AwakeningsBy Mary
Chapter Eleven
Her back was to the door, and he was kissing her.
Did he have to be so damned good at it? Buffy wondered with some irritation. The irritation was mixed with a pretty hefty dose of not caring, because - well, because he was so damned good at it.
They'd done a brief early patrol, and planned to make another sweep in a couple of hours. Buffy had suggested they rent a movie to fill in the time.
Spike had looked at her suggestively, but she'd ignored him, reminding herself that she'd quite logically worked out that they needed to Slow. Things. Down. and dragged him into the nearest Blockbusters.
They'd argued and bickered about which film to rent. She'd wanted to rent another romantic haunted house film like The Uninvited and the clerk had suggested The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Spike opined that since she'd just seen that, they might wanna choose something else. Buffy had looked at him, puzzled. She'd never seen that movie. She'd looked at the picture on the box, and re-read the description, but it didn't look familiar to her.
"You just watched it the other night, Slayer. You and the bit, Red and Tara? Remember? I stopped in to tell you about the R'Ashaka-R'Habe demon?" He shook his head at her blank look. "Is none of this ringing a bell?
"Of course I remember you stopping," she'd told him. "And going out to kill that demon, too. Eeeww. Like I could forget that. We were both covered with all that totally icky and beyond gross slime."
"Which could have been avoided if you could fire a crossbow with any accuracy."
Buffy ignored the interruption. "It took me an hour in the shower to get it all out of my hair." The slime had been wicked stubborn, and she'd been starting to worry that she was going to have to cut half her long hair off, which she sooo had no intention of doing. "But we were watching something
else. I don't remember a lot about it, but I know it was funny. I laughed through most of it."
"Yeah. An' you don't think it a bit odd that you can't remember the film now?" His voice sounded strange, kind of tight.
"What do you mean? It was just one of those dumb-and-could-this-get-any-dumber? comedies. Funny at the time, and then, whoosh!, gone."
He looked like he was about to say more, but then she'd gotten distracted by paying for the movie, and when she was done, he'd apparently decided to drop the subject.
She was determined that they were going to watch the film at her house rather than the crypt. She figured it was much safer because of the whole not being alone because-half-the-people-she-knew-lived-with-her thing.
That well laid plan had fallen through, though, when they'd come home to find all those other people missing. Dawn had gone out for dinner and to a late movie with Willow, and Tara was doing one of her twice monthly all night stints at the local crisis hotline. When she'd first learned that Tara did the phone counseling, Buffy had been a bit surprised. Tara didn't seem - what, assertive enough? - for the job. But watching her with Dawn, and giving it some thought, Buffy realized that Tara's calm demeanor and clearly caring tone was probably much more important than assertiveness. In fact, it was probably a far better approach to a lot of problems that might come up.
Spike had read the side-by-side notes from her housemates over Buffy's shoulder, and the next thing she knew, she had backed him up against the front door, pulled his head down to hers even as she was trying to climb up his body, and had started kissing him like crazy.
Since the night in his crypt he'd apparently been waiting for her to make the first move, and a girl can hold out just so long.
Eventually, they'd gotten turned around, and now here they were, her back pressed to the door, her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, mouths locked together, and a very hard, very aroused ridge of very male flesh was rocking snuggly against her in a very, very pleasant way.
"I'm so bloody hard for you, Slayer," he groaned. "I feel like I'm gonna explode." He made a strong thrusting motion against her. "Feel me?"
'"Yes. Oh god, yes."
"I'm aching for you, love. So much. Want it all tonight. Wanna bury myself inside you, feel you all around me."
"Spike -"
"Come inside you, deep, fill you up with me."
"Spike, we can't…"
"We can, love."
"We can't," she insisted, but her words lost some effectiveness when she moaned and bucked against him again.
"Ah, ahhh," His body answered with its own movement, and he was grinding himself against her now. His voice was rough, ragged, but still cajoling.
"Buffy," he whispered along her jaw. "You know this is gonna happen. You know we're gonna be together, don't you?"
