Shooting Sparks

Ch. 17: Selfish Pleasures

“By Monday?” Spike asked, a look of incredulity on his face. He had stopped in the middle of a bit of his hot dog, a quick bite after their trip to the museum. Sitting on the rock with the sun in his face, his eyes squinting at her, he waited for her explanation.

Buffy sighed. “You heard right. I have to be out by Monday. Tomorrow.” She would have hid her face in misery if her hands weren’t full of a sauerkraut-laden half-eaten weiner. She settled for another sigh and a pout. “And everyone I’ve talked to has politely refused to let me crash. I just don’t know.”

Swallowing the last of his snack and wiping his hands, he carefully looked at her and said, “You haven’t asked me.”

Buffy studiously adjusted her hot dog so that it didn’t fall on her lap—and successfully avoided eye contact with his sharp blue eyes. “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to bother you about it. You’ve been here for as short a time as I have, and I didn’t want to disrupt whatever routines you’d just established, and...”

“Buffy, you need a place, and I have space. You should crash at my flat. I mean, I even rhyme.” He smiled a little, trying to suppress the sexually frustrated and currently groaning voice in his head, the one that could guess what his life might become like if she actually came to live with him. He clamped down those feelings and merely thought of the possibility of seeing her all the time.

Buffy hesitated. It made complete sense to take him up on his offer. He had a great place, certainly with enough room for her. He lived nearby, so her commute would be the same. In fact, they could probably go to work together. They got along wonderfully, and he was offering. Why the hesitation?

Because she would explode, of course. The sexual tension had already caused her to catalog innumerable fantasies of their couplings even before she’d run into him here in New York . How much more could she take if they were living in the same apartment? But the little devil on her side coaxed her with innocent images of the lovely loft, the wonderful bookshelves, the roomy place, convincing her that rooming with Spike would be purely platonic and that his place was the perfect solution to her problem. The angel, completely aware of all the sexual tension and danger in living with him, was neatly tied up and thrown into the corner of her mind.

“Spike, if you don’t mind having me around, I’d be incredibly grateful to you for letting me stay with you.” The devil in her mind did a little jig, and the angel rolled her eyes and sighed.

His face lit up at her words, and Spike touched her shoulder gently in reassurance. “I love having you around, and it would be no problem at all to have you stay with me. I can help you move in your stuff today, if you want.”

“You are definitely too good to be true.” She faltered a little under his steady gaze and soft touch; she couldn’t keep looking into those eyes and not fall into their depths, and the addition of his gentle caress on her shoulder was a little more than she could handle. But she savored his warmth and felt a little lacking when he finally took his hand away.

After much lifting and toting and walking and sweating, Buffy collapsed onto a chair in the kitchen, gulping down water. Moving was such a hassle, even when she hadn’t moved nearly as much as Spike had. She licked a drop of water running down the side of the glass as she watched him carry the last box into the apartment. Slightly glistening with sweat and muscles tensed under his shirt, Spike exuded a masculinity that made Buffy ache with desire.

Spike wiped his brow quickly and then sighed. "I wish I could help you unpack all this—no really, I do," he said, grinning at her look of disbelief. "Unfortunately, I'm supposed to meet a co-worker tonight to finish the copy for this column we're working on together. He's expecting me at 8." He chugged some water. "I'm not even going to have time to shower, but I don't care much—he's not going to care." Finishing the bottle, he stretched a little and then headed for the door. "You have the key and my cell, and I'll try to get back tonight before too late so we can finish pounding out the details. I'm sorry I have to run—I'll see you in a few hours?"

Buffy nodded and waved, too tired for much else. "Yeah, I may not be awake when you get back, but we'll figure something out. Have a good meeting." She waved goodbye, and he was gone. Slouching into her chair, she closed her eyes and thought about the bare minimum she could do to be okay for work the next day. Finally bracing herself for a few moments of unpacking, she heaved herself out of the chair and then headed upstairs.

"There." She looked at the two boxes she'd unpacked—the few items that were necessary to make her feel at home, and the clothes she'd actually hung up in the closet—and grinned. The bed was still pretty messy, but it was livable. She got out her toiletries and made her way down to the bathroom to make a place for herself. Humming along to her music, she smiled. The new place was better than she could have hoped, and Spike was better than she could have hoped. Heading back to the—her loft, she plopped onto her bed. Her eyes closed on their own accord, and suddenly her mind was filled with images of Spike—his sweaty body all flexed and muscle-y, his blue eyes staring at her intensely, his lips kissing hers.

