The Interview
Written by: Candyknicks
Author's Website
Summary: Buffy needs a job. Spike's interviewing. During the couple of hours they spend together they find out just what they mean to each other. Vamp Spike and Slayer Buffy. Set season fivish but in a slightly tweaked universe. Angsty and definitely NC17.
Disclaimer: The show Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel
(The Series) and all of it's characters belong to Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy, & Fox Prod.
Feedback: misscandyknickers@yahoo.co.uk
Chapter 5
Just how much fun can you have in a man's shirt?
Buffy
I know I make him mad. We make each other mad. The trouble is that we’re both too strong. We both want to be on top But he’s not going to win this one He might think he’s the big bad wolf, but I have exactly what it takes to turn him into a drooling little puppy, lying on his back waiting for his tummy to be tickled.
Slave, willing or otherwise? We’ll see. I know the trick to winning this. Give him something he’s never had before. Rewrite the book of love. He’s been everywhere, done everything. Gotta be creative.
He’s stomping about, face all glowery, putting on the act. Locks the door as if that will hold me if I wanted to leave. Pours himself a whiskey, downs it. Stalks towards me with his poor, neglected cock all hard and needy. Begging for attention.
So let’s mix it up a bit. I’m naked so I bend down and pick up one of his discarded shirts. Bringing it to my face, I take a deep breath and inhale its scent.
“This smells like you after a hard day, Spike,” I tell him and then I walk to where he’s standing and he’s looking a little shocked now, because I don’t think he was expecting this, and I rub the material over his bare chest, letting it slip lower to his hard length.
“Want it to smell just like you when you’re about to come, I tell him. “Then I’m going to put it on Spike. Would you like me to do that?” I say, all the while slipping and sliding it over him, my hand gripping him, my fingers occasionally grazing bare flesh. He’s close, very close. But I don’t want him to come yet.
I stand back and he moves forward with me, making a desperate sound as I break contact, but I put my hand on his chest and push him gently back.
“Have you ever noticed how erotic it is watching a woman get dressed? The way she slips her breasts into her bra. What she looks like when she’s wearing only a garter belt and stockings. A mini skirt with no knickers. Clothes are very underrated, don’t you think, Spike? Naked is good,” I say, rubbing the fragrant shirt over my breasts, over my belly and down to my most pleasurable spot.
“But wouldn’t you like to see me in this? Wouldn’t you like that when I take it off, I’ll smell of you? Shall I put it on, Spike?”
His face is a picture as I undo the buttons, because men never undo the buttons, do they? And even more so when I hand it to him.
I’ve managed to shut him up already. That cocky mouth that was shooting off just now about me being his slut and his whore is hanging open as he takes it from me.
“You want me to wear this?” he says looking at it.
“No,” I say. “Be a gentleman and put it on me, would you?”
I offer him my back and he slips the shirt on me as I stretch out, then suddenly his arm’s an iron band across my chest and he yanks me back against him. I let him do it because in the ebb and flow of things I reckon it’s his turn for a little dominance. Neither of us has to do any of this, we’re both strong enough to break away any time we want, so we just have to decide when we’re giving up control. And when we want to take it back.
Physically nether of us have to do this. We’re in this exact spot because we want to be, but mentally? Now that’s where the problem is. He can’t leave me alone because he tells me I’m stuck in his head. Tells me he dreams about me. Says that I won’t leave. But that’s only because he doesn’t want me to.
And me? I tell myself I hate him. How many times have I had that stake poised and never let myself make that final flick of the wrist that would send him to oblivion and end my Spike problem for good.
Because deep down, on some primitive level that I’m not even going to try and understand, I know I want this. Both of his hands closing over my breasts as he pulls me against him. His breath on my neck as he talks his dirty words, making all the little hairs stand up. One hand slipping to my belly as he shoves his hard cock into my back. I flex my knees, giving him the friction he’s looking for. And he’s calling me his devil girl, his bloody sexy woman as he thrusts against me.
My hand goes up and reaches into his hair. I thread my fingers into the slippery, gelled strands and hang on for dear life as he jerks and spasms against my back. Coming all over me, all over the shirt.
Yeah, clothes are good. Round one to me, I think.
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Spike
This girl was born knowing what I like, but never in a million years did I think she would ever give it to me. Ain’t money grand?
I think I see how she wants to play this. She knows there isn’t much she can do to shock me, to surprise me. Knows I’ve been around the block a couple of times, and then some. And she knows that there’s more to this than the in – out - shake it all about that you can read in any dime novel.
Hand jobs, blow jobs, she’s so tight, he’s so big. I’m gonna come. Okay, so I might just let that last one slip sometime this afternoon, we men like to announce our climaxes. But, yeah, let’s look for something different.
I’m not saying all those things aren’t nice. Sometimes you just want a good, hard fuck with no talking or preamble. Sometimes you just want someone’s mouth on you bringing you off, but as I said, that I can get from anyone. That’s your ordinary, everyday stuff. This is fantasy time. Time to look a little deeper, to seek out those delicious, secret spaces in between. To find stuff that even she doesn’t know about, because that ape, Riley sure won’t be showing her.
“Liked the shirt love,” I tell her as I bunch it in my hands and pull it up. She lifts her arms to allow me to take it off her, but I let it drop.
“No love, keep it on. S’dead sexy. D’you know why?”
She’s still got her back to me, but she shakes her head her breathing shallow as she waits for me to tell her.
The flat of my hand trails down her back and I cover the sticky, wet patch I’ve just made with my hand.
“ ‘Cos when I do this,” I say rubbing in a light circle, “you will smell of me.” I bring my hand up and lightly ghost a finger over her lips, then I push my hand into her hair and pull back her head. “And when I do this,” my lips close over hers, “You’ll taste of me, too.”
