Spike Lips! Lips Of Spike!Chapter Nine
“What the hell is going on?” Buffy looked at the scene before her, mouth open in fear. It was the worst thing she could imagine. It was worse than the worse thing. It was worstest. “What are you doing?”Spike gave her an innocent look and raised his glass to her. “Just what it looks like. Having dinner.”
Buffy put down her bag with a thump. Coming home from class to find Spike actually awake was one thing. Finding him awake, mostly healed, and sitting in the dining room with the table set for three was another.
Joyce walked in, carrying a large roast, cooked rare. “Oh Buffy, there you are. I was afraid you’d be late.” She placed the roast before Spike and smiled at her daughter.
“Yes Buffy, we were worried you’d miss the lovely feast your mum was good enough to make,” Spike said, sugar dripping from his lips. Buffy gave him a look and he raised an eyebrow at her. “How was school?”
“What?” Buffy twitched. “Shut up Spike.” Spike sent her a mock-hurt look, which Joyce noticed.
“Buffy. Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?” she said firmly. Buffy sighed and followed her, ignoring the grin Spike shot her way as she passed by him.
“Why are you being so mean to him?” Joyce asked, dishing out a large amount of mashed potatoes into a bowl. “You’ve fussed over him for three days now and the moment he’s feeling better you attack.”
“That was when he was unconscious,” Buffy muttered. “And he is so full of sh-” She trailed off at Joyce’s look. “Um, shingles. He..uh...he had shingles, so I was afraid he’d give them to you.” She finished lamely.
“Shingles? Only old people get those. And it’s not contagious so I am fine Buffy.” She passed her the mashers. “Here, make yourself useful.”
“I am useful. I don’t see anyone else around here saving the world and rescuing smartass vamps from an army storage facility...” Buffy muttered under her breath, plopping the bowl right in front of Spike. “Here. Eat. And don’t pour your blood over it like some kind of gravy or I’ll puke.”
Spike stood up when Joyce came in, pulling her chair out for her, eyes on Buffy the whole time. “Thank you Spike,” Joyce said, sending a smile to Buffy. One that clearly said, ‘Isn’t he a gentleman?’ Buffy thought she was going to be ill. Spike widened his eyes at her behind Joyce’s back, smirking. “That was very kind of you, but I would hate to see you strain yourself. I mean, you were so badly hurt when Buffy brought you here.” Joyce watched Spike reach across the table and pause, wincing elaborately, holding a hand to his side. “Buffy, please pass Spike the bread.”
“What? The bread?” Buffy glared, but passed away. “Why are you even eating? You drink blood. Drink that.”
“I like many things that other vamps hate,” Spike said, putting just the right amount of innuendo into the words. “I have a real zest for...life.” He picked up his knife and began to cut a piece of roast, feigning great difficulty. Dropping the knife with a loud clatter he smiled apologetically to Joyce. “Hands aren’t quite healed yet. No worries. I’m sure your roast is delicious.” Joyce looked heartbroken by his admission.
“Oh! How awful. Buffy, help him, won’t you?” Buffy looked up, mortified.
“You mean, cut his meat?”
Spike looked a little worried at her choice of words.
“Yes Buffy, honestly, stop acting like such a child and help your guest.” Joyce shook her head.
“He’s not my guest,” Buffy said, but stopped from saying anything further by the challenging look in Spike’s eyes. Stomping over, she leaned in and attacked the beef like it was a nasty demon. “Big faker,” she hissed.
Spike smiled a thank-you to Buffy as she sat back down with a huff and took a sip of his blood, making a slight face, quickly hiding it, but making sure he didn’t hide it fast enough for Joyce to notice. Eyes down meekly he nibbled on a piece of bread. Joyce put her fork on her plate, concerned.
“Is your blood cold, Spike?” she asked. Spike looked up quickly and Buffy could have sworn he managed to blush.
“Blimey Joyce, I love your dinner, it’s fantastic.” He gave her his most charming of smiles, then made a sad face. “It’s just that...well...after the injuries...” He snuck a glance at Buffy, who narrowed her eyes at him, “I just can’t heal properly unless my blood is warmed up to exactly ninety-eight point six degrees.” Spike sighed elaborately and fiddled with the mug’s handle.
“Let me-” Joyce began, but Buffy jumped up.
“No, Mom,” she took the mug away from Spike, smiling so wide it looked like her mouth might crack, “By all means, let me.”