All of a sudden, her entire being was hot with desire. It was as if her body was accustomed to becoming aroused at the thought of Spike—no doubt a result of all those fantasies that Willow had said were okay. Okay? Now she was living with him. Was she going to go around in a constant state of arousal?

It didn't matter right now, though, because right now he was on her mind and right now her body was aching and right now there was no one else in the apartment...

Her right hand slid down her body, and her left hand slowly slid over her breasts. No one was in the apartment, so no one was going to hear her breathing heavily or see the covers shifting from her movement. The reassurance was necessary—there was something naughty about touching herself here, at Spike's apartment, even if it were now partially her apartment.

She shook those thoughts from her head and went back to Spike, his body and his heat and his sexy walk. There he was, pouring water over his head and letting it run down his sculpted body. He'd take off his shirt, not wanting it to get too wet, and then give her a smoldering look before throwing the t-shirt down.

Her fingers began rubbing against her wetness, slick just the images of his body. Her hips began to thrust lightly against her hand, wanting to feel the friction. She dipped into her pussy and slid over her clit, moaning lightly at the glorious sensations swirling around her.

Her left hand gently glided over her breast, cupping its softness and squeezing her nipple to hardness. She bit her lip as both hands worked its erogenous zone. Her breathing became more labored, her moans a little louder as she relentlessly pressed against her sex, rubbing and pleasuring with each hand.

Spike tried to enter the apartment quietly, in case Buffy had fallen asleep in the loft. He smiled a little at the idea of her being asleep in his—their—apartment. He didn't hear anything at first. Softly closing the door, he moved into the apartment and tried to hear if she was sleeping. And then he heard a moan, and another.

His jaw clenched in anger—not that it was justified, but she'd only been there a few hours or so. How could she already have brought someone over?

And then he heard another moan. Eventually he realized that she was the only one moaning. His cock began hardening with the thought that she might be touching herself. Only a few hours in the apartment, and she was touching herself? Either it had been a long day needful of release or she was in as much sexual agony as he was. Could it be?

Her moans began getting louder, faster, and his hand crept to touch his own aching needs.

She was close—her body was tensing, tightening, climbing up that slope of pleasure. She imagined his blue eyes, his hard body that day he'd been her model, strutting and posing before her. She envisioned the way he would look down and then glance up at her with that intense stare, cocking his eyebrow and opening his lips partly, and—

"Uuunnnnnnnnggg," she burst out, her body arching with delight. She pressed her fingers against her shuddering clit, relishing the way it throbbed against her, and then collapsed onto the bed.

Hearing her moment of climax, Spike almost came himself. He bit his lip and quickly made his way to his room. Ripping off his t-shirt and dropping his pants, he plopped onto the bed, cock in hand. He could see her so clearly, her golden hair shining in the sun, her body stretched out on the sand all for his pleasure. He remembered scooping her into his arms, running into the ocean. His lips were on her, his hands caressing her nipples and cupping her ass, feeling her sex against his own.

His cock was already so hard, glistening with his own cum, thrusting into his hand with fervor.

He felt his tongue on hers, his body pressed against hers, hard against soft, rubbing against her clit and then pushing into her—

"Ggguuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh," he spit out, holding his spurting cock tightly, imagining it to be her velvet pussy instead of his cold hand. He came on himself, chest messy with desire. He continued to breathe heavily, reeling from the strength of his orgasm.

Buffy paused outside his slightly open door, her eyes wide with shock as she heard his passionate outcry. When had he gotten home? Had he heard her own cries of passion? Was he thinking about her? Her pussy pulsed at the thought, and she quickly walked to the shower.

Throwing off her robe, she stepped under the hot spray and replayed the sounds in her head. His voice was so sexy, so drenched in intense desire. The very intonations of his voice made her hot. Letting the burning water cascade down her body, she couldn't help but caress herself, imagining his voice caressing her, his tongue touching her, his hands holding her. She threw her head back and lost herself in the sensations.

Spike slowly emerged from the haze of self-created delights. He berated himself for succumbing so quickly. "Can't be doing this all the time or I'll go blind. She's gonna be living here, for chrissake. Get a hold of yourself," he thought to himself. Blinking into the darkness, he reached for a t-shirt to wipe himself off and then pulled on his jeans, letting them hang on his narrow hips. He stretched a little, waking with each movement, and headed for the shower.