"Yes, I know," she didn't hesitate. She'd known since the minute she'd seen him when she'd first come back, since she'd stood on the stairs, and looked down at him looking up at her. She'd known. Had he? It had been like a distance glow at the time. He belonged to her. She'd known, but for some reason, she hadn't really realized it, or understood it or something until that night in the Bronze, or maybe not until the night in his crypt. She still didn't feel like she understood what was happening with them, what she was feeling. But that knowledge had been growing, shifting and changing inside her since the moment on the stairs, when she'd first come back, and right now the certainty of it, of him, of them, was running through her body, into every nerve ending. She knew.
Slow. Things. Down.
Don't wanna. Her whole mind was pouting.
His hands clutched her bottom, fingers digging into firm flesh. "Inside you, Buffy," he urged. "Let me in."
"I can't. I have - it's the wrong - I can't." Argh! She wanted to scream. Why could she never talk about, um, things?
"Because you're bleedin'?" he asked bluntly, and she could actually feel her face heating up. It must be stained with color. She'd never talked about this with a guy. Ever. It had certainly never come up with Angel, not enough time, Buffy, she told herself, and God, she'd never even talked about it with Riley. When she had her period, she'd just mutter a vague 'no', and he'd look away, avoiding her eyes, and they'd go see a movie or something.
"You can't think that matters, love?" Spike lifted her face, and pushed her hair back so that he could look directly into her eyes.
"I can't," she repeated. She tried to meet his eyes.
"You know it'll just make it better for me," he whispered, right next to her ear.
"Oooh." Oh god, oh god. Did he mean? Of course he does, Buffy. Vampire.
"Look at me," he said quietly.
She tried again. Failure.
He sighed, unwrapping her legs from around his waist, and letting her slide to the floor. He winced a little as her body rubbed hard against him.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled.
"'s okay, pet. I can wait. I've waited a long time for you. And we have time now. Few more days…"
He lifted her face to his, forcing the eye contact she'd been avoiding. His expression was so soft, the curve of his mouth… Buffy felt her heart move
almost painfully in her chest.
"How about a nice long snog on the sofa instead?"
"No," she said quietly, and he tilted his head, eyeing her.
"No?"
"I don't want you to wait."
He turned his hands, and ran his palms down the front of her thighs. "Change your mind, love?" He was practically purring. "Woman's prerogative…"
That tone of voice should sooo be illegal.
"No, not about…" she shifted a little, then looked up at him from under her lashes. Her own tone changed, flirtation creeping in. "I thought maybe tonight, I could 'see' to you. Sort of - return the favor?"
"Take away some of my tension?" His tongue curled against his teeth.
"Yeah…" Her right hand slid into his hair. "Wouldn't want you too - tense."
"No," he agreed, his mouth returning to hers.
He picked her up, and oh god, she loved that - that effortless strength of his - and she wrapped her legs around him again as he carried her over to the sofa. A movement, another, and they were lying together, duster discarded, and their bodies pressed close. He'd positioned her on the inside of the sofa, she noted, with his back exposed to the room. One of his instinctive moves of protection. He did them a lot, and she had just recently begun to notice.
When her hand slid to the fastening of his jeans, he stayed it.
"Don't rush, love," he murmured. He brought her hand back up, wrapping it around his neck, and leaned back in to kiss her again. "Just let it happen."
God, he was so… For some reason, even after the other night, she still expected him to be a bit - rougher, quicker, more demanding. And she knew he could be, would be… even, in some ways, had been in his crypt… But this incredible tenderness, this patient, slow seduction - oooh.
They were kissing again. Oh, good, good… but different. Less urgent. Deeper, slower. After all, he was right, there was no real rush, was there? They had time. Time.
Their limbs entwined, and their bodies began moving together. Mouths dragged across the curve of cheek and jaw, sliding down, touching a strong throat, a slim neck, retracing their paths to join again. Tongues entwined too, stroking, one against the other. He gave a low groan as she drew back to nip at his lower lip, she gave a soft gasp as his tongue brushed against the roof of her mouth. The sounds of desire wrapped around them.
