Email: Inell@aol.com
Disclaimer: Joss owns them all
Distribution: My site, Kiss or Kill, http://members.fortunecity.com/kissorkill Anyone that has permission, take. Otherwise, just ask.
Rating: R
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Notes: Set during my own Season 7. Spoilers for anything through Season 6. I rewrote an original story to make this fic. Spike seemed to want to talk and didn't care if my muse was there or not so I actually got something written. Yay!
Feedback lets me know if I should write more or not.....
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~Part: 1~
The bathroom is bathed in light as my finger pushes the switch to an up position. My eyes move around the room before settling on the tub. With small steps, I creep towards the white tub, continually resisting the urge to turn and run. Once I reach it, my hand hesitantly turns on the faucet, my breathing ragged to my own ears. My fingers move under the flowing water to test its warmth, making the necessary adjustments until the water temperature is a blend of warm and cold. Satisfied that the water is perfect, I pull back. Again, my eyes sweep the unfamiliar bathroom. Dark colors, bold and striking, mix with white. I find myself wondering, for the millionth time in the past two hours, what I am doing. My lower lip is drawn into my mouth as my teeth gnaw on the flesh, an action brought about by the worries and fear that are consuming part of my mind at the moment. I walk towards the sink, my bare feet having grown accustomed to the coolness of the tile. When I am standing at the sink, I look in the mirror, not sure I recognize the person staring at me. My green eyes show no signs of the worry and fear that I know I am feeling. Instead, they shine with curiosity and anticipation. My face is slightly flushed, my lips wet, my red hair framing my face, my breathing still ragged. What am I doing here? I don't even have an answer for that question. One minute, it was the usual banter, the usual game. The next, without even realizing what was happening, something changed. The game became real, finding me not backing away from the challenge, out of some stubborn need to not defeat and, truthfully, because I was curious how far he'd take it, how far I'd let it go. Before I could form a thought, I was beside him in the car, and now here I was, standing in the bathroom not sure what exactly was happening.
I sigh as I look down at the sink, wondering if it would be more humiliating to leave and admit defeat or to stay and take this as far as it went. I hear the soft sound of the door closing and look up. My eyes look in the mirror, seeing nothing, my breath catching momentarily before I regain some resemblance of control. With all the courage I can gather, I turn to face him, not at all surprised to see the amusement in his eyes. I wait, half expecting him to stop the game, knowing that he must be as surprised as I am that it has gone this far. I remind myself that he is taken, that he must be here to admit defeat before it goes too far. Instead, he leans back against the bathroom door, his lips twisted into a familiar smile as he glances at the bathtub. My eyes follow his, noticing that the water is nearing the top. I'd nearly forgotten about it, honestly. Feeling rather foolish, I move to the tub, turning the water off. I can feel his eyes following me, obviously waiting for me to break, to admit that he has won yet again. I look back at him and clearly have the answer to my earlier question. He is the reason that I am here.
My eyes find his, the smile on his face giving me the impression that he knows what I am thinking. I look away from those knowing eyes, fighting the urge to just run away from his amusement at the situation. My nerves twisting in a thousand different directions and he stands there calmly amused. I can't run, though. It's no longer about winning, as if it ever truly were. I stand silently, waiting, not sure what will happen next. This is a new experience for me, one I'm not sure I'm prepared to handle. I don't move until I hear him laugh, the sound soft but enough to cause me to look up, anger flashing in my eyes. I open my mouth, ready to start a fight, to argue, to do anything except stand meekly waiting for his command. The words freeze on my lips when I see his eyes, the humor there mixing with something I'd never have expected~desire. It is then that I realize he is as unsure as I, neither of us having expected the game to go so far. He, in fact, is risking more by being here than I am. A part of my mind tells me that I should just call a tie, let him leave before he does something to betray his relationship, but I don't speak. He is old enough to make his own decisions, to make his own choices. I find myself wondering if he will tell her, if there will be anything to tell, if their relationship is what I think. She's my best friend. How can I be here, with him, knowing that they had been together less than a year ago, may still be together now. No longer caring, I make my decision. Live for the moment for tomorrow we could all be dead. Looking at him again, my words seem rather ironic. He already is dead.
