Ichnobate
Part Nine“Spike wait,” Buffy called, splashing out of the bath and grabbing a towel. “It’s not…I didn’t mean—”
The vampire paused halfway to the door, his back stiff. Behind him, Buffy squeezed the moisture from her hair and hastily wicked water off her skin before she pulled on her lemon-colored pajamas.
“I had a vision,” she explained breathlessly, her voice briefly muffled by the light cotton of the spaghetti-strapped pajama top she was trying to yank over her head, “of Angel.”
Spike stole a quick peek over his shoulder. The Slayer looked charmingly flustered. The nightcap sporting, sleepy-eyed, crescent moons on her tank gave Buffy an innocent patina at odds with the tantalizing expanse of silky leg revealed by her pajama shorts. Only the red pucker of the recently healed wound in her right calf, marred her perfection.
“A vision?” Spike prompted, turning to face her again.
“Yes," she nodded, happy he was listening and staying close. "I was in the sewers, looking down at Amy’s body and Angel appeared.”
“And what did the big poof have to say?”
“I don’t know.” A heartbreaking pain distorted the beauty of her features as she struggled to recall the scene. “He went away…but before that…he said…the deaths today…the evil brewing…all of it was my fault.”
Spike didn’t believe his ears. “Your fault?”
“Yes! Kennedy, Cleo, Chloe….all the deaths, even the Hound coming,” Buffy said, her voice cracking. “He said something about me having the power to stop it.”
“It’s all about the power,” Spike whispered.
“What?” Buffy said. She padded closer and he moved away, striding toward her bedroom door. Buffy followed.
“Something the First said when I was in the basement, raving,” Spike said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He went through into the bedroom. “Or at least I think that’s what it said.”
“But I don’t have any control over what happens,” Buffy protested, sounding angry with him as she trotted along behind. “Don’t you think I’d stop this if I could?”
“Of course,” Spike answered quickly, turning to meet her eye. “Buffy, none of this is your fault. I don’t care what your broody visions say.”
No, it’s Willow’s fault. She brought me back to this world. The Eye said this was happening because I’m alive.
“Maybe, it would end if I.…” She spoke her thought aloud but let the sentence trail away.
Spike shot a suspicious glance at his tormented love. She was staring at the floor. “If you what?”
Buffy shrugged one shoulder and Spike’s heart nearly betrayed him. She looked forlorn. Like a lost little girl, he thought. All she needed was a teddy bear in the crook of one arm and a ribbon in her hair. But Spike knew the vision she presented was deceptive. Buffy was anything but a helpless child. The lemon and white cotton pajamas were clinging, here and there, to her damp skin, offering a hint of sexuality while maintaining an air of plausible denial. Spike sighed.
He didn’t want to have the conversation he had come upstairs to have. But he’d been thinking long and hard and he’d finally reached a decision. This couldn’t go on.
“Buffy,” he said.
She glanced up at him and Spike promptly forgot every word of the speech he’d been rehearsing all afternoon. He lost himself in her eyes. They were dark green and gold. Breaking away from their allure caused him a physical pain but he managed it. He moved a foot or two away and tipped his head to one side, cracking his neck. Still, the words refused to come. Struggling with them, he walked to the dresser, where he stood, gazing down at her lip balm and hair bands.
Buffy had dogged his heels for a few strides, frowning over his strange behavior, but she stopped near the foot of the bed. She watched in bemusement as Spike pick up a small votive candle. He began turning the delicate glass holder in his hands. Buffy waited for further developments.
"I’ve been thinking,” Spike said, at last. “When this is over?"
He stopped speaking again and glanced at the dresser mirror. Her reflection looked right through him. The sight stiffened his spine. Pulling his shoulders back, he set the candle down with firm resolve, and faced her.
"When this is over,” he repeated, “I think you should leave. Just get out of Sunnydale. Go somewhere warm and safe. Away from all of this…killing. It's destroying you. Little by little. And you don't have to do this. You don't have to stay here. Faith and I can manage."
Buffy flinched. She spoke in a tiny voice. "You and…Faith?"
"She's the Slayer," Spike reasoned. "The line goes through her. Not you. If you think on it, this is her patch, really, the Hellmouth. And she's a good fighter, too. Not as good as you, but tough. With my help she could—"
He broke off. Anger was boiling up in Buffy's eyes. Her cheeks flamed. She looked anything but reasonable. Moving toward her, Spike rushed out the rest of his plan.
"Point is…Faith and I can handle the day to day job of keeping a lid on the things in Sunnydale. You could be free of it. Don't you see? You could live a long happy life. You and Xander could take Bit and go to Florida or Mexico or Rio. Live a little."
He reached out a tentative hand. Buffy jerked away. Her world was collapsing around her. People were dying and she couldn’t seem to stop it. Her stupid visions were as cryptic as ever and apparently supported her nagging feeling of guilt. In her mind, she’d let everyone down. And now this. Buffy couldn’t believe Spike was saying these things.
"Xander?" She exclaimed. "You want me to go…to Rio…and take Xander and Dawn with me?"
