Promise to a Lady

By Mary

Chapter Ten

She came to him, as she so often did.

He could feel her, could almost taste her in the air. He didn't move, didn't open his eyes. He just lay there, stretched out face down on her bed and let her flow over him. He'd known she would come. He'd known that was what had drawn him to her room.

< You're here, you came. >

<< Called me, didn't you? 'Course I came. >>

Her hands touched his bare arms, sliding up their length and under the sleeves of his t-shirt, whispers of warmth against his cooler flesh.

< Won't you turn and look at me? >

<< Know I won't be able to see you. Never can in these waking dreams, love. Just feel you. Can only see you when I'm sleepin'. >>

He felt more of her weight settle on him. It seemed odd, different, but then her mouth was moving against the back of his neck, sliding around to the side, and his mind abandoned thought and concentrated on the burningly wonderful sensations instead.

< Spike... >

<< Don't stop, love. Just - touch me. >>

< Is that what you want? >

<< More than blood. >>

Her hands slid under his shirt, pushing the well-worn fabric up and over his head even as they left trails of fire along the smooth, wide expanse of his back. She was straddling his hips, her body leaning in close to him as her hands continued over his shoulders and moved along the length of his arms. Her breasts pressed against him, soft and warm and bare.

<< You feel so good, so good. Make me ache for you. >>

< Shhh... Hold me. I want you to hold me. >

He rolled beneath her until he lay on his back. She was still straddling his hips, and he groaned as his aroused body rubbed against her. His hands sought out hers, and he entwined their fingers as his hips started moving against her, circling, thrusting lightly. He kept his eyes closed. If he opened them, she wouldn't be there, and he didn't think he could face that tonight. Not after the bot, and… He just couldn't, not tonight…This experience was already radically different from most of the waking dreams he'd had. It was in those that he always had so much trouble understanding what she wanted. Buffy's sexual overtures, the ability to hear her voice so clearly in his head - those things were always reserved for the rare times he slept, for real dreams. He could easily understand the voice in his head tonight. It was Buffy's voice, but slightly different. It was huskier, and had a strange, not quite human quality to it, a whispering darkness. Spike was sure he was awake, and he wasn't going to open his eyes now and dispel - whatever this was, this unexpected gift.

<< Could hold you all night, that's what you want. Touch you, love you, make you mine. Jes' like I do when I'm sleepin'. >>

< You're awake now, aren't you? >

<< Can't always tell anymore. Feels like I'm awake. >>

She lowered her bare torso to his, moving her breasts against him in invitation, her mouth feathering teasing little kisses along his jaw.

< Do I feel real? >

<< Yeah. So real. So good. >>

Spike released her hands, and reached for her, his arms closing around her as he pulled her more tightly against him. God, so good. Her skin was warm, velvety, and, for the moment, he wanted nothing more than this, to luxuriate in the feel of her in his arms, flesh against flesh.

<< You're so warm, love, so soft. I could hold you like this forever. >>

He buried his face in her hair. God, he could feel individual strands against his mouth, taste them against his tongue. Her scent was filling him and he noticed vaguely that she smelled different. Wilder.

Cool and sensual, woodsy and wanton.

<< Closer. Come closer to me. Buffy. >>

Her hands moved to the fastening of his jeans, and he groaned, lifting his hips to help her slip them off.

<< Ahhh. Oh. Touch me. Just touch me. >>

She took his cock in her hands, and he thought he'd explode at the first touch of her fingers. God, oh, god, this was perfect, exquisite. She caressed his length in both hands as if his aroused flesh was some precious gift. Breathless sounds were coming from her mouth, while at the same time her words whispered softly in his mind.

< So hard for me. So strong. >

He couldn't believe how wonderful it felt, the indescribable pleasure. Her hands were moving over him, soft, light, a little pressure, then more, then soft again. Not stroking, not applying the pressure he would apply himself in order to bring himself off, just - ahhh. Cupping his sac, rolling his balls between her fingers, and somehow the use of two hands working in harmony was pulling at him in a way that seemed new, deeper, better. Long, long minutes of her hands, her touch. Magic hands. She bent toward him, starting to brush her breasts against him, to rub the tip of his shaft against her nipples. He could feel them hardening, and his eyes flew open as he cried out.

He could see her.

Oh god, he could see her.

Her skin and hair, usually so golden, had been silvered by the moonlight that poured in through the open windows, and even in the shadowed light of the room, he could see her eyes, see their expression of pleasure. Oh god, she was here. She was here.

"Buffy. Oh god, oh god, Buffy."