"The water is getting cold," I whisper softly as my eyes find him. I'm struck by how nearly perfect he is.
His eyes move to look at the bath before moving back to catch mine. It seems he makes his own decision as he smiles, my stomach tightening as he speaks, "Undress me."
He has thrown down the gauntlet, started the game. No, that's wrong. The game was started long before this, even if neither of us realized it. My move. Any doubts leave my mind as I look into his blue eyes, knowing that no matter what else happens, I would not look back with regrets. He moves away from the door, lazily walking towards me as his eyes continue to hold mine. Finally, he is standing in front of me. My right hand raises, my fingers caressing his cheek in a need to reassure myself that this was not a dream, that he was real. He's cool, his skin smooth. I take a deep breath as my hand moves lowers, our eyes still locked. Fingers play with the edge of his white T-shirt before finally pushing the material up. I let my fingers brush across his cool flesh, trying to satisfy an uncontrollable need to touch him. He raises his arms as I move the shirt up and over his head, tossing it unceremoniously to the side. I watch as he runs a hand over his light brown hair, his eyes moving to look at the shirt now lying near his right foot. A smile crosses my lips as the rather shy gesture. I want, no I need, to touch him, the words spilling from my lips unconsciously, "May I?"
I start to wonder why I spoke. His eyes move to mine as a slow smile crosses his lips. He doesn't speak, instead just nodding once, giving me permission. I move my right hand along his neck, my thumb brushing across the middle of his throat before moving lower. I want to memorize every detail, knowing the likely chance that I would only have him for this one night. My fingers trace his flesh, his arms and chest, brush over his nipples, down his flat stomach, past the light scattering of hair on his lower abdomen until they rest on the waist of his jeans. I could have spent hours just touching him, but the water had to be getting cold. I unfasten the button of his jeans, drawing in a breath as I lower the zipper. My eyes find his as my hands move to either side of his waist. My thumbs brush against his flesh as they grip the denim, not very surprised to not find anything underneath, as I lower the jeans. I move to my knees as he lifts one leg, then the other before I toss the clothes to the join the shirt. My eyes devour him, again the flash of arrogance in his eyes softened by the arousal he appears to be feeling. My hands continue their examination of his body, moving behind him to caress the soft swell of his ass, brushing against his erection, moving along his thighs down his legs before finally removing his white socks. He is now undressed, ready for his bath.
I stand, eyes meeting his, a bit embarrassed by the need I feel. He walks past me, deliberately brushing against me on his way to the tub. My nipples are tight against the soft cotton of my sundress, my panties already soaked after just the brief contact. It was going to be a long night, I decide as I watch him lower himself into the tub, his presence causing a small amount of water to spill over the side. He turns and catches me watching, again the knowing smile as he demands, "Bathe me."