And I only need a small sip to let me know that I’ll never taste anything this good again. Delicious Buffy bouquet with dangerous Spike overtones. Goes to my head quicker than the whiskey. Makes it spin, makes me dizzy. Makes me realise that the next few hours are all I’ll ever have of this. I keep kissing her. Gotta memorise it, imprint it on my brain. Make a movie that I can play over and over again in the long lonely nights without her. Gotta stop going all poetic, it’s gonna make me crazy.
She has this way of moulding herself around me, she’s doing it now. Her skin sits perfectly against mine. When she pushes herself against me she just fits like she was always meant to be there.
And there’s the danger of poetry.
A touch, a feeling the slide of hands against skin, her hair tickling my face. The warmth of her breath. They fade away. But once you’ve articulated it, put it into words it’s always there. I’ll always be reminded of the things I can’t have.
Her head’s tipped right back against me now, her throat all bare and inviting. Can feel the blood pulsing, my fangs tingling. Aching to come down and slip inside her. She must know this. She’s a bloody slayer. She must know the agony I feel as she looks up at me. If she gave me permission, I could bite her. I could offer now. Fifty thousand. She’d never refuse that. But I don’t. Because it would only taste bitter if I had to pay her for it. Better not to go there unless she's completely willing.
“So, you like the shirt?” She says winking at me. “Tell me more.”
“Well, I say,” pulling it down one shoulder and pressing my lips to the golden curve of flesh. “I like it because I can do this.” I grab the hem at the back and slide it along the bumps of her spine. Then I bend and kiss my way down. “And I can do this,” I tell her.
“And,” I say, spinning her around and catching her as she sways. “I can do this.”
I take the collar between my fingers and thumbs and push the material apart arranging it so that it falls loosely over her breasts, just touching the sides of them, nipples exposed, giving me a view of her belly button. The triangle of hair just below tantalisingly on display. The shirt falls to mid-thigh on her and she’s right. It’s doubly erotic to see those parts you desire most peeking through.
And what’s just as exciting is knowing that I can do this. She frowns as I take the material and slowly start to button it up. Starting at the top I close it, bit by bit hiding her from my view.
“Do you know what the most exciting thing of all is love?” I say, working my way down, being sure to let my fingertips come in constant contact with her as I’m doing it.
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head.
“It’s the knowledge that this is all for me. That when you’re wearing my clothes, you belong only to me. When you’re covered up like this I have to use my imagination. But I know what you’ve got under there love. And it makes me so hard.”
She looks so prim and proper, standing there done up like a birthday parcel with her sweet surprises hidden inside.
She’s got her finger in her mouth, knees slightly together like a naughty schoolgirl and then she brings her hands to her hair, pushes it up and lets it rain down again. As she does that I get a quick flash of her pussy as the shirt rides up, and then it’s gone as the material covers her again.
I get even harder.
“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you Spike? She says letting her hand drop to her thigh. I’m hypnotised as her fingers trace the contour, moving higher until it hooks into the hem of the shirt and continues its slow ride up. This time she flashes me the sharpness of a hipbone, the dip of her waist. And then the shirt drops once more.
“Wait up,” I say turning and rooting in a drawer. I find what I’m looking for as she looks on curiously.
“How vulnerable do you want to feel, love?” I hold up the camera. “Wanna do something you’re gonna regret for the rest of your life?”
She shakes he head and backs away. “Not that, Spike. I can’t do that. No one can know I was here.”
“Oh, I think you can love,” I say, matching her step for step. “It’s the most exciting thing of all. Doing something you know you’re gonna regret, but doing it anyway. Knowing that I’ll have pictures of you like this, that I can look at any time I want to. That I could show to anyone I wanted to. I could promise you that no one will ever see them but me. But you’ll never know the day, or the moment that I’m so pissed off with you that I break that promise. And I might show them to anyone. Riley, Giles, your mom. Put them on the internet. Have it blown up poster size and put on a frikking billboard."
“No.” She gives the tiniest whisper. A last gasp protest, even as she’s moving towards the bed.
“It’ll be your photo I’m looking at when I’m getting myself off. Would you like that?”
She shakes her head and lifts one knee to the bed.
“I’ll make it fifteen thousand.” I say closing in on her. I don’t have to do that, offer more money. I can see where she’s heading. Can see how turned on it’s making her. But I just want to be sure. Really need this. Just to prove this afternoon wasn’t a dream. Need some evidence that she really was here.
“Lie down love,” I’m like a devil sitting on her shoulder, tempting her to bad things. But I’m only really taking her to places she’s willing to go freely. She wants this as much as I do. Maybe she even needs it more than I do.
And I just love that moment when a woman gives in. I’m happy to go through the dance because I know how it works. I’m nothing if not persistent. Know how to wait until they’ve made up their minds. Yeah, I could take it, but where’s the pleasure in that? Been there, done it. Much more exciting when a woman wants me because she knows I’m going to be the best she’ll ever have. Because I’m going to give her something no man ever has.
A devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other. Again I caution her.
“I said you’d be my slave this afternoon, but only a willing one, Buffy. Again, I say, only do this if you want it as much s I want you to do it. Forget the money. I want you to pose for me on my bed, wearing nothing but my shirt. I’m going to keep the photos and you’ll have to trust that that’s all I’ll do with them.”
“Do you trust me, Buffy?”
“Never,” she says climbing up on the bed and lying down on the black, satin quilt.
“Where do you want me?”
Chapter 6
Buffy
I’m lying on my back, arms above my head, legs straight out and together.
He’s beside the bed, one knee resting on the edge, looking down at me through the camera lens.
I ask him what he wants me to do.
“Just be yourself,” he replies.
“But who am I?” I reply.
“You’re Buffy,” he says. Click, click.
“Buffy?” I try to remember who she was.
Sitting up, I cross my legs and carefully arrange the shirt so that I’m decently covered. I smile sweetly, appealingly. The camera clicks again. I put my thumb in my mouth and tilt my head. He tilts his, tilts the camera. Fires off a few more shots.
