He can be such an asshole, really a clod. Arrogant and filthy mouthed
and he always seems to choose the exact worst thing to say, even if it
is a throwaway. That's called calculating, with a capital C. He can be
the meanest prick one minute and then make me laugh so hard the next my
intestines become soup. It is an actual nightmare. I feel like slapping
him and saying, 'pick one, pick one'. Okay, so he's got decades and
decades on me in the torture department. I guess he's just Mr.
Efficiency in that area.
His whole vibe makes me nuts. It makes my uterus rattle and the thrall
is expanding, like, exponentially. The thrall is a dangerous, dangerous
puppy. The thrall needs a muzzle and heavy chain, but the thrall would
enjoy that a little too much.
Me and him? We're like a wave that crested and never broke. God, how can
that be? By this time I expected we both would have moved on with these
goofy grins on our faces. Because you know, vampires, and something
about attention deficits? They point themselves in the direction of the
nearest blood engorged jogger.
Yeah, yeah, sexy sex, but isn't blood the whole point? Now, it's as
though sex is blood for Spike.
I am so not the 24-hour blood bank available for withdrawals, no
waiting. He doesn't even do that so much anymore. It's like he doesn't
need it. It's as though I am the fuel and not the stuff in my veins. It
makes my feet tingle, as if something higher is happening. I don't mean
spells or enchanted knick-knacks or other dimensional hip checks. And
our boy Spike? He's real intimate with the belly of the snake.
But I know it's something higher. I can feel it in my feet.
Okay, here's the thing. I was in the car the other day flipping channels
on the radio and I caught this weird music. It had to be religious.
Probably monks, but the chanting kind, not the cowering, sliced up,
dying kind. Just as I cringed, 'Yikes, too much with the godly', I was
filled with their voices. Big wow. Each one entering and exiting,
combining and recombining until I could not make out any single voice.
It was fierce. My feet went all tingly. These guys were pure and pious
and I bet they prayed really hard. And like, God was in the building.
But all I could feel was the tingling in my feet.
Like that, Spike, like that.
Then I got distracted by my current fantasy and almost hit a Hyundai at
a red light. So I forced myself to be safe-moving-vehicle-operator-girl.
Here is my thinking: some of those higher plane types could really use a
good ass kicking. Who are we kidding here? The Powers are just a pack of
selfish grade-schoolers keeping all the marbles to themselves and
running away with insane grins.
Yeah, that's a focused and benevolent universe!
Sod that. You know, Spike has all the best phrases. That's his
Englishness, their buggering class system and his abiding interest in
plumbing the depths. He's a smart one, he is. No dim bulb there.
Okay, here's my fantasy: I have a lovely picnic lunch with juice and
sandwiches while I watch Spike kick the otherworldly crap out of those
Power people, or things, or whatever they are. You know, those jerks. I
bring an digital camera for souvenirs.
Spike's current thing is this game called 'Let's Get Caught'. It's not
my favorite title, but it is just a title. He really doesn't want to get
caught, just torture me into thinking so. It's old and musty and I fall
for it every time.
That's got to be the thrall, right?
Well, we haven't been caught because that would really piss me off to
the nth degree, and leave me all agitated and not in that nice spanky
way. There would also need to be some actual words said to someone else,
even if it was just 'so sorry, pardon us'. God, that would give me a
headache for days and I already have a cordoned off area in my brain
where some rather polite headaches are waOne Good Lay | Something Higher by kindred
Summary: Time frame is approximately 'Bring on the Night'. End
of 'Never Leave Me' did not occur. Spike is still in the house. Buffy internal monologue with PWP chaser.
Disclaimer: I do not own the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel (The Series). All of the characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, et al.
A/N: This is my first NC-17 posting. The piece contains intentionally
bad grammar due to the way the character speaks/thinks. S/B interaction
is in the present tense. I wanted that 'this is happening now' feeling.
Feedback: alp@magma.ca
I know he's in the basement doorway, looking at me that way and rubbing
his belly. My stomach always lets me know. Well, he can just stay
there. This is so restful. Stirring is definitely underrated as a
pastime. Frozen concentrate is so much superior to those other kinds,
especially for muscle strength and cardio development and Mom really
liked the extra pulpy. Into the garbage can with you, gooey can.