The huskiness of his voice draws me closer. Before I can even form a thought, I am kneeling beside the tub, oblivious to the puddle of water. I find the washcloth and some shower gel. I glance unseeingly at the gel, smelling fruit as I squeeze the liquid onto the washcloth. Once the cloth is soapy, I put the bottle by my knee, in case I need it later. He is lounging in the tub, his eyes half shut as they watch me. I lean forward, resting against the rim of the tub as I move the soapy cloth over his neck, chest, and arms. I take my time, savoring the experience as I wash him. "Lean forward," I say, barely recognizing the huskiness of my own voice. He obeys, allowing me to wash his back. It is then that I lay the rag over the edge of the tub, deciding to wash his hair before finishing his body. I find a cup and fill it with soapy water. "Put your head back," I tell him as I pour the water over his thick brown hair. I'm still not used to that, the brown hair instead of the shocking bleached blond. When he returned to Sunnydale four months ago, he had changed. He had come back to town with brown hair, an old name, and a soul. I wonder if we would have been here, doing this, if he had not had a soul. Somehow, I think that answer would have been yes. It has always been there between us, dating back to that night in the old warehouse. We could ignore it no longer. My fingers move through his hair as I repeat the action a couple more times until his hair is wet. The cup is set down as I open the shampoo, again inhaling the scent of fruit. I squeeze some onto the palm of my hand before shutting the bottle and tossing it to the side. I lather my hands as I lean across the tub. I begin to work the shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp as I enjoy the feeling of his hair against my hands. When I'm sure that it is well soaped, I rinse my hands in the tepid water before turning on the faucet to fill the cup with clean water. My left hand rests on his forehead to keep the soap from getting into his eyes as I begin to rinse the shampoo from his hair. When I've finished, I turn the water off, put the cup back where I found it and pick up the discarded washcloth. I rinse the cloth in the soapy water before adding more gel. "Lay back," I say as he pushes his wet hair from his forehead. He does so, making himself comfortable as his eyes again half close. I move the cloth over the rest of his body, having to lean over the edge of the tub to reach his legs and feet. When I find his erection, I don't resist moving the cloth along its length several times before moving on.
Finally, I am done. His body has been soaped and rinsed, his hair washed. He has not spoken since his early command for me to bathe him. I find myself flushed, sweaty, damp from stray water, and more aroused than I have ever been. Except for his prominent erection, he appears to be unaffected. He is silently, his lips still twisted into that amused smile. It would appear that he has indeed won the game. Disappointed and rather disgusted by my behavior, I sigh and look at the floor. Deciding that I've lived through enough humiliation to last my entire life, I start to stand. My hand rests on the edge of the tub as I get to my feet. It is then, as I am moving, that he turns his head to look at me. My eyes widen slightly as he moves quickly, his left hand encircling my wrist as he pulls me down, his right hand moving behind my head as his lips possess mine. I feel the now cool water as I land in the tub, his grip on my wrist tightening as he continues to kiss me. Distantly, as if it were coming from somewhere else, I hear water splashing on tile. That's the last coherent thought that I have before I give myself to him, meeting his kiss with my own demands. I'm completely unaware of anything except the feel of his cold body against mine. He releases my wrist as his hand moves to my back, holding me against him as he manages to reverse our position. My head rests against the tub as his hand moves up my legs, pushing my dress up as it moves. My dress is soaked with water, my hair becoming wet. His other hand moves along my back, unzipping the dress before he pushes it down to my waist. It is only then that he releases my mouth, his lips finding first one breast then the other. My eyes close as my head falls back against the tub, my body arching against him, needing him. I feel his fingers on my stomach, a gasp escaping my lips as he rips the cotton panties from my body before tossing them to the side. It is then that I hear him speak, the words reaching me through the haze. "Look at me, Willow."
My eyes open and I move my head to look at him, our eyes meeting as he brushes his cock against me. His lips catch my cry as he thrusts into me, filling me more than ever before. My right hand grips the side of the tub as my left tangles itself in his wet hair. The water splashes as he moves, fast and deep. There is no pretense of gentleness in our union. His hands kneading my breasts, squeezing my ass, my hands pulling at his hair, nails digging into his back. It doesn't take long for either of us, already seemingly taking forever for this one night. My mouth moves from his as I feel the tension snap, my teeth biting into his shoulder as I climax, tasting sweat and soap as I scream in release. He growls my name as he comes, moving several more times inside me as he rides out his orgasm.