Is this who I was? A little girl who so desperately wanted to please? Who just wanted to be loved?
I kneel up and sit back on my heels. Click. I hug myself. Click. I open the top button and lean forward a little. Click, click.
He’s still got his jeans on, but they’re completely open and hanging loosely on his hips. I don’t know how he manages it, but he’s definitely ‘interested’ again.
And he’s falling into rhythm with me as I move myself around the bed. Following me with the camera. Murmuring quiet words of encouragement and appreciation as I give him what he wants.
How did I get from that sweet little girl, to this? Siren temptress. Possibly the most turned on I’ve ever been, and lying almost naked on a vampires bed?
I undo another button and lie on my back once more. This time I let the shirt ride up a little so it’s just covering me. So that another inch would show what he’s desperate to see. I stretch out my arms, taking my hair in my hands as I do. He’s kneeling over me now, clicking away.
I bend one knee. Let it fall to the side. He’s very close now. Focusing in.
He puts down the camera and undoes the next button himself, arranging the folds to his liking. Then he combs his fingers into my hair and fans it out, all around me on the satin comforter.
“I could eat you,” he says his voice rough and barely controlled.
“I want you to,” I reply. And his fingers still for a split second before he takes the next picture.
I can see it’s a digital camera. He could have prints done in no time. We could look at them together.
He moves back, beckoning me forward, so I get up and sit on the edge of the bed.
Legs open, hands gripping the edge as they rest between my inner thighs. Oh yes, he likes that one. The shirt pulled up just enough. I move my hands to rest on my thighs. My tongue licks my lower lip. My hands stray to the remaining buttons. Each one falls open. For every button, there’s a click.
We flow around each other. I give, he takes.
“How did I get here?” I ask him. I was a sweet little girl. A teen who thought of nothing but clothes and shopping, sitting in the mall sucking lollipops. And look at me now.
I let my legs fall wide and lean right back on my elbows. He’s on his knees. Clicks. Focuses. Zooms in.
He lowers the camera, stands up and looks me straight in the eye.
“How did you get here?” he says. “Simple. You met me.”
I turn onto my stomach and he’s still behind me. I feel his hand pulling up the shirt so that my butt is exposed. Click, click. I waggle it in the air. Clicks again. Roll onto my side, head resting on a bent elbow. I touch myself with my free hand, and he gives an appreciative groan.
“Yeah, do that love. You’ve no idea how sexy you look. How sexy you are. What you do to me.” Click. Click. He’s on his knees on the bed again. Tilting the camera this way and that.
And suddenly I’m not afraid. I know that this is as dangerous for him as it is for me. That he knows full well that if he ever shows these to anyone he’s dead. That I’ll kill him myself. I think my secret is safe enough.
“Yes,” I tell him, as I sit up and scoot back against the headboard. “I met you. A slayer met a vampire and the whole world turned upside-down.
I stretch out my arms along the top of the carved, ornate wood. He stays very still.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Spike.” I cover each breast with a hand. “Look at me. Look what you’ve made me into.”
“Look what we make together,” he says, throwing the camera aside.
In a flash he has me on my back again, my hands pinned above my head, his full length stretched against me, trapping me with iron thighs. I’m surprised it’s taken so long with all that’s been simmering between us. But we have nothing if not willpower. Both of us stubborn in the extreme. Both of us would die before we gave in to something we didn’t want to do.
He slides his hands up my arms until his are covering mine.
“You’ve always known, haven’t you?” he tells me, his face very close to mine. “How much I’ve wanted you. Every look, every movement. Knew how to tease me just right,” he says.
Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done. Every word we’ve ever said. It’s all been leading to this. We’ve always known this moment was coming.”
He sees the acquiescence in my eyes, because I dare not say the words. A slight shift, and he’ll be right where he wants to be. That’s all the agreement he’s waiting for.
I keep very still. The dance isn’t over yet.
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Spike
Move, damn you. Give me permission. I don’t want to force this from you. This, as a gift freely given, would mean more to me than anything else you could do this afternoon. Invite me in, Buffy. Invite me in.
My whole body is screaming out for her. But she’s going to make me suffer just a little more. I still have penance to do. Have to be made to work for it. Because, evil vampire, remember? Like a serial killer in prison, with the chip.
But you made the bars love. You wove the golden thread around me and made it impossible for me to move from anywhere, but the place where you are.
You made me snow blind so that I can’t see anything else but you. Turned my feet into lead so that I can’t run away from you. Filled my ears with the sound of your voice, and my dreams with your face. Only, always, your bloody face.
And now, the feel of you against me. Your hot breath on me. Your eyes. A little startled, all knowing. Like a woman who’s satisfied that she has her man exactly where she wants him. Hovering on the brink. And you know I’ll stay here for all eternity if you ask me to. Just in case you change your mind. I would wait forever for that moment. I would lie here, waiting until the ages turned me to stone. You know that, don’t you?
She does move then. Maybe it’s too much even for her, a slayer. What’s wrong love? Don’t you want to be loved with so much passion that it might just consume us both?
I’m on my back now, she’s straddling me, positioned just right. My arms pulled over my head. It’s cool. I don’t care who’s on top. Just as long as one of us is.
“How do you want it, pet?” I ask her, desperately trying to move. But she’s got thighs of iron too. Won’t let me. Keeps me trapped there. Gonna make me beg.
So bloody exciting.
“My wet, horny slayer,” I tell her. That gets a reaction. She’s melting all over me.
“How do you want it?” I ask her. “Slow and easy? I could just slide right in, you’re so wet for me. Would take no effort at all. I’d set us a nice, slow pace. And I can keep going for hours. Would you like that?”
Just a small nod of her head. Don’t think she realised that she even did it. But I saw it.