Spike nodded, apparently pleased by her ready understanding. The Slayer made a small gurgling noise in the back of her throat. Seeing her look of dismay, he tried another angle. "Or Dawn could stay here. With us. Faith and I could train her up while you and Xander are—"
"I see," Buffy seethed, pain making her tone shrewish. "I get the picture. Full panorama. I'm being packed off to Rio in this little Faith fantasy of yours. But I have to take big brother with me. As…as…my chaperone?” She gestured expansively. “I can't even have Freddie Prinze, Jr. along to rub oil on those hard to reach spots. No! I have to be all spinster auntish while you and Faith do…what exactly?"
"Patrol, fight, keep the demon hordes at bay and…." Spike stopped speaking abruptly as her phrasing caught up with him. It sent his thoughts in an entirely new direction. "Wait! What are you saying?"
"That I can do the math," Buffy lashed back. "She's a Slayer, right?"
"Well…yeah…" He frowned, confusion narrowing his eyes.
"Plan on bringing the house down? Putting another notch in the belt?"
Spike could not have looked more astonished if she’d stuck him in the face. His shock lasted all of two seconds before rage made his shoulders go rigid. He scowled horribly at the meaning behind her words.
"Oh, you cannot be…you think that…you think this is about—?” He roared out his frustration, tearing both hands through his hair. "You are out of your bloody mind. Stark, raving! Do you know that?"
His feral persona nearly dominated. There was a suggestion of sharp teeth, a glint of amber in his eyes. But he seized control. After pacing off the length of the room, he whipped around to deal with her, breathing heavily. Buffy edged back toward the bathroom. She opened her mouth to counter his charge but he bulldozed over her.
"I'm talking about what's best for you, here. All I'm thinking about is YOU! That's all I EVER think about…day and night until it drives me mad…you infuriating little…”
"Gee, thanks!"
Buffy’s sarcasm was all it took to unleash him. Swift and graceful, Spike closed the distance between them in a few strides. Backing hastily away, the Slayer miscalculated. Her shoulder bumped against the bathroom door. It swung closed, throwing her off balance. She stumbled but recovered quickly and braced for a fight. Jutting out her jaw in defiance, she leveled a glare. Her stubborn look halted Spike in his tracks. A few inches away from all out war, they held their ground like two bristling alley cats.
“Listen to me," the vampire ground out. “This…is…NOT…about…‘DOING’ a Slayer.”
"I saw you…looking at her."
"Looking? LOOKING! How can you…."
“Tell me it didn’t cross your mind.”
“What if it did?” Spike countered. “That’s a long way from what you’re implying. And anyway, she could never compare to…”
"She's the dark one."
"Ooooh, no! She’s not,” he rumbled. He was standing so close to her that his words stirred the drying strands of her hair.
Regret flitted across Buffy’s face, softening the hard set of her chin. She blinked up at him in pained surprise. Seeing the change in her, Spike felt a pang as well and backed off. He took a firm hold on his temper. Unclenching his jaw, he let his mouth fall open slightly, baring his teeth a bit as he exhaled. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to twenty.
When he opened them again, he growled, "Look," with as much patience as he could manage. "We’re not going to do this. I’m not going to let you push me to a fight.”
“Push you?” Buffy gasped, in affronted dismay.
“We are not going to fight,” he rephrased.
“Fine,” Buffy said. “I don’t want to fight, either.”
“Good,” Spike said with a chilly nod. He started pacing. “Because this isn't about me. And it certainly isn't about Faith. All I'm saying is: This is your chance to have everything you want. You and Xander… Well…it's not perfect, is it? But, there's something there. Something like love. He cares for you, he really does. And he's a good man, dependable, faithful…."
"You make him sound like a beagle."
"Maybe there wouldn't be much passion but you could trust him and…" His gaze darted to the bathroom door behind her. He choked slightly and had to look away. He walked to the end of the bed, stopped and cleared his throat. Turning to face her again, he said, "You could have the kind of life you deserve."
Buffy moved to within a few feet of him. She frowned in evident confusion. Suddenly, it was her turn to switch mental gears. "The life I…? With Xander?"
"It's what you want isn't it? Friendship, understanding? Trust? That's what you said when—," Spike couldn't finish the thought. The pain of memory was clear in his face. He shook it off. "Point is…he can give you everything you said you wanted?"
"But I don't feel that way about Xan—"
"Are you sure?" Spike asked, quickly, cutting her off before she could reject the idea out of hand. "You’re already friends, right? Maybe there's no fire…yet. But you said yourself that's not always the best thing…flaming and burning out. Love can grow over time, a deeper attraction can develop. Given a chance. I know you want to keep the torch lit for Angel but it's been four years. And visions aside, he isn’t part of your life. You can't go to L. A., Luv. There's no place for you there. You need to let go of Angel being the only one."
"Angel?" Buffy cried. She rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Now, it's Angel? Where are you getting all this? From one lousy vision? I'm not carrying torches for Angel! I am Angel torchless!"
"Didn't seem like it just now."
“It was a premonition,” Buffy said, stressing the noun, “a murky message from the great beyond. Here’s some info on the upcoming end of the world. Angel was the stand-in for the Powers That Be…and I didn’t understand what he was saying…so when he vanished I called out to him…and that’s all. There was static on the psychic hotline.”
Something very like hope sparked in Spike’s eyes but Buffy was too frustrated to note the change in his demeanor.
“And you know what? Even if that wasn’t it, and let’s say I was all about Angel for like a half-second there, as I woke up...well ‘that’s a long way from what you’re implying.’” She let that one sink in for a moment and then added, “It was a DREAM.”