Later, as I struggle for breath, I find myself reeling from the night's events. What happens next? How will we deal with what just happened? Will we be able to go back to what it was before? Do I really want to go back to what it was? I'm lulled from my thoughts by his lips on my neck, his tongue running over the flesh as he sucks it into his mouth. I watch as he pulls back, his eyes moving over the mark he made. My fingers move over the bite on his shoulder, knowing that we are now both branded in a way. My eyes find his and he smiles, a real smile, a blend of shyness and amusement and pleasure. He moves slightly, the cold water rising against my neck. At that precise moment, I finally understand. There is no logic, no planning, no thought. Tonight, we both won. Looking into his eyes, I can see a hint of a future, consequences be damned. My finger brushes against his cheek, my thumb pushing a wet lock of hair from his forehead. I leaned forward and kiss him, enjoying his taste before I pull back. My lips move over his face until they hover over his ear. I whisper, "Fuck me, William," pulling back and watching as his eyes narrow. His lips twitch and he laughs, my fingers tracing his lips as he obeys my command. There would be time for talking later, I decide. For now, I was just living for the moment.
~Part: 2~
The car moves through the night, the air filled with the sound of some nameless band. I glance at him, smiling slightly as he sings along with the music. I watch his lips, unable to ignore the desire that still seems so overwhelming. I turn my head away, resting it against the window as I find myself becoming lost in thought. It had been nearly two weeks since our first encounter. We had met several times since, though I was uncertain of the exact number. I was doing my best not to keep count. Each time we met, I had to stifle the fear that it would be the last. I still found it unbelievable that he was here, with me. It certainly wouldn't be long before he was gone, before I looked back with a nostalgic smile and fond memories. Until that day, I had made the resolution not to worry and just enjoy the moment. You see, we had never really discussed what we were doing. The morning after that first night, we'd spent hours talking, but it had all been rather general topics. He hadn't mentioned his relationship with Buffy nor had I. I had to admit that I was living with the hope that I had misunderstood the nature of his relationship with her, that he was as unattached as I. I knew that she claimed that it was over, that they were just friends and that she had no time for a lover, but I had to wonder, I had to worry. If I was wrong, and they were still involved, I was going to do my best to hope that I would be the only one hurt in the end.
I was pulled from my thoughts when the car stopped. He turned the ignition off, giving me a slight smile as I opened the door. I followed him inside his apartment, my eyes moving over his back and across his jean clad ass. Soon, we enter the room. I move past him, listening to the soft sound of the door shutting. I move to the chair, sitting down and spinning until I face him. My eyes narrow as they sweep over him. With a satisfied smile, I demand, "Strip."
A smile crosses his boyishly handsome face as he studies me. "Don't know if I wanta," he says with a mischievous look in his blue eyes.
I roll my eyes as I move my left leg over the arm of the chair. I give him a look, saying again, "Strip."
He laughs, his hands moving to toy with the edge of his shirt. I see a glimpse of flesh as he teasingly raises it only to lower it again. The smug bastard continues to play peek-a-boo as I grow steadily more impatient and aroused.
"William," I growl his name, debating whether or not I have the patience to play tonight or if I would be better off tossing his cute ass to the bed and fucking him silly. He smirks, eyes lit with amusement. Even when I'm in control, he's always a step ahead of me. It is, I must admit, yet another of the traits that makes him devastatingly attractive.
His long fingers grasp the cotton of his T-shirt and pull up, his thick brown hair becoming tousled from the shirt. He tosses the shirt to the floor before kicking off his shoes. He leans over, pulling off his socks and tossing them on top of his discarded shirt. He stands before me wearing only his blue jeans. His eyes catch mine as his hand moves to the button of his jeans. I lick my lips as I huskily tell him, "I want to watch you."
He nods slowly, already knowing of my enjoyment in watching him do anything, yet another of my many weaknesses where he is concerned. I love to watch him. I can truly say that it is one of the greatest pleasures in life. It makes me even more vulnerable, in a way. I say his name, getting his attention. I smile slightly as I borrow one of his favorite terms, softly commanding, "Wank."
That one word causes a twist in his lips as I watch him, knowing that he enjoys the power he holds over me. I lean back in the chair, making myself comfortable.
"Should I put on some music?" he asks with a wicked gleam in his eyes, amusement evident in his tone.