“Or,” I continue. “I could fill you with one hard thrust, so hard that you’d come just like that. And I would too. How would you like that? Have you ever come that quickly? I could do that for you, Buffy. Let me do it now.”
I always was a smooth talker. After I ditched William, of course. But this, is the slayer. Iron will. It’s part of the job description.
She licks her lips, bats her eyes. Lets her hair sweep over my skin. Slides her wet core over me. Leans down and licks at both corners of my mouth. Scrapes her fingernails over my scalp. And I’m boiling for her. Straining for her like a madman.
And she sits up, reaches over, grabs the camera and records it all.
The craziness, the yearning. The need, the want. The way I turn myself inside out for her and show her everything. Give her everything. It’s all there. Click, click, bloody click as she photographs me.
And why? I think. So she can use them to get herself off in the quiet privacy of her bedroom? So that she can look at them, her heart swelling with pride, and tell herself that this man loves her with a passion that she’ll never see again in her lifetime. So that she can feel sorry for me? So that she can laugh at the ambitions of a stupid vampire who thought he could love a slayer? And who thought a slayer might ever love him.
With a roar I roll her again and hold her down. Too roughly, I know, but sometimes she just frightens me so much.
She goes very limp and lies very still.
“Take another picture, Spike,” she orders me in a calm, quiet voice. She hands me the camera.
I move off her and get ready to obey, because am I not ultimately just her slave?
She arranges herself very precisely as I wait for her. Lying straight, the shirt covering everything but her legs. She crosses her arms over her chest and I feel a panic rising in me like I’ve never felt before.
“No,” I whisper.
“Yes,” she replies. Closing her eyes.
She looks peaceful, as the dead do.
“One day,” she says. “Probably very soon. I’ll be like this. Slayers die young, Spike. And I will too. One day,” she says again, “you will stand at my coffin and look down on me, just as you are now. And I will be like this. Only my heart won’t be beating any more and I’ll be as cold as you are. And then you will spend eternity staring at these pictures. Trying to remember the way I looked today. Trying to recall the sound of my voice, my smell. My laughter, my tears.
“No,” I say again, the camera frozen in my hand.
“You’ll sit in the dark,” she continues, “and try to remember if I ever said a kind word to you. I could tell you I love you, Spike. But you wouldn’t believe me. You’d spend the rest of time trying to work out whether I meant it or not. And it will drive you crazy. Loving me will drive you crazy, Spike. Take this last picture.”
She doesn’t move. Her breathing stills and she waits. And I realise that this grotesque parody is as much for her as it is for me. It’s a warning to us both. I’m scared, but so is she. We’re both bloody terrified. Rehearsing her own death because she’s petrified that she won’t know what to do when the moment comes. And she’s showing me a kindness, of sorts. I get a sneak preview of the pain, the agony that will inevitably come when she’s not there any more. It will happen. If not as a slayer, then from disease, or old age.
Death will part us one day.
But not today I think, throwing the camera across the bed. Not today. She’s done the impossible with her words. Made me love her even more than I did before. If time is something we don’t have, then we shouldn’t be wasting a single moment of it.
She fills my dead heart with passion, she fills it with terror. And she fills it with love.
I knee her thighs apart and I’m inside her in one stroke. Up to the hilt. And just like I promised, that’s all it takes. For both of us.
She says one word. Spoken on a sigh as we pour our release into each other.
“Yes.”
It falls from her lips and I catch it with mine. Kissing her into oblivion.
Because, if she’s going there. Then I’m going with her.
Chapter 7
So many questions.
Buffy
It’s hard to tell who’s holding who. Am I in his arms, or is he in mine? Is that my skin that I can feel, or is it his? Have I ever been this close to another person before?
We’re still joined, clamped together. Locked in the shocked aftermath of what we’ve just done. I’m supposed to be a hero, but I took the coward’s way out. Left the decision to him. Would I have ever taken that final step, if he’d waited for me?
But a decision to what? Is he going to take me dancing, give me children? Buy me a house with a white picket fence? Are we going to sit by the fire and grow old together?
Or are we just doomed to have mind-blowing, soul-searching sex in the shadows? To carry on with life and nurse this as a shameful little secret that no one will ever know?
He lifts his head and looks at me long and deep. His eyes holding a special understanding that I would never have looked for in Spike.
“Now we know,” he says quietly and rolls to the side, still holding me.
I settle over him, gathering my scattered senses.
“Yes,” I whisper back. “Now we know.”
He opens his mouth to speak again, but I get in first. “Don’t offer me any more money,” I say. “Please don’t.”
He nods his head and I feel his hand clutching at my face. He’s holding me too hard for it to be comfortable, but I guess sometimes in life you have to anchor yourself down, otherwise you’ll be lost.
Was it my climax I felt, or his? I don’t even know that. It was sharp and it was sweet, with an edge of desperation that had us both reaching out with everything we had. And somewhere, between us, we collided in a frenzy of feeling that I will spend the rest of my life trying to unravel and find meaning for.
I wish I hadn’t felt it. I’m too young to have felt the most intense thing I’ll ever feel. Too young to see the most beautiful thing my eyes will ever gaze upon. Or maybe it’s because, as I told him just a few moments ago, I’m a slayer and I’m destined for an early death?. Maybe I need to feel and see these things now, because I don’t have a lifetime stretching before me in which to do these things? I don’t have the luxury of time that will allow me to wander across this earth leisurely seeking them out. I can’t afford to say no, I’ll just wait and see if there’s something better around the corner.
When you’ve found your match in strength, it leaves you staring at your greatest weakness. I told myself he’d never win, but neither of us will.
He’s still hard, inside me, but he’s not moving. I wonder if he’s leaving the next step up to me. He’s gone very quiet. My cocky, swaggering Spike. Don’t you have words for this? No wisecracks about doing a slayer? No satisfied smugness to rub in my face about how easy it was?