He feels so good. She was enthralled by the hardness of his body, the muscles bunching and moving under the taut skin of his torso as she tugged his t-shirt over his head. He lifted his arms, aiding her. Her hands swept over the skin of his shoulders, down and across his chest.
So strong.
His strength pleased her, aroused her.
He belongs to me.
And all of - this - is mine.
She loved watching him work out; loved watching the shift and play of his muscles. She'd found herself staring at his shirtless form more and more often at the Magic Box. She wondered now if her eyes had revealed her hunger to him, wondered briefly if Giles had ever noticed it, as he wandered in and out of the training room when they worked out, or when he supervised their more intense training sessions. This was the first time she'd touched him like this, really. She'd wrapped him in her arms the other night at his crypt, slipped her hands under his shirt, but he'd left his clothes on, even when she'd urged him to at least take off his shirt. "Too much skin contact, love", he'd protested. "I'd never be able to hold back."
Maybe that's what she'd wanted. For him to not hold back. And now… Damn! The joys of womanhood. At least her periods were always short and light. Another day or two, and they could…
Oh, yeah, Buffy. You're so good at slowing things down.
Her hands swept over his back, savoring the feel of smooth, cool flesh. She felt almost like she could get drunk on the feel of him alone. And it wasn't just the physical strength of his body, the rippling of muscles that called to her. There was more, something more. Power. He had it in spades, and she could feel it running under his skin, through his body.
Power.
Her hunger for him deepened. God, she wanted…
She wanted his power.
She wanted to take it into herself, blend it with her own, savor it, use it, share it with him. And she wanted to give him hers.
Her mind almost exploded at the thought, a revelation to her. She'd never felt like that, like this. She was the Slayer. All that that meant had been coming back to her since the night of Joan, flooding her. She had power.
Real power.
She'd doubted it at first, worried about it, but Spike's reassurances had done what they'd been intended to do - reassured her. He'd been right about the memories, and she'd started to put faith in him. He'd told her that everything she needed was inside her, and she'd believed it. Believed him.
She couldn't feel it all yet, but she was sure it was there. Maybe just waiting for something to jog the last pieces loose, as he'd suggested, or perhaps renewing itself in some way… The mystical power of the Slayer. At this moment, she felt almost like she was craving it, like she could barely wait to feel it back at full strength. Because she wanted to explore it, share it, with him. She didn't understand that at all, but the longing moved through her like an unusual force, dark and light, swirling through her thoughts. Had they just formed? Or had she just not recognized them or their meaning until now?
She'd carried so much confusion around since she'd been resurrected, and still had so many things to straighten out. At least she could remember what they were now. It was so freeing to not have to spend hours trying to remember Xander's name or struggling to recall the details of her mom's face and how it had moved when she'd spoken, how her eyes had lit up when she laughed.
Spike's fingers worked the buttons of her blouse. They were tiny little things, difficult even for her to fasten, but she'd loved them, all those tiny sparkling little beads of black. He worked them carefully, deftly, not dislodging a single one from the fabric. His drew the soft black fabric down off of her shoulder, letting his mouth move to the newly exposed flesh.
"Sweeter than honey, love," he whispered into the skin of her upper arm. "Especially…" his hand tugged the cup of her black lace bra down, exposing the firm mound of flesh, the taut nipple to his eyes, his fingers, his mouth. "…here."
His lips closed over the hardened flesh, teased it, then opened to draw it strongly into his mouth, as he stripped her bra from her. She gasped with pleasure. For some reason she simply couldn't fathom, she'd never had any idea her breasts were so incredibly sensitive. Since the other night in his crypt, it seemed she'd spent half her waking hours thinking about ways to get Spike's mouth and hands back on them. Stroking, twisting, sucking…
"The first time," Spike said quietly, "I wanna come in your hands."
Her body clenched at the words.
"Then I wanna come again," he went on. "Spend myself - here." His finger traced a winding path from the inner curve of her breast to her navel. He looked at her, his gleaming blue gaze tempting her and gauging her reaction. He bent over her, and his tongue followed, in reverse, the path his finger had drawn. "The third time," he continued hoarsely, touching his finger to the corner of her mouth, "You decide."