I remain silent, instead glaring at him, more than ready to see him nude and aroused. There is a husky laugh as he begins to unbutton his jeans. I find my eyes drawn to his hand, such strong hands. The right moves up through his brown hair as the left rests on the waist of his jeans. His thumb brushes against his flat stomach before hooking into the denim. He lowers his right hand, fingers slowly lowering the zipper of his jeans. He teasingly pushes the material lower on his hips, his cock finally free. I hear him chuckle and look up, meeting his eyes. It is then that he pushes the jeans completely down, kicking them off to join the growing pile of clothes. He wasn't wearing underwear, making me wonder for a brief moment if that wasn't uncomfortable, bare skin against denim for hours. Soon, though, I find my attention back on him. "Spike," I say his name again, this time my voice is thick with need. I watch as his eyes narrow at the use of his nickname, forgetting for a moment that he still has issues with his past, wondering if I had ruined the moment. Instead, he nods slightly, as if he has gotten to a point where he can be both Spike and William without worry. Either way, I want to see his naked ass on the bed soon. It seems like forever since he started this game, though I know it has not yet been half an hour. I continue to watch him, again noticing that, despite the confidence and arrogance he tends to display, there is a shyness he's shown me that is rather adorable. It is no wonder that I am so intoxicated by him, that I find myself becoming more and more addicted to him.
"Your turn," he says, the husky words sending shivers along my spine.
I shake my head, "This is about you."
He crosses his arms across his chest and gives me a stubborn look that I am learning all too well. He doesn't have to say anything, his intentions all too clear. If I want the show to continue, I have to strip. With a glare, I stand and pull my shirt over my head. I don't miss the triumphant smile on his handsome face as he says, "Uh uh…slowly."
I groan as I find my eyes moving to look at the floor. Once again I find myself wishing I had even a small amount of his confidence. I unfasten my jeans, not able to give him the show he had given me. I push the jeans down, standing in front of him wearing my bra and panties. I raise a shaky hand behind me, freezing as his cool hand touches mine. He's moved towards me, fingers on my chin as he lifts my head, his lips catching mine as he gives me a possessive kiss. He whispers something against my lips, his words lost to me. His hand moves behind me, unclasping my bra before he releases my lips. He tosses it behind him before he kneels, pulling my panties down, his lips trailing along my flesh before I sit down, my knees suddenly weak. He smiles as he stands again, moving towards the bed, giving me a wonderful view of his ass. He crawls up the bed before turning to face me, the wicked smile suddenly back on his face.
I watch as he positions the pillows behind him, making himself comfortable. He raises his left leg, resting his foot flat against the bed as his hand lazily moves down his chest. A rush of heat spreads over me as his hand lowers, finally encircling his aroused cock. He begins to stroke himself, his eyes watching me as they narrow. His thumb brushes against the tip, wiping at the drops of pre-cum as he continues his pumping. I watch his fingers as they move up and down the length of his hard cock, his hand twists and pulls, sometimes in long firm strokes, other times in quick jerks. I listen as he moans, squirming in the chair as wetness pools under me. My tongue moves over my lips as I watch him. I get to my feet, drawn to him, needing to taste him. I crawl up the bed, leaning down and taking him in my mouth. I feel his wet fingers tangle in my hair as I suck him, my hand moving up to cup his balls as my tongue works his flesh. He was so close that it doesn't take long, a low moan coming from his lips as he finds release. I pull my head up, licking his seed from my lips as I move swiftly and claim his mouth, sharing his taste with him. My need is overwhelming as I straddle his leg, my wetness coating his skin as I rub against him. I feel his fingers dance across my clit as we kiss, my own release soon following.
Panting, I pull back and look at him, a satisfied smile crossing my lips before my head falls against his chest. My fingers make lazy circles over his flesh as we both struggle for breath. I feel his fingers in my hair as we lay in the bed. Suddenly, I feel exhausted. It isn't long before I'm barely able to keep my eyes open. Sleepily, I say his name before my eyes shut, my hand falling to rest flat against his stomach as I sleep.
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