“Dreams can have deeper meaning….”
“Yeah,” Buffy said, heaving a put upon sigh, “deeper Slayer meaning, which was kind of my point. You know, last week, I dreamed that a pink kangaroo taught me to tap dance. Hopefully, that doesn’t mean I’m in love with Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.”
The corners of Spike’s mouth twitched in response to her cock-eyed allusion. He raised a point-of-order finger and said, “Actually…Priscilla was the name of the—?”
Buffy barreled right over his informative aside.
"And Xander?" She threw her hands into the air as if words could not convey how much she was appalled by the Rio plan. "He's like my…brother. ‘Love growing over time?’ What is this, the sixth century? Are you that desperate to be rid of me? It doesn't even matter how I feel about any of this?"
"What? No! Of course it matters."
Buffy paused, panting. She felt suddenly bereft. Her anger drained away in a rush, leaving her exhausted.
"I knew you were mad at me," she said and her lower lip trembled. "I could tell. The way you keep avoiding me, pulling away. Never letting me touch you. "
"Buffy…I'm not m—"
"But…I thought…if we lived through this…you…we…could…." She sputtered into silence, gave a shuddering gasp, and sank down on the lip of the mattress, tears overflowing her lashes.
Spike didn't move, didn't speak. Buffy longed for him to sweep her into his arms and tell her he still cared. She wanted to believe that somehow, someday it would all be okay. But she knew there was no hope. She had played this scene out before. With her Father. With Angel. With Riley. It always went the same way. And she was always strong in the end. She tried to imagine being strong as Spike walked out of her life. It hurt.
She could barely get the words out. "You…want…you want me to…" she hiccoughed.
"Buffy? Think about what you're saying,” Spike insisted, taking a hesitant step toward her. “This isn't about what I want. Why would I be angry with you? I'm the one who was wrong, about us, about everything. I can see that now. I understand. I'm just trying to make things right."
She didn't look up. There was a voice in her head…a small pleading refrain, held over from childhood.
Stay…stay…stay…
"I don't want things to be right," she sniffled. "I just want them to be better." Her voice broke as she gazed up at him, pressing home her point. "With you. Can't you see that? How can you not know? You always knew before.”
Spike’s skin prickled, the fine hairs rose on his arms. "Tell me," he whispered.
It was in her, he could see it, pushing toward freedom like a living thing struggling to be born.
"I don't love Xander…or Angel…or Giles…or anyone else…"
There was pain and pressure and a blessed liberation.
And finally, finally, she said it. "I only love you."
Spike didn't respond. His blue eyes were like glass, his face impassive. After a silent half-second, he turned and walked a short distance away. Stopping near the window, he twitched the curtain aside and stood looking sightlessly down on the party in the back yard. Buffy stared at his rigid back. She could feel her heart shattering.
Desperate to soften him, she choked out a confession.
"I know…maybe it's too late…and I don't deserve anything from you. I treated you like…a monster, even when you tried to change. Did change. I knew it was real, how you felt, but I acted like I didn't.”
He shifted a bit, letting the curtain fall closed, but otherwise gave no indication he’d heard her.
“Spike? Please try to understand. You were a vampire. I was the Slayer. The things we did to each other…. How could that be right? I hated myself for feeling…what I felt for you. I thought it made me…wrong, dark…twisted inside. So I told myself it was only obsession…addiction. And I left you. But I didn't know it would hurt like this…being without you. William? Please…don't let it be too late. I see the man you are…the man you always were…and now…I can't…I…"
Her words faded away to a tiny sob. There was no change in him. Buffy dropped her head again, knowing it was hopeless.
She tried to resign herself. "You want me to go."
Tears came, blinding her for a moment. When she could see again, Buffy found herself looking into blue-grey eyes. Spike was kneeling in front of her, peering up into her face. He looked blissfully happy despite his own weeping. He smiled. It was a heart stopping smile and Buffy's glance slid to the floor once more. With an impatient sniff, Spike lifted a hand to gently tuck strands of her still damp hair behind her ear. Then, he dropped his palm to cradle the curve of her jaw. He tilted her chin up with a slight pressure until her gaze met his squarely.
"Bollocks!" He chided and Buffy blushed. He was laughing at her.
"It's not funny."
"It is,” he said on a soft breath. "Buffy? Luv? What absolute…ROT!"
A glimmer of a smile touched her lips but she didn't dare hope. One of her small hands clutched against the curve of his upper arm. Silently, she urged him to confirm his meaning.
Spike's face was on fire with long curbed emotion. Still cradling her cheek, he swept his free hand through her hair. He let the baby soft strands drip from his fingers. "Buffy," he sighed. "I love you. You're my life. If you go I will be nothing but ashes."
Emitting an incoherent mew, Buffy slipped off the edge of the bed, spilling into him. Spike caught her in his arms and steadied her for a heartbeat or two. She struggled to reach him, longing to touch again, but he held her slightly away, looking for something further in her face.
"I know, yes,” Buffy said, hunger making her voice rough. “Like me, like I'm dying inside…without you."
He gave in at that, crushing her to him for a torrid kiss, and they melted together.
When they separated, Buffy, her eyes starry, straddled his knees, reaching out to run impatient hands over his chest, around his neck and up into his hair. She threaded her fingers through his curls, swirling them into disarray. Spike pressed closer so Buffy’s warmth enveloped him. Her breath danced along his skin as they fell into a natural embrace. Her nose brushed against his. Their brows touched and Buffy's freshly washed hair broke over Spike like a wave, splashing against his cheek.