He came hard, his seed pouring onto her breasts in rapid spurts. She looked up at him again from under her lashes, and smiled, seduction in the curve of her lips.

Spike was panting needlessly, his eyes riveted to her. He was afraid to blink, afraid that if he did, she'd be gone.

"Ahhh, love, you're here."

< Yes, here. I told you to look at me. >

"You're so beautiful." His eyes ran over her face, over her hair and shoulders, then swept down her body, taking in the evidence of his orgasm running down her breasts. "Oh, god, look at you. All covered in me."

A drop of semen had rolled down the slope of her breast and had formed a pearl droplet at the very tip of her nipple. In his entire existence, Spike knew he'd never seen anything so erotic. His body reacted to the sight predictably. His splayed hands slid up her back and he pulled her down to him slowly.

"Let me taste you," his voice rasped in the cool night air. "Taste us."

His open mouth moved across her breasts, taking his own spendings onto his tongue, then moving up to her mouth, sharing the creamily textured fluids with her. Again and again, he repeated the gesture, lap, then kiss, lap, then kiss, until nothing remained but her. Her flesh, her flavor. Then his mouth closed over her nipple, and he sucked hard, cheeks hollowing as he drew her into his mouth.

Her deep moan seemed to echo in the room.

Spike took his time, concentrating all his attention on her right breast. He savored the taste of her skin, the lush combination of textures to be found on the soft mound of flesh. He drew back occasionally, letting the coolness of the air work its magic on her, pebbling her nipple to hardness, before he again tugged it into his mouth. He used his tongue, flicking it against her aroused flesh, then allowing it to sweep against the lower curve of her breast, so often neglected by a lover. He was holding the one breast in both hands, shaping it, caressing, his open mouth moving over each slope and curve, tongue tasting, sucking lightly, licking. He handled her breast as if it were something delicate, fragile, breakable. And all the while, he murmured to her, telling her how she tasted, how soft she was, how he loved the feel of her in his mouth.

Buffy's movements became more insistent, and she began writhing against him, wanting more.

"Patience, love," he breathed against her flesh. "You need to learn not to rush things. I stop now, your other breast is going to feel very deprived."
Her quiet gasps of pleasure were intoxicating to him. He was unsure if he was hearing them in his mind, as he heard her words, or if they were in reality floating softly into the corners of the room. Either way, the sounds she was making, the way her body was moving against him in desire, were drowning him in his own pleasure, and abruptly, his own patience was gone, and he wanted to be inside her, sheathed in the warmth of her body.

"Buffy..."

She responded to the hoarse entreaty in his voice, shifting her body, positioning herself over him, and god, oh, god, sliding down on him, drawing him deeply inside her.

They both stilled, moaning together, stunned by the shock of pleasure.

< So hard. >

<< So hot. >>

< Oh, so smooth. >

<< Tight. So bloody tight. >>

Buffy arched her back, thrusting her breasts upward and Spike's hands went to her hips, clutching at them tightly. Their slim, firm curve under his hands sent a bolt of pure lust through him.

He damn well loved her hips. Had for years.

<< Oh, god, yesss. Move on me, love. >> His eyes filled with erotic promise. << Dance for me. Just for me. >>

She did, moving on him gracefully, her body dancing to the rhythm he began and she picked up on. Her hands went back, bracing against his legs and she arched back, her head and torso undulating sensuously, moving in a manner meant to arouse and seduce, to entice him, to drive him crazy.
And when he was almost gone, thrusting into her with increasing speed, his hands digging with painful intensity into her hips, she leaned forward, bending over him, splaying her hands against the hardness of his chest. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, and she locked her eyes onto his.

< Spike. Come now. Let go, Spike, and come. Deep inside me. Give yourself to me. >

His hips surged off the bed and he thrust as deeply into her as he could, guttural moans escaping him as he came in a violent rush of pleasure. His arms clutched at her, pulling her down to him, and he buried his face against her neck as his body continued to convulse, out of his control.

Dream? Vision? She was his, his…

Her hands were moving over him in soothing motions, bringing him down, bringing him back. He held her tightly against his body, and his mouth continued to move against her throat, kissing, sucking, and biting down lightly with blunt teeth. Long minutes passed before he spoke.

"You're a generous woman, love. You could make me come like that all night."

< Isn't that what you want? >

<< Want you, Buffy. Anyway I can have you. Every way. >>

< I'm here - for you. >

His voice was dark, under laid with wicked promise. "Yeah? Well, I'm here for you."