Spike gave her a slight nod. The Queen couldn’t have been more regal. “Why, thank you Buffy.”
“Oh, my pleasure.” She took off into the kitchen. The sound of the microwave was heard, followed by many bangs, and slammings of drawers. Spike listened nervously.
“...feeling Spike?”
Spike looked at Joyce. “What? I’m sorry...what?”
Joyce studied Spike, troubled. “Are you sure you’re feeling better?”
“He’s fine, aren’t you Spike?” Buffy came in and gently placed the mug before him. “There you are. Ninety-eight degrees, plus point-six.” She sat back down, eyes never leaving Spike’s. He swallowed nervously.
“Aren’t you going to drink it Spike?” Buffy asked, looking close to tears. “You need your strength.”
“Yes, drink up Spike,” Joyce said encouragingly.
Spike shot a nasty glance over to Buffy but obligingly brought it to his lips. “Anything for you Joyce,” he said, toasting her and taking a healthy swallow. His eyes bugged.
“Everything alright?” Buffy asked, thinking of the half-bottle of Tabasco she‘d dumped in. “Maybe it’s still too cold.”
Spike wheezed. “It's fine.” He grabbed the milk and poured some into his blood, making Buffy blanch.
“Ew!” she said, looking sick as he chugged it down.
“All better,” he gasped, putting the empty mug on the table. Buffy looked disappointed that he was still alive.
“So Buffy, what are you up to tonight?” Joyce smiled and took a sip of her wine.
Buffy pushed her veggies around her plate. “I think we're Bronzing it tonight.” Seeing Spike perk up at her words she warmed to her topic. “Yeah, the whole gang is going. We’ll probably dance and laugh, make it real night of it.” She turned to Spike, now frowning in his chair. “Too bad you’re so weak right now. You should stay home. Rest. Get your strength back.”
Spike was scowling now. “Sounds like a right awful time. I’ll be here, watching the telly. There’s a special on sharks on PBS.”
“Sharks?” Joyce asked. “You have an interest in them?” Spike sat up.
“Well, they are bloody nasty creatures, with the jaws and the blood and such. The perfect killer. All that deadly, purposeful swimming.” He leaned forward, warming to his subject. “I heard that once they opened one up, a bloody big bugger too, and it had an entire bowling ball in it’s belly! Now that’s something to fear.”
Buffy scoffed. “Well, that’s one thing I’d fear. A shark would never have it’s killer instincts tamed.” She gave Spike an ingenuous look. He scowled at her more.
Their scowling was interrupted by the phone ringing. “Oh, now who could that be, calling at dinnertime.” Joyce got up to answer it, leaving the two of them shooting daggers at each other across the table.
“What're you playing at Spike?” Buffy whispered, eyes narrow.
“Aren’t you glad to see me up and about Slayer?” Spike popped a piece of very rare meat in his mouth and chewed voraciously. “Mmmmm, great dinner. Thanks for the help with the knife.”
“I’ll show you what I can do with a knife.” She seethed, picking hers up and brandishing it menacingly. Footsteps grew closer and she quickly dropped it, picking up her milk and pretending to drink it.
Joyce came in, carrying her purse and looking upset. “Mom, what’s wrong?” Buffy asked, concerned.
“Oh, it’s the gallery. A shipment came in, just now of all things, and they need me there to supervise the unpacking. We can’t have anything become damaged.”
Buffy almost did a spit-take. “You mean, you’re leaving? Now?” She looked over at Spike, who almost oozed delight. “No! You can’t.”
“I’m sorry Buffy. You’ll have to finish dinner by yourself. But at least you’ll have Spike to keep you company.” Joyce pulled out her keys. “I’ll be late.” She said, giving Buffy a kiss on the head. “Bye Spike.”
“Night Joyce.” Spike said smiling like the teacher’s pet he was.
The moment the door slammed he was up and pulling Buffy out of her chair. “Hey!” Buffy squirmed against his strong grip. “I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with your hands!”
Spike leaned her against the table, grinning wickedly. “There’s nothing wrong with anything of mine, pet.” He thrust against her in example, making her gasp. “Shall I prove it to you?” He thrust some more, pleased by the little pants he was getting Buffy to make. “That’s right Slayer, I’m back now.”
“You slept for three days,” Buffy whispered, leaning her head into his neck. He paused, surprised.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you cared.” He pulled back from her, his sarcastic expression wavering a touch. Buffy stared at him. And didn’t say a word, just leaned in and kissed him. He froze for a moment, the sweet gesture surprising him. Then he kissed her back hotly, wanting nothing more than to be inside her. Now.