His involuntary moan ignited the smoldering fire in her belly. She dragged him into another kiss, locking her arms behind his head. Her tongue demanded immediate entry and Spike smiled against her lips. He opened to her. They kissed in heated frenzy, hands exploring, limbs intertwining.
Buffy’s aroused nipples strained against the light fabric of her top. When Spike’s fingers brushed over one sensitive peak she gave voice to a panting cry. The hot twist in her gut became unbearable. Breaking from Spike's mouth, she kissed her way across his cheek to his ear. She sucked, briefly, on the lobe and then nuzzled into the shell of it.
"Ohhhh," she breathed, soft and low. "I want you inside."
The noise Spike made, half sob, half groan, sent shivers along Buffy’s spine. She couldn’t get close enough to satisfy him. He buried his face in her hair and his fingers clenching where they splayed against her back. Licking her lips, Buffy shifted her weight, slithering down his thigh. She was slippery wet. Fragrant fluid had soaked through the thin cotton of her pajama shorts. Spike felt like he was drowning in the perfume of desire; his, hers, there seemed to be no difference.
He arched up. Eyes squeezed shut. Head tilted back. He mouthed incomprehensible syllables. He was rock hard, thrusting between his lover’s legs. Grinding with her hips, Buffy pushed the slight swell of her breasts against him as she ducked to bite gently at the jut of his jawbone. Pinching with her teeth, she sucked up his flavor. She nibbled her way down his throat, biting, licking…savoring.
When she reached his first shirt button, she whispered. "Need you…need…"
Moaning her name, Spike tried to pull her closer, wanting to slip under her skin, desperate to join with her, to be whole again. She was so alive. And she was his. Spike’s mind had trouble comprehending it. Buffy’s tongue swept back up the curved course of his neck as her fingers fumbled with his clothing, popping buttons through holes. She had his shirt off in a matter of seconds, peeling it away from his chest, pushing it down to bare his shoulders and then yanking it free of his jeans. Before the shirt hit the floor, her fingers were tugging at his belt buckle.
She was as ardent as she had ever been. And the fire in her made him want to take what belonged to him. He longed to snarl and bite into her. The realization hit Spike like a splash of ice water. Memories of wild rutting assaulted him, walls crashing down, the rip of clothing torn away, flesh pounding against flesh and harsh guttural screams. It all blended together in his mind with the bathroom's echo as she begged him to stop hurting her.
“Oh, God…NO!"
He couldn't let it happen again. They couldn't surrender to the mindless hunger. It would destroy them both. He gripped his love by both shoulders. Tensing, he pushed her away and stumbled to his feet. Buffy went cold.
"Wha—What's wrong?"
Spike was halfway to the bathroom door. He was leaving.
“William? Please don’t…what did I do?”
Her child-like confusion reached him. The pain in her voice was palpable. Spike paused, one hand on the doorknob.
“It’s not you,” he mumbled and had to swallow against the pressure in his throat.
Buffy got up and came slowly toward him. “Then…why…?”
Spike was silent. Wrestling with his monster, he leaned his forehead against the white wood of the still closed door. Buffy stepped closer. She placed a warm hand on his bare shoulder and he sighed.
Eyes fixed on his feet, he whispered, “Tell me this is real.”
She, too, took a long shuddering breath.
“It is.”
"Are you—?" His voice broke but he forced himself to ask. "Are you sure? This is what you want?"
The sound she made was visceral, the drag of claws in flesh. But he didn’t look up, didn’t turn to face her. He was determined not to weaken. His body shook with the effort but he waited for the words.
"This," she answered, at last, "is all I've ever wanted.”
The tightly coiled spring in Spike’s chest loosened but he still didn't dare move.
“But,” Buffy went on bravely when he didn’t respond, “If you don't want to. If you'd rather not…it's okay. It won't change how I feel. I love you. I want you to stay…but I…I know this is all…new…so…if you want to wait…or go…I’ll understand…this isn’t just about what I want...my needs...it's…”
Whipping around in the middle of Buffy's ultra-mature speech, Spike seized her wrist in one hand and jerked hard, dragging her forward and up into his arms. His open mouth descended on the startled “o” of hers. He dropped an arm around her waist to hold her steady as he despoiled her with his tongue. Buffy squirmed and he tightened his grip, fingers pressing into her soft, warm flesh. When she shoved at his shoulders, he pivoted to pin her against the door, freeing a hand to glide along the outer curve of her thigh.
He hooked his palm in the hollow of her knee, urging her leg up. Buffy got the message. She braced against the door and rotated her hips so she could wrap both legs around her lover’s waist.
“That’s my girl,” Spike growled, nuzzling along her collarbone.
The fingers of his one hand were already busy. Trusting in her Slayer strength to maintain their position, he released his hold on her entirely. Buffy heard the metallic drag of his zipper and felt him fumble the wet cotton of her shorts aside. And then, he sent both hands up under her crescent-moon decorated tank top. Buffy breathed sweet words into his mouth. His tongue was slippery on hers and there was a silken weight pressing into her core. Cool, firm, unbelievably insistent, it stretched her open.