And Spike proceeded to prove it. Throughout the long, still hours of the night he loved her, pleasured her body in ways she'd never yet even imagined when she was alive. Their bodies moved together, not always in perfect unison, but in exploration, in discovery, and in wonder. His hands moved over her, touching, stroking, teaching her the strength and power of her own body, things she'd never experienced in life. Tender, then rough, making her arch and moan against him in stunned pleasure.

< Didn't know… Didn't know… Never knew it could be like this. >

They came together, separated, moving in effortless bliss from one position to another, learning each other, mapping out all the pleasure zones, finding and eliminating any road blocks.

He unleashed all the tenderness inside him, the parts of him he usually felt so compelled to keep hidden, disguised and unrecognized. After all, this wasn't real, and it was safe for him to pour all that tenderness onto her in dreams, visions, whatever this was, wasn't it? Safe for him to tell her of his love, of his passion and devotion. All the things she had rejected in life, and that he knew, even as he said them, that she would reject still if this was real, if she was really here. He didn't dwell on that last bit too long. The night was too amazing, and he wasn't going to ruin it by letting reality intrude.
He wasn't a complete wanker, after all.

For a time, he even let out the hidden William and let the stupid git use all the poetry in his soul. But then he hauled him back in and let the total sensualist that was Spike take over and drive them both wild with pleasure again and again and again.

Like he said, he wasn't a complete wanker.

It was the best night of his entire existence.

He knew. He knew that even though this was unreal, that this was how making love to Buffy would have been. This was how her body would have felt. This was how she would have responded, how she would have smelled and tasted. Had she ever loved him, this was what they would have shared.

This was what he never would have had.

Ruthlessly, he thrust that thought away from him. He let go of the painful realities, and lost himself in the night, in this glorious passion, in her. For whatever reason, she was here, far stronger than any previous vision he'd had of her. He fully intended to act out every fantasy he'd ever had of her until she disappeared once again.

And he did.

---

< You're wavering. I need you to stay strong. >

It was late, nearing dawn, and he knew she'd be leaving him soon. God, he wanted her to stay. If he'd lost his mind and was existing in some fantasy world, he wanted to stay there, lost in her forever.

He knew it wouldn't be.

<< Know I'd do anything for you, love. But most of the time, I'm jes' hangin' by a thread. Don't know how long... >>

< Promise me. Promise me you'll stay strong. Dawn needs you. >

<< So hard here without you. Jes' - day after day. Mind's playin' tricks on me, too. Can't always tell what's real and what's not. What good am I to you like this? >>

< You're what I need, what Dawn needs, and I'm counting on you, to protect her. Promise me. I need you to give me your word. >
Spike squeezed his eyes shut, pain washing over him.

<< You know you've got it, love. 'Til the end of the world. Gave it once, not gonna take it back. I just - I don't know why you'd want it. If it weren't for me, if I hadn't buggered everything up, you'd still be here. You'd-a never had to jump. What makes you think I can do any better now? >>

< You can't think... Spike, you almost died for Dawn, for me. You would have died for us. You put your life on the line, and you think you failed us? Failed me? You're wrong. So completely wrong. >

<< I'm so sorry, love. >>

< There's nothing for you to be sorry about. Nothing. >

Her hands were gliding over him again, soothing him, and her thoughts tried to ease his doubts, his guilt.

< You're strong here. > Her hand stroked along his cock. < All that passion.>

< You're strong here. > Her hand stroked over the beautifully muscled length of his arms. < All that power. >

< You're strong here. > She laid her hand over his unbeating heart. < All that love. >

< And you're strong here. > Her hand moved to his head, brushed through his hair. < Your mind is strong, vital. You're strong, Spike. My blood flows in you, will always flow in you now. Always. It makes you stronger. And you need to stay strong. I need you. >

<< Give you anything, love. Do anything. >>

< Sleep now. You need to sleep. You've been wearing yourself out, never allowing yourself to rest. You have to change that, take care of yourself. >

Her mouth moved over his closed eyes, touching the lids in a soft caress. She was leaving, sliding away from him, and as always, he ached for her to stay. To stay. With him.

<< Please, love, stay. Stay. >>

< Sleep and rest. You need to be strong. Be ready. >

<< Love you, Buffy, so much. Know you don't feel… >>

< Always so sure you know everything. > Her thoughts interrupted his own, coming to him on a note of amusement. The dark, husky sound of her
thoughts seemed to be becoming a part of the breeze that stirred the curtains at the window. She was leaving him, fading away, and her last thoughts, drawn out slowly, were so quiet in his mind he had to strain to hear them.

< Spike… You think you know, what you are, what's to come… You haven't even begun.>



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