He's right behind me. If I lean my head an inch I'd touch him.
"There's my girl," I hear. That early morning voice, well, late night
voice for him, is so soft.
"Frozen orange juice," is my reply. Okay, I wasn't really trying.
"Not just now, thanks."
Thank you for not paying attention to that pathetic babblet. Words,
words, where have you gone to? Shit, I never hear that useless crap
coming from him. The 'I couldn't put two words together to save my sorry
ass' conversation style? That's been my specialty lately.
Spike has this way of not breathing down my neck that drives me off the
damn road. It pushes my brain cells apart just far enough that they no
longer function as a team. This is my current theory.
All histories mention the thrall. I am not a stranger to the thrall.
Well, you know that. Angel was so long ago. I leapt off that cliff and
thrashed about on the rocks below. What did I know from orgasms? Anyway,
weird proto-orgasm and Angel got up and walked down that damn beach
without me. Bastard. Okay, granted a little revisionist in the middle,
but I'm sticking with this scenario now. God, that memory gets emptier
and emptier every time I visit.
Dracula was meteoric, all flash and the darkness, and then poof! All he
did was whet me for the hunt, to be the perfect devourer. That was
actually really neat and the feeling lasted a long time. That feeling
buggered up me and Riley.
From this distance I can't even distinguish between wanting Riley to
fill me up and wanting to erase him with my pelvis, like a misspelled
word. I kept telling myself: this is love, this is real world love. Not
many orgasms there though. It wasn't Riley's fault. He was choice grade
A and I could watch him walk for, like, days. And the way he reached
over his head for things from the top shelf? I was always asking for
things from the top shelf. That muscle flex? That was a melter.
Riley had some fine muscle groupings but orgasm-wise? Not exactly aces.
They were mostly oriented toward the devourer end of the spectrum. I
felt badly about that for a long time, but please, Riley and his muscle
groupings bailed. Now I just feel stupid for wailing over that guy. I
gave myself headaches crying for that noodle. Who said I was iting to rip into me.
Back to the frozen concentrate. I can put this in the fridge later.
Spike rubs his ear against mine and I get that great melted butter thing
down my spine. His ear deserves a bonus and stock options. He lifts up
my big sleep shirt in the back and rubs my bum with his denim crotch. I
think of a zinger. This is what comes out of my mouth:
"I have so many things to do today. I've got an actual itinerary and
everything. Can't we do a rain check?" There's no reaction at all. "I
can fit you in at 6:45 tonight." Okay, that made it jump. He's got the
gusset of my panties pulled aside with his left hand and is lightly
stroking me with his ring finger. Big woo.
A familiar sound travels through the kitchen walls. "I think I heard the
toilet flush. Spike, they are children. They get up early, you know...
cartoons and orange juice." I think I pointed rather well.
"Lift your leg." Damn those vocal chords.
Suddenly my left knee is on the counter and I hear that sassy zipper.
Hello! He's stroking the head of his penis against my entire area and I
feel myself opening for him.
I start planning a foot thick metal door for the top of the stairs.
Xander would do it for cost.
He's just circling the opening with no hints of going anywhere. My
panties are still pulled back because sometimes he's all about the
visuals. Then he starts in my ear, all about my syrupy pussy and my
brain starts to unhinge. Like I said, under 'diabolical' in the
dictionary.
This is the good stuff. I can't see this feeling fading any time soon
and I'm not talking crotchiness. It's him, he's in my head, and that's
just so, so fine.
"Do you like that?"
"Hmm, what's that now?" Yeah, you can suffer too, mate. A substantial
clit tweak. Hello again! I know his mouth is pursing in that tastes bad,
but good way. I do have some skills, you know.
"Oh, that. Yes, yes, very nice." Now that's just as good as an upper
body kick.
"Just nice?" His hand grabs one of mine to hold my panties aside so he
can feel me up while still circling. He makes me feel all school girly
inside.