He promised he’d take me all the way in one hard thrust. Said he’d be right there with me. And he didn’t lie. But how do you come back from this? What do you do with it? A feeling that leaves you so overwhelmed, you can’t hold it. Do you just let it fade and slip between your fingers?
What would normal people do? This would be a time for declarations of love. A time to feed the ego. To tell him he’s the biggest, the best. That in this test of manhood, he passed with flying colours.
And shouldn’t he be spouting poetry? Flattering me? Sweet talking me so I’ll want to do it again?
Instead he’s just holding me as if I might vanish at any moment. Deep inside me, where he’s wanted to be for so long, I know that now. And just holding on.
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Spike
If I could have just one moment and suspend it for all eternity, then it would be this one. Locked inside my slayer, I would gladly live out the rest of my existence here and never move again.
I’m cold and dead, but she’s warm and full of life and here in my arms. I can feel her heart struggling to beat normally again. It’s never going to beat normally around me again, you know that, don’t you love? I can feel her blood surging in her veins, pounding in her brain. It’ll always be like that when you’re near me. You can be alive for the both of us.
Dru made me hard, but she also made me dead. You make me soft, slayer, but you also make me feel alive. Make me feel like a man again. When you’re near me your heart can beat for the both of us. I can pretend that your blood sings in my veins too.
If I could get any deeper inside her, I would. If I could show her anything more than I did just now, then I would. If there were words for it, I’d tell her. But all I can do is hang on to her while she's here because soon, she will be gone.
Is this a kindness, or a cruelty? Showing her this. Forcing her to acknowledge what’s between us? What could be between us? We can’t not know this now. It’ll take a long time to forget this, and I know that however much feelings fade, I will replay this in my head until the tape is wiped clean from wear.
In any game of dominance comes the inevitable moment where you are perfectly matched to your opponent. It may be a stalemate that lasts for years, or just a split second of knowing. Like a roller coaster at its peak, there’s a moment when you are both suspended in mid air, and time seems to slow down and stretch out, and there is nothing but the two of you.
We’re not asking, wanting, giving or needing right now. We just are.
And it’s perfect.
I wish I could tell her. I wish I could know that she’d listen and welcome my words. I wish I had the nerve to cut out my heart and lay it at her feet where it belongs. That would be cruel. Even if she wanted it she couldn’t accept it. She has a life that doesn’t include me, and never will or could.
So I’ll be kind, because one of us has to be. I don’t care if the powers that be are up there laughing at the futility of all this. All I know is that this is a gift that I’m going to grab hold of with both hands, and everything in between. I’m the one buried inside her right now. It’s my hair that her fingers are stroking, my back that her palm is pressed against. Her breasts flattened against my chest. And her lovely little mouth, hot against my neck.
I’ll be kind, because one of us has to move. One of us has to prove that what happened just now wasn’t a fluke, and that we can make it happen again and again as many times as we choose.
“Did I keep my promise?” I ask her.
She gives a tiny nod against me in response.
“And what else did I promise?” I ask, looking at her, at last. Tilting her chin so she’s forced to look at me. “What else did I say, tell me,” I insist.
“You said it could be slow and easy.”
Her voice is trembling, but I hear what she says. Hear how she says it.
“What else did I say?” I ask her.
“You said.” She looks away, but I force her back. Want to see the desire in her eyes as she anticipates what I’m going to do to her. “That it could be slow and easy and that you could keep going for hours.”
“And would you like that? Would you like me to keep you prisoner here and make love to you until you pass out from the pleasure of it all? Shall I do that?”
I swear the look on her face is one of regret, but she shakes her head.
“I can’t stay with you, Spike. Can’t tell anyone about this.”
“Much as you’d like to?” I say it hopefully, not really expecting an answer and she doesn’t give one. Just twists herself so that she’s draped over me like a blanket, and starts to move. She sets the rhythm, she sets the pace. Like she’s always done.
And I sing and dance to her tune, like I’ve always done, and I always will.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Buffy
So many questions. Only one answer. But one that can’t be put into words. I’m too scared to say it out loud. Too scared to admit to anyone but myself that this creature makes me feel something that is out of this world. If you look in a mirror long enough you’ll see yourself at last. Maybe Spike is my mirror? Maybe I need him so that I can see what I really am? What I really have inside.
He gives a long, breathy, growl as I start to move. Half passion, half relief. I press myself as hard against him as I can, almost so that we can feel our bones touching through our skin, and then I ease off.
“Slow and easy,” I whisper to him. “I want to feel it, just like you said. Just like you promised.”
He starts to move and I’m so wet for him that with each stroke he almost pulls out completely and each time he does my body cries out to have him back. Then he’s back inside me all the way and everything’s how it should be once more. And this happens over and over until it becomes a kind of sweet torture. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Looks me full in the eye as if, each time, just before he plunges in, he’s asking permission. And after a while I’m saying it out loud. Yes, yes, yes. Like an actress in a porn movie.
“Do you want it?” he asks, pulling out.
“Yes,” I reply, pushing back down.
“How much?” he asks.
“All of you,” I say, sliding onto him.
“It’s yours,” he says lifting his hips.
“Mine,” I agree, wriggling and fitting myself to him.
This was supposed to be slow and easy. But it’ll never be that between us. We’re both too greedy. Have to be greedy. Have to just take what we can, while it’s here.
I smell of him, like I said I would. And now he smells of me. And the more we move, the more we smell of each other. The whole room smells of us, doing the most primitive thing that a man and a woman can do together. He’s stroking me and touching me in places that no man has ever reached. And it’s not just a cock moving against sensitive nerve endings. Not just fingers seeking me out and joining in the dance. Not just a mouth kissing any part of me that it can reach. Any man could do that. They all know how.
No, it’s the fact that these are Spike’s slim fingers that are slippery with me. His fingernails scraping against me. It’s Spike cock that’s inside me, filling me. Spike’s mouth wetting me, Spike’s teeth nipping me. Spike. All around me. All I can see is Spike.