“Spike, yes...” Buffy moaned, thrusting her hands underneath his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, his smooth chest. It wasn’t enough and she impatiently ripped, the black t-shirt tearing like paper under her hands. “Oh god.” She breathed, looking at the skin before her, the hard muscles, his perfect body. She’d never seen him shirtless before. “You are beautiful.” She whispered.
Spike’s eyes stared into hers, burning. “Buffy,” he whispered. She answered him with another kiss, this one full of fire, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He growled, picking her up and sitting her in the table forcefully. A sweep of his arm and plates went flying, mashed potatoes everywhere. He pushed her onto her back, climbing on top of her, mouth fused to hers.
She reached down, desperately trying to tug off her skirt, but Spike was too impatient for that and pushed it up, ripping her panties off and flinging them wildly. They landed in the bowl of gravy with a plop. Neither one of them noticed. Or cared. A marching band could have traipsed through the dining room and they wouldn’t have stopped.
Buffy fumbled at Spikes waist, trying to unzip him. Giving up, she tore, making Spike chuckle. “So greedy luv,” he panted, pulling his pants off. Taking himself in his hand he rubbed at her entrance slowly, teasingly. “I have what you want.”
Buffy almost died from the incredible feeling of him pressing up against her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled once. One strong pull and he was deep in her. She moaned and took a ragged breath, her hips meeting his in perfect rhythm. He kissed her again, his lips burning, the words he muttered lost against her mouth.
She scratched his back sharply, making him gasp in pleasure.
“So that’s how it is.” Spike smiled evilly. “Kitty has claws.” He pulled back, making her moan in wordless protest as he slid from her. Stepping back, he yanked her up and turned her onto her stomach, then slid into her again, driving into her forcefully, propelling her forward. Buffy’s hands knocked over more plates, milk spilling over the edge of the table with every thrust, silverware rattling.
Buffy curled her hands, fingers tangled in the tablecloth. It shredded beneath her as she bucked against Spike, sweat covering her body. He pulled at her top, tearing it off, skirt bunched around her waist as his hands stroked up and down her bare back over and over again until she was shivering with desire. “Please...please...” she whimpered, gasping for air as he grabbed at her hips, hard enough to leave bruises. “Spike, please.”
Spike flipped her over again, somehow managing to stay inside her. She had no idea how he did it, she only knew that suddenly she was on her back, legs over his shoulders, getting pounded for all she was worth. The feeling was incredible, and she clenched hard, her climax thundering down on her, deafening her with it’s waves. She didn’t even know she screamed as she clutched at him, scratching him so hard this time that trickles of blood ran down his arms. She only knew the blinding pleasure that Spike was giving her.
The smell of blood, and Buffy’s reaction as she peaked was enough for Spike. “You’re mine!” he snarled, leaning against her neck, echoing the sweet gesture that Buffy had done earlier. His teeth grazed her neck, never breaking the surface, never hurting her. He shuddered. “Mine.”
Buffy slowly calmed, sighing softly against Spike’s cheek. He was silent, his fingers trailing little paths up and down her arm as he rested against her chest. Pulling back a bit he smiled into her eyes.
“Thank you,” he whispered. Buffy blushed furiously, making him chuckle. “No, not for that, although I have to say, a thousand thank-yous wouldn’t be enough after that little display. I mean, thank you for coming back for me.” He looked down, his lashes hiding his eyes. Buffy stared at him, thinking how she’d never noticed his lashes before. He looked almost...shy.
“You’re welcome,” she answered softly. Spike sighed and looked back up at her.
“You went into that place against your...” His lips pressed together like he’d just eaten something bad, “Boyfriend.”
Buffy frowned. “Spike, Riley-” He pulled away from her, a harsh expression on her face.
“No! Don’t.” He turned from her, pulling his pants back up. They hung there, zipper broken. “I can’t. Do you think I want this? That I want these stolen moments with you, until your precious Rescue Ranger comes back? That I have to pretend when I see you, like I don’t want to touch you, to taste you?” He paced madly among the broken dishes.
Buffy shook her head. “Um, hello? Riley and I broke up the night you and I..uh...in the Bronze...” Spike froze.
“What?” Spike said, dumbfounded, foot in the bowl of mashed potatoes.