started laughing. She shared it with some of the others there, and they all took turns making fun of me.” He started crying again, his emotions overwhelming him as he recalled his humiliation.
Joyce put her arm around him and rubbed his shoulders. “They were just jealous of you, of your ability to articulate things that they’re too shallow to contemplate. This Cecily isn’t the one for you,” she said while pulling him close.
He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “But I don’t understand. I watched her, saw her gentleness with others, her intelligence in conversations. Why didn’t she see me as someone to share those things with? How could she be so cruel, when all I ever saw was her kindness? Was I that stupid?” He began crying again, and he left his glasses on the table to cover his face with his hands. “I’m sorry I’m being such a ponce. I just can’t understand.”
“Oh, William. It’s not you. Never think that you’re the one who can’t understand. They don’t realize who you are, what you are. Don’t let them dictate your own identity. That only gives them power, and they don’t deserve that.” Joyce continued to hold him tightly.
“But what if she’s right? Maybe I am just a stupid geek who’s beneath her. Maybe I’ll never find love because no one would ever stoop to love me, hold me, kiss me. Oh, she was so terribly cruel—I can barely repeat the things she said to me.” He continued to sob, his body trembling with tension.
“She was wrong. She was wrong, William. You are brilliant, wonderful—such a shining, genuine soul.” She took his hands from his face and made him look at her. She gazed into eyes that were startlingly blue with intensity and beauty. In that moment, she was struck by this boy, by his hurting soul, by his beautiful face marred by a girl’s cutting words. She wanted to help him, to heal him. Impulsively, she cupped his face and kissed him. She saw the confusion in his watery eyes, gently wiped his tears away, and kissed him again, softly and tenderly.
He looked at her again, not knowing how to react. He had felt the genuineness in her kiss; he sensed that it wasn’t out of pity, and that sense surprised him. He glanced down at her lips, and his body wanted to feel them again, even though he felt that giving in would somehow be wrong.
“William, I do mean what I say. I’ve always been struck by you, by your depth and wisdom even in the brief times we’ve talked. It would be a shame to think that a stupid girl took all that away from you. I’m a woman, and I don’t think you’re beneath me.” She ran her fingers through his hair, already rumpled by his earlier outbursts. “Not beneath me at all,” she murmured.
“Mrs. Summers, I—“ he began, not sure what to say. He felt her fingers in his hair, softly rubbing his earlobe. He closed his eyes and allowed the sensation to wash over him.
“Please,” she whispered as she continued stroking his hair. “Call me Joyce.”
She then leaned in and kissed him again, not being able to resist his closed eyes and look of contentment that she had caused. It gave her a sense of accomplishment—of power, even—knowing that she was the source of his satisfaction. Hank had always diddled with younger women, and she had never really understood the enticement until now, until she saw how satisfying it was to see someone be drawn in, because she knew what worked, what could please another; in this case, being older meant knowing more, and that knowledge gave her a power she hadn’t felt in a long time. She began to pull away, finally acknowledging the numerous reasons why it would be a mistake, when she felt his hand at her waist and his tongue at her lips. So soft, so hesitant. To resist now would only devastate him more, and she did not want to resist; she felt her own attraction to him, and her resistance was only based in rational thought, not in physical reasoning. She had a feeling that he would equate the two. And right now, she didn’t want to think that hard.
William wasn’t thinking at all. He had kissed others before, but this was different; this was soft and searching and kind and healing and he didn’t even think about how this woman was older, how perhaps he shouldn’t be moving his hand up her body, how he probably shouldn’t taste her—all he could do was act, and his body was more than willing to take over his thoughts.
He stood, attempting to press more of her body against his, wanting to feel her against his entirety. Their kissing became more fervent and heated, their tongues drinking in each other’s essence, their hands learning the new landscape. He felt her begin to move away. He began to panic—his mind suddenly warring with his body for rational thought and supremacy—when he felt her hand in his.
“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable,” she said quietly, leading him towards the stairs.
His body once again conquered his mind, and he followed in anticipation.