It’s not the size of him, or the length of him. Or even what he does with it. Any man can do that, be that.
What makes this so special, is that it’s him.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Spike
Sometimes, even a vampire needs this. A little tenderness.
A slow, hypnotising, mesmerising, mind-numbing fuck. Some might call it making love. We’ve had the difference explained to us often enough. But that’s all become cliché now. There are many ways to show a woman you love her. But the best one? Give her what she wants. Give her what she asks for. And let her know that you’re the only one she’ll get it from. And then she’ll come back, and she’ll come back. And she’ll always be looking for you.
Sneaky? Is that really love? I know. But I’m desperate here. Got to give her the best she’s ever had, spoil her for any other man. And yes, that makes me a selfish bastard, because, if she doesn’t want me after this, then she’s buggered, isn’t she? She’ll be stuck with second best for the rest of her life. Always be left wanting.
Always be left wanting me.
“Look at me, love,” I say as I hook my hands under her arms. “Gonna let you come in a bit. Wanna see you when you come. Want to see you looking at me.”
Her eyes are huge, incredulous, unblinking.
“That’s right,” I tell her. Keep them open, just like that. So I can see right inside. Let it show, Buffy.”
She opens them even wider, and now they’re all shiny and bright.
“Are those for me?” I ask.
“No, Spike,” she replies, shaking her head. Protesting a little too much. “They’re not for you.”
“I know,” I reply. “Come now, sweetheart. Let it go, give it all to me. Let me see you come while I’m inside you. S’better that way, isn’t it?”
She nods her head. Screws up her face. Keeps her eyes open. And I’m impressed, ‘cos that’s hard when you’re in the throes of this much passion. But she’s doing it for me, because I asked her to. I like to think she is, anyway.
And I am cruel, because I wring every last drop out of her. Keep her coming and coming until it’s only me holding her up. Until, just for the briefest moment in time, she’s mine, and only mine. And it’s my name that’s falling from her lips. Me she’s begging to let her finish. And I finally take pity on her, shout out her name, and come with her.
She falls on to me in a heap of slippery, wet skin, tangled hair and hot, panting breath. And we just lie there. The roller coaster’s hit the straight and we just coast along with it. And I’m just a little sad, as I stroke her and soothe her and encourage her to come back to the world, because we’ll never have this again. It might be worse, or it might be better, but it’ll never be as special as this first time. It’ll never be such a revelation, I’ll never be so shocked or so surprised.
She lifts her head and looks at me, a little bleary eyed, as if she’s drunk, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips. So I smile too. And it’s infectious because hers gets wider and she rolls off me, tilts her head to look at me, and sighs.
“Where the hell do we go from here, Spike,” she says. “What the hell do we do now?”
Chapter 8
Buffy
“Keep still,” I tell him clicking my tongue at him as if he was a naughty schoolboy. “You move you’re gonna smudge it, then I’ll get mad."
“Yeah,” he says,hopefully.
“Yeah,” I say, meaning every word.
He’s sitting in front of me on the bed, knees bent, legs open. I’m kneeling between them, facing him. Still wearing the shirt, he’s still in his jeans. The bed’s a mess. The contents of my purse tipped out in a jumbled heap, stuff I found in his bathroom. The black nail polish, that’s his, but the other stuff? Well, let’s just say he’s had women here before.
His hand is resting on my thigh, the other one’s busy touching, stroking, feeling, probing. He wants to be everywhere, do everything because he knows he may never get this again. Instead I’m forcing him to sit still while I leisurely paint his nails to a glossy black. Cranking up the tension again, and all the while I’m talking to him, telling him what I’m going to do while the polish is drying.
“You’ll have to keep real still, Spike.” I tell him. “And when you’re helpless and you can’t move I’m gonna do what I promised when this all started. Do you remember what I said? It was just a short while ago, yet I can’t seem to remember a time when I wasn’t in this room with you. Where did the world go, Spike? Why, when we’re together like this, does it feel that this is all we need?"
He’s trying to keep still, but I can see his shoulders shaking from the effort of it. When it gets too much he grabs the back of my head and gives me wet, open mouthed kisses that are laced with desperate longing. Kisses that make me sad and make my heart ache, because I can hear so plainly what he’s trying to tell me.
“If I could,” I tell him as I work, “I would stay here in this room with you and never leave. Everything I’ve ever looked for is here, and it becomes more because I can’t have it. I think we could be happy Spike, but like this, knowing that this might be the last time, it lends it an edge of ecstasy that we’d never have reached if we could do this all the time."
It’s the heartbreak of it all that drives us on. The desperation. It’s going to be end-of-the-world sex every time we do this. We’ll always give everything, take everything, and when we’re apart it’s all we’ll think about, and all we’ll want.
I’m done, so I position his hands in mid air in front of him and tell him to keep them very still, and then I dip my head, very suddenly and take him in my mouth. So that even though he’s expecting it, he’s still taken by surprise.
It’s not soft, or gentle. I told him he could take it so I attack him with lust. Pressing down the length of him with my flat tongue, sucking him in as far as I can get him. My hands slip around his back, squeeze his buttocks, hold him to me as if I was never going to let him go. As if this is where I’ve always wanted to be.
He gives a grunt of pleasure and thrusts himself at me. A litany of words start to pour from his lips and all the while his hands are suspended in mid air, flapping there uselessly while his nails dry. He can’t touch me, can’t pull me any nearer like he wants to, and all the while I continue to slurp and suck and scrape with teeth, and take him exactly where I want him to be.
And when he’s there, right on the edge, and that danmed nail polish still isn’t dry, that’s when I stop. That’s when I sit back on my heels and wipe the back of my hand across my mouth and just look at him. He’s still thrusting mindlessly, puts the heels of his hand on each of my shoulders to pull me back.