Spike claimed her renewable virginity for the second time. It hurt when he pierced her cordial center and Buffy gasped. The exquisite mix of pain and pleasure made her quake. Her slick melt eased his passage as she pulled her knees up and took his generous measure all the way in, closing around him, tight and pink satin smooth. Spike groaned.
He cupped both hands around the curve of her bottom and stepped back, bridging her body. Buffy flowed effortlessly into the new position, like she was made for this…for him and Spike's eyes rolled back in his head. He gave in to his compulsion to hammer into her belly. The bathroom door creaked in protest as Buffy's shoulders knocked repeatedly against it. Just for a second she flashed back to Xander's warning about the house coming down, but she couldn't hold on to the thought. Not with her love shafting into her like a wild thing.
Spike started sliding toward oblivion. She was driving him mad, his sweet Buffy. Milking his manhood, her inner walls fluttered and tugged along his length. He tried to hang on. Tried to make the moment last, but Buffy was relentless. She folded her legs up, crossing her ankles in front of him so the tops of her feet rested against his chest. The pose, one of total submission, elongated her already exquisitely tight passage. Reason deserted him. He surged deep, slamming against her, sliding in and out, piston-smooth.
Buffy came. The sound she made was a long quavering wail. Before it died away, Spike was gushing into her. He growled low in his throat as he climaxed.
It was like siring. His whole being seemed to drain into her. The back swell of orgasm took him at the knees and he staggered. Swaying drunkenly, he slipped free of Buffy's warm, wet hold.
The Slayer's feet found the floor with a thump. Struggling for air, she fought the jellied wobble of her own legs as Spike stumbled back and collapsed. He would have landed hard if she hadn't lurched forward to grab him, breaking his fall. She eased him down to the carpet and he curled up, pulling into a helplessly shuddering ball.
Spike’s trembling hand covered his face but Buffy could see the silvery tracks of tears on his cheeks. He was weeping. It made her feel protective. She snuggled close, taking him into her arms. Lying beside him on the floor, she murmured soft nothings and dropped feather-light kisses on his neck, the back of his hand and what she could reach of his face.
She petted and soothed until with an incoherent little cry he reached out, drawing her into his curved form. She hooked a leg over his hip.
Holding him in a full-body embrace, Buffy cooed, "Shhh, shhh…Spike! Baby…love…shhhhh…what’s wrong?"
“Noth—nothing,” he sobbed into the curve of her throat. "I just…oh…god, I love you so much."
Slowly, the emotional tempest in Spike's soul eased. He relaxed, stretching out next to his beloved. He had trouble breathing at first, and it was a long time before he remembered there was no need. Memory returned, where he was…what he was…what he'd done…but there was no pain or shame. The sinful images from his past century were dimmer, as murky as if viewed through thick stained glass. He felt absolved, forgiven. He focused on Buffy, knowing she was responsible for this new lightness in his soul.
And then he remembered losing control. He sat up quickly. His hands brushed down Buffy's body as he examined her skin. She smiled and let him look, stretching like a lazy cat under his scrutiny, relaxed and pliable. He turned her, this way and that, pushing her shorts and tank aside to check for cuts or bruises. There were no marks. He hadn't hurt her at all in his savage frenzy. He lifted his gaze to the bathroom door.
"It's not even cracked," Buffy noted, propping herself up on one elbow. "And there goes our reputation."
Spike puffed out a tiny laugh. Feeling the shyness of his soul in a way he never had before, he made a suggestion. "Maybe it's time we risked your bed…"
Buffy raised an eyebrow at him and he nearly blushed. She threw a glance at the bed, pressing her mouth out in a becoming moue. "That’s over three feet away. Would walking be required?"
"Is that out of the question?"
"Mmhhm," she murmured noncommittally.
He looked away suddenly bashful. It was mortifying, this flush of virginal awkwardness. But Spike couldn't help it. It felt strange relating on human terms. He wasn't used to it yet. Expressing his own needs wasn’t as easy as being swept along in the wake of his beloved's desire. He was a man, now, not a soulless convenience but an equal partner in the affair. Free to suggest the venue…free to refuse her advances. Not that he had any intention of refusing.
But he did want to go easy. During those long months alone, when he dared to envision having her again, he’d imagined it slow and sweet. He’d imagined making her forget all the pain. He wanted to show her how good it could be. How blessedly normal his love for her really was.
Holding the back of Buffy's neck, Spike leaned in to kiss her very gently. He went on kissing her while her hands worked their slow way down the curve of his abdomen to his belt. Freeing the buckle tongue, she opened the metal clasp but didn't waste time unthreading leather. Instead, she folded back the wings of his fly. Her fingers pushed under denim and weaved through coarse curls to fold over firm, velvety flesh. She squeezed up his shaft until she topped it. Rotating her hand, palm slick with their combined juices, she plunged the length of him again.
Spike gasped out some indistinct encouragement. Somehow, he got them both up without breaking Buffy’s grip on his cock. She only released him to deal with his clothing. They trundled their way to the bed. As they toppled across the width of it, Buffy slid down Spike’s body, licking and kissing and pushing his jeans out of her way.
He helped her as much as he could, lifting his hips when she urged him up. She dropped to the floor between his legs, still wrestling with his outfit. He kicked off his boots as soon as she'd undone enough shoe lace. Socks followed boots and finally he was free of his clothes.