Oh god, she was gonna… Just thinking about it… And, god, the other night, too… His mouth, his fingers… that thumb…
"I'm gonna…"
"It's okay love," his assured her, his mouth hovering over hers. "Go ahead and come. You smell so good afterward. Jes' make it that much better for me."
"No, for you" she managed to get out. "This is supposed to be for you."
"You come, Buffy - it is for me. To watch your face, feel your body go all tight, feel you quiverin' against me… Does things to me you can't even imagine."
God, that voice. It made her feel like she was melting into a big old pile of - melty stuff - inside.
He shifted her, just a small movement, and then his mouth was back on her breast, and his fingers touched her, sliding between her legs, stroking across the smooth fabric of her pants. One stroke, two, oh, just a little more, one more, just a little harder…
Explosions of light. Pleasure flooding her, flooding… So gooood.
Panting, Buffy began to calm. She pressed her face into Spike's throat, nuzzling him, as her body recovered. She could feel the heat starting, and she smiled, welcoming it - that wonderful flood of warmth she'd felt with him several times now. Mmmm. She liked that, too.
"You think we can figure out exactly how this heat thing is triggered, so we can make it happen whenever we want?" he asked. His voice was muffled by her hair, but she could still hear the amusement and the satisfaction in it.
"Dunno," she murmured. "I'm thinking it's, like, you know, one of those bonus features."
"Worth waiting for the special edition DVD, though, innit?"
"Oh, yeah." She didn't know what caused it, but she knew she liked it.
She pressed closer, sliding her mouth down his chest so that she could touch her lips to the spot over his unbeating heart. This time, when her fingers went to the fastening of his jeans, he didn't try to stop her. She could feel the tension in his body, the anticipation, as she worked the button, drew the zipper down slowly.
Tugging at the denim, pulling it down a little, a little more, just enough, oh, just enough. She felt the hard length of flesh pop out of his jeans and tap her
high on her stomach, just under her breasts. She pressed her body more tightly to his, cushioning his aroused flesh between them and began moving her body in a way he obviously approved of, if the low groans escaping him were anything to go by. Just a little lower, brush her breasts against that hard flesh, make him shudder. He did.
She slid back up his body, tipping her chin back as her mouth sought his, and when she caught it, she curled her hand around his cock, giving it one long smooth stroke from base to tip.
Oh god. So long, so thick. So hard. Oh, so hard.
He's strong here, she thought, with hazy pleasure. All that passion.
Her eyes drifted shut for a moment, and when she opened them again, she was looking into Spike's eyes. They were dark with need, soft with… with…
"Buffy… "
Could he please never stop saying her name? He made it sound…
"Oh, love… Stroke me."
"Oooh." Her hand closed more tightly around him. Oh god, he felt so good. Smooth, soft skin. So soft. Stretched so tightly over the length of him. Strength and power pulsing in her hand. Like a heartbeat. It shouldn't… "Oh, god."
"Tighter, love. I won't break." His voice fell to a soft groan. "You never have to hold back with me. Never. Give me your power. Show me all of you. 's what I want. What I've always wanted."
She felt a little shock go through her to hear him use the word power when it had been so heavy in her mind.
"So hard," she whispered to him, and felt his body jerk.
"For you," he told her. "You."
He began to rock into her hand with greater force.
"Use your other hand, too. Wrap them both around me. Stroke me hard. Yeah. Oh yeah, Buffy. Like that. You have wonderful hands, love. Been thinkin' about them. Wantin' to feel 'em wrapped around me, strokin', squeezin' me tight."
"Oooh." Her grip tightened, and she began to pick up the pace, which he seemed to want. She was surprised when one of his hands left her hair, and he brought it down over hers, slowing her.
He leaned his body out a little and bowed his head.
"Oh, god. Just lookin' at that - at your hands on me."