NOT Dawn school girly. No. No. No.
Rubber-school-uniform, time-for-a-caning,
please-sir-may-I-have-some-more school girly. God. I really said that. I
really feel like that.
And my feet are tingling.
Flush.
"There's another one, better get cracking Mr. Fix-It." I'll admit it,
not the best choice of phrasing there. A little too much with the 'get
me off I've got better things to do' vibe.
He's got a Y chromosome in there somewhere, or had. I know: dead, dead,
totally dead, but surprisingly sensitive and retaliatory all the same.
He grabs me by my throat and pulls my head back really hard. His ribcage
is, well, I'll pick 'ouch'. Then comes the nasty voice, but soft and
airy.
"That's right pet, a few more flushes and the pitter patter of baby
bunny slipper feet and today we might just win our little game. Just
think of the look on Dawn's face. Could be kind of lasting, don't you
think?
Shit, Dawn. This is hold-a-grudge-guy, under 'serious'.
"Spike--"
"Bend." He pushes my body forward over the counter and I start to ooze.
My inner skank never gets tired of the caveman. Then he's inside me and
we're thrusting and I'm pushing back against him, reaching around...
And baby bunny slipper feet come sailing down the stairs. Shit and God
and a total maximum clench down there. Sorry, baby.
"Unhhh," escapes his lips.
I have this weird sensation of wind in my hair and then I'm no longer in
the kitchen. He picked me up flush to his chest and made like an Olympic
race walker, but vampire fast and backwards to the open basement door.
He shut the door with no sound and held the handle firm, locking it. I'm
on the second step facing the door; he's on the third.
I can't help it, I start giggling like a maniac and we come apart. His
free hand clamps over my mouth and he knocks my calf with his knee.
"Spread your legs," very softly now, baby bunny slipper feet at five
paces.
"Excellent, orange juice," that's not Dawn's voice... Molly?
"Ten points for Buffy," Dawn's voice. A cupboard opens and closes.
"Have you people heard of decaffeinated? It's the next big thing."
Yikes, Giles.
And little Miss Giggly gets her second wind. Spike reaches into his
pocket and pulls something out. It's a leather strap with pearl studs.
I remember that, it was at the crypt ages ago. He slips it around my
head and over my mouth and I take it. I guess a giggly fuck wasn't in
the brochure.
Oh yeah, how I've missed that. Skank girl returneth.
My nipples shoot out of me like canons firing. My arms and hands wander
on their own, not attached to any useful brain.
He slides back into me and puts those two lovely fingers on my clit. His
other hand is holding the strap really snugly at my jaw. He leans
forward and takes the strap in his teeth and holds it fast while his
hand goes under my shirt to tug my nipples. I think he's got some of my
hair caught in his teeth, but I...don't...care... He's pumping and
pumping and I'm already at grinding and that tiny slurpy sound starts
accompanied by a marvelous hiss through the strap. I just go to that
delicious wordless place and sigh.
Those Powers That Be jerks don't know anything about anything about
anything.
I come quickly in a muffled convulsion that pushes my cheek hard against
this old tennis racket Dad bought me. Take a picture tennis racket,
it'll last longer. I'm spasming again and he spurts into me with these
long shuddering body thrusts. He releases the strap and finishes with a
few meditative arching strokes, his lips buried in my hair. When he
finally pulls out I turn around. He looks at me with these
I'm-so-sleepy-did-we-just-fuck? yawning eyes. His voice is so tender it
should be illegal.
"Good morning sweetheart." I should slap him but instead I kiss him and
kiss him because I think it might actually be a good morning.
Now I want to fuck him until he cries.
We try to go down the stairs, but that squeak gets us. I have often
thought of that squeak as an actual entity, maybe demon. I can't just be
dry wood because I swear it changes position of its own accord. Will
doesn't think I'm right, but the bugger gets us on the second last step.
Spike giggles as I take the strap from his hand.
"Oh, there she is...laundry," Dawn stuffed a sugary bun into her mouth.
"You know Giles," she chewed, "Buffy says Spike is an excellent folder."