Buffy pressed her palms against Spike's inner thighs and spread his knees wide open. She leaned in, hands sliding slowly up. Her hair tickled the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen and her mouth hovered over him, making his cock jump and weep creamy pearls. He was completely hers. And, seeing him fully for the first time, she noticed with delight, he was completely healed from the wounds inflicted during his captivity.
Only the faintest trace of scarring marred the ivory skin below his navel. Buffy admired the uncircumcised length of his manhood. It floated above the tight ripple of his stomach muscles, engorged head straining out of tightly stretched foreskin.
"You're so beautiful," she said. Her knowing fingers lightly massaged his sac.
"Luv…I…uhhhhaaahh…"
She slipped one slim digit up into him, pressing his hot button and Spike's view of the ceiling shattered into jagged colors. His hips jerked involuntarily. Buffy’s long hair was silky soft on his swollen need but her breath scorched his flesh.
Pumping her finger in and out, she whispered, "Purr for me, Baby."
And then he was inside her, again, the tip of his shaft brushing the back of her throat.
Spike tried not to thrust but the urge nearly unmanned him. It made him grunt and claw into the sheets. Buffy licked, probed and swirled her tongue, fingers stroking and kneading like a nursing kitten. She was shameless. And it was all too much. Spike bowed up, the animal rumble she'd requested thrumming in his veins.
Buffy mimicked the timbre of his vocalizations. She moved with her lover, giving way as he thrust. They established an easy rhythm with Buffy sucking hard and slurping up to the head of his shaft at the apex of each of his full-body arches. Then, finger all the way in, she paused. As Spike's hips settled to the bed, she eased out of his tight passage and licked her way back down toward his curls. Twenty, thirty…fifty times they repeated the cycle.
Until, at last, Spike’s stomach muscles convulsed, curling him forward. His hands reached for her. Blindly clutching fingers slid through her hair until he established a firm grip. Looking up, Buffy met his eye as he held her head still and foamed into her mouth.
His shot choked her and overflowed her lips but she didn't pull away until he shuddered out the last drop. She continued to milk his cock until he flopped weakly back onto the bedcovers. As Spike panted into relaxation, Buffy sucked free of him. She settled on her haunches, tilted her chin up and swallowed.
Watching her through half-closed eyes, Spike made her name a breathy moan. "Buffy."
She wiped her face with one hand and licked her sticky fingers clean. "Hmmm?" She inquired her tone sultry.
Receiving no answer, she rose to her feet and began to disrobe. It was a slow, teasing dance. Her eyes lingered on his splayed nakedness as she stripped off her pajamas. She used her semen soaked top to wipe the last traces of his seed from her skin and let it fall to the floor.
Spike tried to focus. "That was—"
He sighed and then arched up again, squirming as an aftershock hit. By the time the tremor had past, Buffy was climbing into bed beside him. Her naked skin was smooth along his. "That was…what?"
"I can't tell you,” he said softly. “There are no words for how…amazing that was."
"Mmmmhhhmmm," she hummed, against his lips. Spike’s darting tongue tasted his own mettle. The musky flavor of come mingled seductively with Buffy’s peppermint toothpaste and the sweet citrus flavor of her nearly evaporated lip balm.
"Can you show me?" she whispered.
“Yeah,” he agreed on a sigh.
He rolled her to her back and settled the weight of his body against her. He was hard as marble, again. Needing her. Insatiable, Buffy thought. She shuddered and he levered away. He stared into her face, appreciating the incremental signs of her evident pleasure, as his fingertips traced over her skin, caressing her neck, nipples and the slight dip and swell of her belly.
Buffy lost herself in his eyes. There should be a word, she thought, just for naming that color of blue; not sea, not sky, not ice. It was Spike Blue, the color of unvarnished truth. He loved her, so completely. He didn't need to say a word…it was in his eyes, in his touch…and in the way he made her feel alive.
Spike let his mouth join his hands in delighting her. He worked his way down, taking his time, letting the craving build in her slowly. He didn't tarry between her legs but went all the way to her toes. Buffy braced one heel against his shoulder and he tongued the length of her instep. Mouth busy sucking at her foot, Spike sent his fingers to find her hot, wet center.
"Uuyyhhhh…uhhh."
"Yeah,” he breathed. “You do want it. You're always ready for me aren't you, sweetheart?"
"Ahhww…Alwa…Always," Buffy panted, writhing under his hand.
He slid the heel of his palm and the roundness of his fingers back and forth, building friction. Buffy bucked in response. He circled a thumb over the knot of nerves in her slippery folds, provoking a strangled scream. Before she finished quaking he had three fingers inside her.
Buffy's knees fell open in wanton invitation and Spike’s tongue entered the equation. He fed on her aromatic fluids, lapping them up, as she rode his hand. Goading her on, Spike matched his stroke to her ragged gasping. Gradually, he varied the angle, depth and speed of penetration. Fingers and tongue and teeth served her need, slaved for her. He was everywhere at once, pushing her toward climax.
She chanted his name. "Spike, Spike, Spike, Spike…"
"William," he corrected, gently.
Her eyes snapped open, seeking his, holding for a moment before fluttering closed again.
"William," she sighed. "Yehsss…Mine...my love."
"Gah...ahhkah," Spike gasped, nearly losing control, again.