“Shh,” I tell him, putting a finger on my lips. “That was nice Spike. I love the taste of you, the feel of you moving in my mouth. But I know it already. It doesn’t tell me anything new. I know you have a big, hard cock. I know it’s like a magic wand. I know it’s all for me. I want to learn something new, Spike. When I leave this room, I want to take those memories with me. And I want to leave some with you.
“Anything,” he says looking at me from the very depths of his desire. “I’ll do anything, tell you anything. “Just ask,” he says. “Don’t even ask, just take. It’s all yours, always will be.”
“Be careful Spike,” I tell him. “If you give me everything then there’ll be nothing left of you. What are you going to be when I leave?”
“I’ll be dead love, like I’ve been for the last hundred and twenty years,” he says looking at his nails. “They’re nearly dry,” he tells me. “Better hurry.”
So I do. Want to know everything about this man. Want to know how he can take me home with one thrust. Want to know why he touches me so deep inside. Want to know why I can’t get near enough to him. Want to know why, even though this will break my heart, I already know that I’ll want more. Because it’ll never be enough.
“Let’s start at the top,” I say wriggling towards him so that we’re almost touching.
I’ve never kissed a man’s hair before. I tip his head towards me so that I can kiss the very top. I can taste and smell the hair gel he uses, and his hair’s both soft and slippery at the same time. I work my way forward kissing along his hairline, down to his ear. He gives a sharp moan as I thrust my tongue inside and swirl it all around. Nip at the shell with my teeth, bite the lobe just a little too hard.
His hands are clutching at my shoulders now and I guess the polish must be dry, but he turns his head and offers the other one.
“Go on love,” he encourages. So I do the same, find out a little more about what turns him on, the noises he makes when I hit just the right spot. How he likes a tongue pushed right inside. How he likes me to say things when my mouth is pressed right against it. I say his name, I say I want him. And the words go right through him and make him shiver and tremble. I hold him captive as I tell him the things he’s been desperate to hear. Things I’ll probably regret saying. Things he’ll remember always.
I play him like an instrument as I hold his head and just talk to him. And I’ve never had such an attentive audience.
Then I move on.
I’ve never kissed the inside of a man’s mouth. My tongue's been inside, moved around, explored, but this time I peel back his lips and kiss his gums, his teeth. I push as hard as I can and kiss and suck on the inside of his cheek. It’s not even comfortable but he’s helping me, pushing against me because he knows what I’m trying to do, and he wants to give it to me. Intimacy is an act of trust.
I never thought I’d trust Spike this much.
I ask him to close his eyes and I kiss his eyelids, feeling them quiver as I touch them. I make small delicate movements with my mouth, and then I flutter my eyelashes against his cheeks, over his lips and over every inch of his face, grazing and tickling him.
I reach over for my lipstick and twisting it open, I hand it to him. He looks at it, bemused for a moment, and then he reaches towards me, places the fingers of one hand against my cheek and carefully outlines my lips with it. His hand slips down to my chin, to hold me as he covers each plump lip with rich, dark red colour. And when he’s done he leans forward and kisses me, smudging all his careful work, his lips sliding against the oily surface, getting it all over his mouth.
I push him back because I haven’t finished with him yet. Time’s draining away like sand in an hour glass, and there’s so much more I need to know. So much more he needs to tell me.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Spike
I didn’t know that there was so much we needed to say to each other. Didn’t know that there was so much I needed to hear. And she knows exactly where to look to get the answers she wants.
I thought I’d been everywhere, done everything, said everything there was to say. But I can’t remember anywhere I’ve ever been before this. Anything I’ve ever done, or anything I’ve ever said that’s had more meaning than this.
She’s tracing that little hollow between my collar bones, licking at it with the tip of her tongue, making a wet trail between my ribs. One long sweep that takes her all the way down to where she started, and then back up again.
Her hairs a mess, the outline of her red lips smeared and crooked. Her cheeks are ablaze with passion and her eyes are dark with desire.
And she’s never looked more beautiful to me. This decadent perfection was inside you all along pet, why have you kept it hidden for so long?
She leaves a red trail across my chest as she works her way towards my armpits, her nails biting into my bicep as she holds me. She breathes in deeply and nuzzles her face into the hair under my arm.
“Spike smell,” she says with an appreciative sigh, and her homage almost makes me weep. This kindness is a gift I’d never hoped to have. These words are ones I’d never thought to hear, and this careful appraisal makes me feel like the most precious thing in the world to her.
It shakes me to the very core. Makes me feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.
“I’m not worthy,” I tell her. “I don’t deserve you, or this.”
And then suddenly, inexploicably, I’m angry, I grab her and hold her, look hard at her.
“Why?” I ask her. “Why are you doing this? What good is going to come of torturing me like this? Why didn’t you just walk out of that door when you first saw me?” Then I pull her to me and press her hard into my chest.
“What am I going to do when you’ve gone,” I say.
She unpeels herself from me. Uncurls my fingers where they’re digging into her skin and leans forward to kiss the very tip of my nose.
“Shh,” she says. “Just tell me to stop, and I will. Just tell me that it’s too much, and I’ll find my clothes, get dressed and walk out of that door. All you have to do is say the words.”
We both just stare into each other’s faces. A message plainly written. It’s never, or forever.
“If you walk out of that door now,” I tell her, “I’ll never see you again, will I?”
“Do you want me to stop?” She says.
“But if you stay,” I say, “ then you’ll be with me for the rest of your life. Whether you want it or not, you’ll never be rid of me.”
“Just say the word,” she replies.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I say. “I never want you to stop.”
“Then I never will,” she says.
------------------------------------------------------
Buffy
I move behind him and he cranes his neck around, a brief look of panic on his face as if he thinks I am leaving him after all. His hand shoots out and grabs my arm, his eyes widen in soundless question.
“I’m not going far,” I tell him. “You have such a sexy back,” I say moving his hand and slithering around him. “”Let me look at it.”