Buffy's eyes followed his, and she watched her hands pumping his length. She pulled one of her hands away, and used it to stroke over the head of his cock on each down stroke, then slid it lower, cupping the sac of flesh that had drawn up close to his body as his excitement built. She was strangely fascinated by the actions of her hands, and more so by the way his shaft was throbbing in them, growing, if that was possible, in hardness.
"You like that, don't you? Seein' what you do to me? How much I want you? Don't stop," he urged her, when she paused for a second, as his words sent a little surge through her, a mixture of embarrassment, surprise at his words, and good, old fashioned lust. "'s okay, love. I like it, too. Like watching your hands on me, stroking me. I like watching you, too. Watching your face when you're about to come, knowing I did that to you." His eyes were riveted to her hands, as they continued to caress him. "So good, Buffy. Your hands feel so good."
"Ahhh, oh god." There was that whole lust thing again. No one had ever said things to her like he did. And, oh, god, she liked it. Really liked it…
"Tell me how I feel."
…a lot.
< So hard for me. So strong. >
"Tell me, Buffy."
"Power," she moaned. "I feel all your power. I want it. Want it… Spike. I want…"
"Ah, fuck, Buffy." He pulled her hand back over the head of his cock, and slid his own over it, entwining their fingers. His body jerked, and he pressed their hands down tighter, squeezing. "Take it, then, love. Take me."
He came hard into their entwined hands.
His hands stayed over hers, over both of hers, now, holding them in place as his body shuddered against hers. She watched his face, watched how pleasure twisted it, made it go so taut, jaw clenched, and chin jutting forward as he arched his neck. He was right. She did like that - knowing she'd done that to him, had given him that pleasure.
Slowly, he opened passion glazed eyes to meet hers.
"Ah, look at you, pet. All smug and satisfied." Oh, god. Is that how she looked? His mouth did one of those sorta-wicked, kinda-smirky, taunting-teasing things that it sometimes did. He seemed to have a repertoire of them. His voice dropped even further to pure intimacy. "Deserved, too, sweetheart.
You have magic hands."
"Oh, god." Was there a limit to how many times she could say that in a twenty-four hour period?
He lifted their entwined hands to his mouth, and pressed a kiss into her palm, his open mouth taking in his spilled seed. She watched him, entranced. She'd never… never seen…
"Taste?" he offered, his eyes locked on her as he turned their hands toward her. How could he make one simple word sound so completely decadent? She was absolutely certain now that that voice must be illegal in at least several states.
She was slightly shocked when she opened her mouth to accept. She'd never… She felt his cock jump under her other hand, the one he still held wrapped around him, as she licked some of the fluids from their palms. His pleasure in her participation increased her own.
Buffy moaned and thrust her tongue out, sliding it between their fingers, tasting him, drinking him in.
His mouth joined hers, as they licked their hands clean. Then both his hands were in her hair and he was kissing her wildly, passion igniting as though he hadn't just come hard.
"Bring me off again, love, " he urged into her open mouth. His body pressed closer to hers, pushing her into the back of the sofa. One of his hands found
one of hers, and he wrapped it around his hardened flesh again. "Hard," he muttered. "Jerk me hard and fast. Yeah. Oh god, Buffy. Hard."
Rougher, quicker, more demanding. She'd known it was lurking inside him, and she was proven right.
~*~
She was sitting up, slouched lazily against the back of the sofa, and he was next to her, alongside her, kneeling on the cushions with his body arched over hers as he kissed her.
"God, Slayer, I could kiss you all night long. Your taste, the way you feel, your scent -" His mouth returned to hers.
All night long. That's what she wanted, too. Exactly what she wanted. To curl up into his arms, and just spend what remained of the night wrapped up there, kissing him.
Ohhh. If that mouth was headed back to her breasts, she was gonna have to do everything she could to encourage that.
She arched her back, and he groaned, but instead of trailing his mouth down to her breasts as she wanted, his lips lingered on her neck, arched, exposed to him. They moved from just under her chin to the small hollow at the base of her throat. His hand wrapped more tightly into her hair, and he turned her body so that he could tug her head back even further, and Buffy willingly complied, dropping her head back as far as she could, and bracing herself on her arms to support them. His mouth continued to move up and down her throat, and they both began to moan.