Buffy thrashed, drawing his attention up to the jerking motion of her shoulders. So very close, he thought. And her need was everything to him. He offered her two fingers to suck, sliding them up over her stomach, breasts and wet lips. He focused on her moist, hot mouth, so like the slick squeeze of her quim and ground out, "Let it go…Buffy. Come to me."
He brought her to the brink. Sent her tumbling over it and then panther crawled up her blissfully trembling body. But as his fingertips traced the curve of her breast, Buffy's breath caught in her throat and he knew he hadn't given her everything she deserved. He knew too that it couldn't be rough, even if that was the quickest way to satisfy.
Buffy needed a gentle touch for the completion she craved. She wanted it easy, heat building slowly to the point where it would melt flesh from bone. Spike knew he would have to take her to a place they had never gone before; somewhere he had only imagined…somewhere heavenly.
His eyes flashed in cocky acceptance of the challenge and Buffy raised a clearly speculative brow. Spike grinned and reached for the bed spread, clawing it back. With a bit of maneuvering, he managed to get them both under the covers. Pulling the sheet up, he slid into position, limbs locking around those of his love.
He didn't enter her straight away, didn't rush. Instead, he moved languidly, seeking out every secret spot. At first, he murmured sweet nothings into the hollows of her flesh but as Buffy's fever increased his words became gradually more provocative.
"You remember the DeSoto, Pet?"
She trembled and he spoke very close to her ear, "That night by the river? You thought I would hurt you…but I didn't. I knew I was the first…knew you never gave it up like that before…"
"Dirty," Buffy breathed, but she didn't sound angry or upset.
"Uhnoo," he pouted, playfully pulling back to look at her. Then, he gave a low chuckle, tonguing his canine teeth and granted, "Well…yeah…it was. But oh, so very sexy. The way you looked at me, I knew you’d never, ever looked at another man like that…"
He lowered his head to suckle on one swollen pink nipple.
"Never," she whimpered.
He was right. It was there for him to read in her love-drugged eyes. She'd never felt anything close to the passion they'd shared that night by the river…never felt so alive…so maddened by desire…and it hadn't hurt. The very idea of wanting him like that had almost destroyed her…but what he'd done inside her, to her…hadn't hurt at all.
Desperate for him, Buffy clawed into Spike’s shoulder. She tried to take him by force, sliding the sole of her foot along the back of his leg and pushing his hips into hers. Spike reared away, head low, panting through the moment. He outlasted the urge to surrender. She wasn't ready…yet.
"So…Pet…Wha—" he gasped, eyes blazing into hers. “What we did? You…you wa-want to do it again? Tomorrow night? Later today?"
Buffy’s consent was preverbal, a grunt and tug. Her skin burned with need.
Spike dipped his head to lick the soft curve under her rib cage. "Here in your bed?" He asked, before slithering lower. He touched the tip of his tongue to the yielding center of her saturated curls. "Oooorrrr," he dragged the word out, slurping up to the tingling node of her clit. "In the kitchen?"
Buffy tried to speak but her throat was so dry Spike had to climb up her body to hear. "Sa-same pla…ce," she mouthed.
"By the river?"
She nodded and bucked up almost immediately when he slipped a hand between her legs. "M…mmmm…oh…God…Minivan."
"Ooooh," he rumbled, appreciatively. "Windows. Just like last time." His voice was silky with insinuation. "Anyone could see you…see me inside you…sailors spying from boats…"
Buffy moaned. She reached overhead and seized the wrought iron bars in her headboard. Her fisted hands twisted the metal out of shape.
"Dockworkers coming upon us in the middle of the com…"
She gasped and thrashed, struggling for a full breath.
"Yeah, you’d like that. You over the back of the seat…spread wide…taking me all the way…"
She groaned out a filthy word or two.
"That's right," he whispered, right next to her ear. "Lube, leather…and a very hot…very horny Slayer…riding me hard."
"SPIKE? God…just…juhhhsttaahHH…"
He bit down on the underside of her jaw and slithered his fingers over the feverish swell of her clit, making her shudder.
He brought his wet hand up to pinch her nipple lightly. It was the final straw.
Buffy struck in a flash. She released the headboard and shoved him away. Flexing her muscles, she flipped Spike to his back and straddled him, claws in his chest, pussy dripping into his navel. More than ready, she was determined. Her eyes told him, she intended to take what was hers. Dominance radiated off her.
"You care if the world knows what we do, Luv?" Spike asked in a mockery of wide-eyed innocence.
"No," she growled, the word primitive in her throat. "You can tell anyone you like."
A look of pure bliss flitted across Spike's face. Then, Buffy wrapped herself around his cock and his world narrowed to a slit of saturated velvet, enveloping him like a second skin.
He shook his head and gasped. "Let 'em wonder."
Buffy melted around him like hot wax, stealing away his ability to think clearly. He knew only her. She was small round breasts, full lips, smooth inner arms, soft belly, fingers, thighs, silken hair, and that fluid pulsating core.
"Oh! Oh, Buffy! Fuh--fuhuck."
She did.
There was nothing tentative in her assault but also nothing predatory. She wasn't rough or wild. She took him easy, sliding slowly down to engulf his length completely before she swept forward to kiss his mouth. Her tongue danced over his.
Back, forward, kiss and repeat.
Spike grunted, biting down on his lower lip, as she settled into his lap, making his cock hers. He was hers. It was that simple. Spike accepted the fact. Nothing else, no one else, would ever satisfy him.