He dips his head forward as I wrap myself around him from behind. I’m kneeling and my legs are open, so that I’m pressing myself against the rough denim of his jeans. I slip my arms around his waist and pull him back against me as he did to me earlier. A lovely friction that could get me off in no time at all, if that's what the game was about right now.
He pushes back against me, sensing what I want, but I have better things to do. Even when he was my enemy, I’ve always loved this part of him. Where his hairline meets his neck. Where the whispy curls meet the corded tendons. It’s an area of delicate restraint that sweeps gracefully down to the curves of his shoulders. If I had to look for Spike’s vulnerable spot I wouldn’t look at his heart, I’d look here at this achingly beautiful sweep of muscle and bone that, for some inexplicable reason wants to move me to tears.
Maybe it’s just the way he’s offering it to me. The way that he trusts, that when I’m behind him, and he can’t see me, I’m not going to hurt him. We’ve been enemies for so long. Tried to kill each other time and time again, and here he is, offering me his naked back. I can’t think of a greater gift. It’s as if he’s offering me his very existence. Laying himself completely open to me.
I touch him everywhere, learn everything there is to know about him. Leave no stone unturned. There’s a spot, just near the bottom of his spine that make him cry out when I get there. And a spot, as I slide my hand into his jeans, just between his balls and his ass that makes him whimper as I press my finger there.
You make me feel a different kind of power, Spike. I’m a slayer, I’m already strong, but to be able to do this, to reduce a master vampire to jello in my hands just because I’m touching him? That’s real power.
I could use force, smash him in the face, knock him down and hold him there. But all it really takes is a little time to find out, and then a feather light touch in all these secret places that he keeps so well hidden.
“I’m touching you with the very tip of my smallest finger and you’re a mess, Spike,” I tell him.
I can feel him quivering against me, his head moving from side to side as I massage him between his legs. My hand is trapped between our bodies, as I push up behind him and press myself into him.
“Shall we both come now?” I whisper against his shoulder blade as my hand reaches around him and circles his cock, so that I’m covering every inch of his most sensitive parts.
He nods his head and the words yes, and please, and come, and now, fall from his lips over and over. His hands reach back and his fingers clutch at my hips, and I join in. Yes, I tell him. Let’s both come now, together. Let’s do it all, let’s do everything.
In the midst of all this passion and wild abandonment I happen to glance at the digital clock on the table by the bed and I see how late it’s gotten. Realise that soon I’ll have to go and I'm driven by panic now. I came here to find a job. But instead, I found myself a lover. I can’t call him a soul-mate because he hasn’t got one, but perhaps mine is enough for the both of us.
What will become of us, I have no idea. A love like this has got to be doomed. Passion this hot will burn us both. And the scorn of the world, if it ever finds out about this will wither us and reduce us to nothing.
“I can’t love you, Spike,” I cry as I let myself go.
“I know,” he replies, coming into my hand, his voice laden with an anguish that echoes mine.
“Why did you have to show me this?” I ask him, reproachfully as I slide down his back to flop down on the bed.
“Because you needed to know,” he says falling beside me.
“But I was happy, before.”
“No, you weren’t,” he tells me. “You thought you were, but you weren’t.”
“Are you gonna break my heart, Spike?” I ask him.
“Only if you break mine,” he replies.
“Then we’re doomed,” I say, wearily.
My hand is sticky with his come so I bring it to my breasts and rub if off onto my skin. Massaging it into my nipples, down to my belly, my inner thighs.
I can feel his hand between my legs, collecting my essence, and he does the same. Rubs it all over himself so that when we’re done, he’s covered in me and I’m covered in him.
And then we do it to each other, starting with a loving caress, that builds up to a fierce intensity as we realise how late it’s got. And by the time we’ve finished we’re one and the same.
And I know that when I leave this room I’ll leave part of myself behind and I’ll take part of him with me. And it will always be like that.
Because he’ll never give up on me, and I’ll never want him to.
"I have to go," I tell him.
"I know," he says slipping his arm around me. "But I'm not letting you until you promise me something."
"What's that?" I ask running my finger along his forearm.
"Promise me that you will come back."
He moves his hand to my face, holds me so that I have to look at him. And it's decision time.
I told him that I never wanted him to stop, but will I still feel that when I leave this room? Will I be brave enough to keep any promise I might make. Or will I be overtaken by shame and disgust at what I've done? Will I look back at this with horror? Should I just take the money as I so greedily intended, and run?
There's only one way to find out how I feel about all this. I have to go. I have to get dressed and walk out of that door. I have to go back to the real world and look my friends in the eye, and I have to get on with my life. Then I'll know if I can exist without him, without this. Then I'll know how deep inside me he got.
I stumble from the bed, find the key and search out my clothes. He watches me as I dress, once or twice his hand lifts, then drops as if he was going to say something. But he doesn't. Neither of us speak. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling as I gather up my things and put them back into my purse. Then his hand circles my wrist in a grip of iron and yanks me down.
"You'll be back," he tells me in a fierce whisper. "You will be back."
I swallow hard and close my eyes, but the tears fall anyway. He's going to leave a bruise on my wrist, for everyone to see, and a bruise on my heart that will be hidden from everyone but me.
We say things at the height of passion, things that can't always be sustained in the cold light of day. So I make him no promises, but this.
"Only time will tell, Spike, only time. If it was meant to be, then I'll be back."
How can you break a heart with a look? He's doing it now as I rise to walk away, so I sink back down, lean towards him and whisper.
He nods his head as I pull back the collar of my shirt.
"Do it where no one can see," I tell him as I offer myself to him. As I make the ultimate gesture of trust.
I might not be back, but I want him to know just what this afternoon has meant to me. And a slayer can't say it any better than this.
"Thank you," he says, and with the smallest shake of his head his face changes and he leans towards me.
THE END
CONTINUED...
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