Oh. My. God. What? What was that? What was happening?
She suddenly didn't care that his mouth wasn't finding her nipples, because this, oh, god, this was even better…
~*~
He could hear her blood rushing through her body, racing faster and faster. Her heart was pounding, and the sound of it was intensifying, beginning to fill the room.
Sonofa…
Excitement, emotion, amazement; something was gripping him, and it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.
His awareness shifted, pulled back from the scene. He was there with her, and he wasn't. No control. Taken over. His body moved. He was still on his knees, but they were straddling her thighs now, pressed close to her as he loomed over her. He could hear the rumbling in his throat - a strange sound, somewhere between a growl and a purr - a sound he was quite sure he'd never made before. He pulled back just enough to look into her face. Their eyes locked, and he was riveted by hers - glinting with golden lights, intent, pulling him in. A challenge? He knew his own eyes were flashing gold. Streaking. She dropped her head back, exposing herself to him. His hand sank into her hair, and he tugged her head back even further, as his mouth moved over her chin, and began to trail down her throat.
Her heartbeat was even louder now, stronger, the very air around them was pulsating in rhythm with it, thudding, thudding. Louder, stronger.
And then…
She was covering him, consuming him, her body joining with his, closer, merging, closer, closer, oh, there, there. She was in him, and he realized that he was in her too, that she was crying out sounds of mingled shock and pleasure. Oh god, she was there - on him, inside him, with him - she was part of him, she was him, inside, outside, all over him. He could feel her blood pounding now, matching the beat of her heart as it should, but now it was pounding through him, through his veins, through his mind.
Your blood, my blood, our blood…
Remembered words whispered through his mind briefly, and were lost in sensation.
Buffy.
Buffy.
Slayer.
Power, pain, passion; mingling, roaring through them, around them, capturing, escaping. Hold on, hold on. Stay. Give. More. Fear and longing.
Wonder. Endless. Endless. Stay.
And then, with only his hands wrapped in her hair, and his mouth touching her throat, they were both climaxing violently, their bodies convulsing.
Lost.
The world went dark.
When awareness returned, he was sitting on the floor next to the sofa, and Buffy was laying on her side on the cushions, her arm draped loosely around his neck. They were both panting, hard, dragging in air that one of them damned well shouldn't even need, but seemed desperate for right now.
"What the hell was that?" he groaned out as soon as he felt capable of stringing together coherent syllables.
"I don't know," she sounded as dazed as he felt. "But I want more."
Bloody hell, so did he. Right now. Just as soon as he could move.
"Tell me what you felt."
"You. I felt you." Her voice, so close to his ear, was raw, husky. "I still do. I feel you."
"Inside you?"
"Yes. All over me. All through me. Oh, god, so incredible… And now, peace and warmth, and I - oh god, Spike…" Her voice changed, becoming a soft desolate wail. "Oh no, no…please -"
It was slipping away.
The peace and warmth she'd spoken of, the incredible aftermath of whatever the sodding hell that had been, was fading away, leaving them, eluding them. He wanted it back - not just the after glow, but the whole thing, wanted to experience it again, the fierce pleasure of being inside her that way - in her body, in her mind, her heart, in her soul, maybe, to feel her in his body, in his heart and mind, moving all through him.
A part of him. As he'd been a part of her. Been her.
One.
"Nooo…" she moaned again. "Nooo…"
He turned, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her down onto the floor with him, onto him, across him, back into his arms, and buried his face in her throat.
"We'll get it back, Slayer, I swear. We'll bloody well find it again…"
"Promise me."
"We will…"
The phone rang.
"Don't answer that," he urged into her open mouth.
"I won't - the machine…"
Her mouth was trailing over his face now, lips touching themselves to the corners of his eyes. "Take me back - where we were. Take me there again…"
"I will," he vowed. "You take me, too."
"I will," her vow was a solemn as his.
"Buffy? Buffy - are you there?" Dawn's hysterical wail could be heard on the machine, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sob. "Oh, god, please, please, please, be there. I need you, need you, please…"