He let Buffy lead, determined not to rush her to the finish. But it was so very hard not to thrust…pound…grind against her when she was so hot and tight and wet and…
God, help me.
Buffy rotated her hips, squeezing up as she arched into a backbend and Spike nearly screamed. Only the dim recollection of other people in the house kept him to a groan. He focused on his lover's heartbeat. The white hot surge of impending climax filled every corner of his mind, but he held out against it, waiting for her.
She relented, falling forward into his arms. He sat up under her, kissing her lips, murmuring words of devotion into the yielding warmth of her mouth. He panted out a promise to wait for her no matter how long it took.
But as the heat swelled between them, Buffy started to squirm and, involuntarily, Spike began to move, too. He rocked his pelvis against her, urging her on to an even greater ardor. The friction made her inner walls slick and the increased lubrication made her pick up speed. Spike’s talented fingers were everywhere. They threaded into her hair, pinched at her nipples and jacked against her clit. Buffy trembled helplessly, her breath coming in short vocal bursts as she pumped frantically against his upward thrusts.
Her eyes were open, staring into his, the green depth of them filled with flecks of gold, like sunlight through deep water. She seemed a fluid thing to Spike, no longer flesh. She washed over him, a warm river of sensation, sweeping him along. He floated or surged, was alternately pulled under or lifted up by the turn of her tide. They splashed through waves of pleasure, moving faster and faster. Spike could sense the rapids coming. He heard the roar in his head and tried to brace for the ride.
"Oh…baby…come, please…I can't oh god…oh…my Buffy…I…love y…I…"
He came. The feral whine tore at his throat as he pulsed into her.
Buffy's tiny answering gasp was the herald of ice breaking in the spring. A single breathless, "Aawhhhhhh…"
Her body convulsed, muscles clenching tighter. They climaxed together, her forehead touching his. Buffy's slick fluid increase blended with her lover's heavier milk. She jerked, once, twice, three times, before her eyes lost all focus and she stiffened, nails biting into both of Spike's shoulders.
And then there was nothing…no barrier…no wall…no obstacle…strong enough to hold back the emotional flash flood.
It lasted a lifetime and was over in a few seconds.
Buffy collapsed, spilling over the man she loved, soft and yielding…breasts, hair, satiny skin. She was fragrant with vital fluids…a woman…his woman.
"L-lov-love you," she panted.
Spike’s arms tightened around her. He crushed her against his chest. Gulping in air, Buffy gurgled wetly along the curve of his throat. It took Spike a moment to recognize the sound she was making. Skeptical of his senses, he turned on his hip, staying inside her but letting her head slide easily into the crook of his arm. Buffy looked up at him, laughing. Her bubbling mirth was infectious and Spike smiled, too.
He leaned in for an open-mouthed kiss.
"Mmmmhmm," she murmured, tongue lapping against his palate.
"OhhhmmmgawhhMMMMmmmhuuvv," Spike mumbled in agreement as he tried to cuddle even closer to her.
They lay together for a long time before they uncoupled. Voices came and went in the hall. Once or twice someone tried the door.
Snug in her bed, separated, by only a few inches, Spike and Buffy drifted toward sleep. They still breathed in synchronicity as they burrowed into the pillows and each other, content to let sated slumber come.
Just at the edge of dreamland, Buffy stretched out her body in languid satisfaction and declared, "That was even better than your scrambled eggs."
They both giggled.
---
There was a knock on Robin Wood’s door. As he came awake, he glanced at the bedside clock and groaned. It was probably another reporter. He considered ignoring the summons but the knocker was insistent. After another few raps, he crawled wearily from beneath the covers and went to peer out the peephole.
There was a thin, dark haired man on his doorstep. He was smiling unctuously but looked nothing like a reporter. The fellow was dressed in flamboyant fashion. He wore buff colored slacks, a few silver chains and a black and purple velvet shirt. The combination would have embarrassed a pimp. As he waited for someone to answer the door, the visitor rocked up on his toes and back down again, staring curiously along the hallway. After a moment, he turned again to face the door, peering back through the tiny glass prism at Wood.
The principal sighed. Reaching up, he slid the chain from his door and turned the knob. As the portal swung open, he said, “Hello, Ethan.”
“Hello, Robin,” Ethan Rayne said, pushing his way into the apartment. He turned about, surveying the room in evident appreciation. “What a lovely home you have.”
“Thank you,” Wood said dryly. He did not move from the still open door. “What are you doing here?”
“I have vital information,” Ethan said, lightly. “Consider me a ray of sunshine in these dark and troubled times. But first, how is my favorite Slayer? Still alive I hope, still fighting the good fight.”
“Buffy is fine,” Wood said with chilly formality. As if resigned to the coming conversation, he shut his apartment door and walked to the bar separating his kitchen from the living room. He lifted a decanter of brandy out of the small selection of bottles. Pulling a glass from the rack hanging over the bar, he poured himself a drink. He didn’t offer one to Ethan as he toasted him with, “And so is the other one.”
“Faith,” Ethan purred. “My yes! She turned out to be quite resourceful.”
“Resourceful?” Wood remarked, mimicking the other man’s upper crust diction. He downed his brandy in one long gulp and then sat his empty glass on the bar with a decisive clink. “She’s supposed to be quite dead.”
To Be Continued.....