Buffy stared at herself in the mirror. "You have to stop this. Your orgasm-to-hour ratio is out of control. You can't masturbate every time you see him or think of him. Your hands are going to be disgustingly hairy if that keeps up. You have to control yourself and get used to the way he looks and sounds. Get used to it and move on." She took a deep breath and hoped that the pep talk to herself worked. Wrapping a towel tightly around her body she stepped out into the hall.

They stared at each other, neither fully believing what they saw.

Spike saw damp hair falling against soft skin, flushed with warmth and lightly kissed with water rivulets running down her body; a towel barely covering breasts just perfectly shaped for his hands; a mouth slightly open with lips perfect for kissing; shapely legs that glistened with moisture; eyes that stared up with an innocence just waiting to be corrupted.

Buffy saw a rock hard chest of smooth pale skin; abs that called out to her fingers to touch every swell; those lovely muscles stretching down into his jeans pointing to a valley of delight; a slight trail of hair that ran from his navel that she longed to scratch; biceps that slightly bulged as his fingers stopped in his hair; eyes that made her shiver; cheeks that molded to her hand.

It took them a few moments to register the image; it also took a few moments to look away, embarrassed for staring to openly. Spike mumbled a quick hello, hands immediately reaching for pockets to hide his growing reaction. Buffy nodded silently and tightened her grip on the towel so that she could rush back up to the loft and hide the wetness blossoming between her legs.

It was going to be a long night.

Ch. 18: Friday Night Sighs

She tried to get used to it—she really did. But no amount of mental or physical preparation could keep her body from thrumming with excitement every time she saw those blue eyes twinkling—god, they were twinkling—and that smile warming her down to the very tips of her fingernails. And his body—she closed her eyes and attempted to shake that luscious body out of her mind. Buffy sighed dramatically and buried her head in her arms.

Cordy sipped her martini and played with her olive, her face furrowed in thought. "So it's been pretty torturous?" Back in town for a last weekend to pack up the rest of her stuff, she sat gracefully on the plush sofa and regarded her friend with sympathy.

Buffy groaned in agreement. She had readily agreed to go out to the new hot restaurant in hopes that the new environment would distract her. Unfortunately, it only made for a bright backdrop to her moping and frustration. Propping her face in her hands, she said, "I just thought I'd get used to it, you know? I thought maybe I was all hot and horny just because I was getting Spike overload. But it's not going away, not getting any easier. Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

"Actually, I do." Cordy giggled a little at Buffy's horrified expression. "Seriously, Buffy, hear me out. Do you think that maybe you're being a little hard on yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

Cordy took a deep breath and faced her directly. "Honestly? Would it really be so awful to give it a chance? He sounds like a great guy, and you're obviously attracted to him. He'd be crazy not to be attracted to you. All that stuff you told me about your past history and everything—is it really that impossible to get over? Is it so huge that you're willing to give up someone who might possibly be someone worthwhile?" Cordy looked at her fully, waiting for her reaction.

Buffy chewed on her lip and fiddled with a napkin. "I don't know. There's something inside of me that just feels like it's wrong."

Cordy dismissed that idea with a careless flip of her hand. "But it's not. I bet it wouldn't even make Jerry Springer."

Buffy chuckled a little before burying her head once again. "Maybe I'm just scared. I mean, maybe I'm just using this as an excuse to—to—" Buffy took a huge swallow of her margarita. "To avoid getting hurt. I totally threw myself into him last time, and it was so hard for me to get past that. It's not like I've dated since him. And if I were to let myself go for him..." She allowed to let her words fade, the napkin completely shredded before her.

"You might actually be happy," Cordy finished for her. "This is not marriage we're talking about. This is just about allowing for the possibility of something. You don't know what will happen—but you'll just be torturing yourself if you keep beating yourself up for being attracted to him. Let whatever is sizzling between you develop naturally. Who knows where it will lead you?"

Staring into the empty glass, Buffy scrunched up her nose and then peeked up at her friend. "So, you won't think I'm a total freak for going for him? For going for this guy that's slept with my mom?"

Cordy let out an exasperated sigh and then rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're kidding me, right? That's not really what's holding you back, is it? Because if so, I'm going to have to come up with some sort of punishment to pay me back for all the advice I've been giving. Who cares what people think? No one even needs to know. Hell, I've already forgotten." She shrugged and then called over the waiter.

"Excuse me, could we have two glasses of champagne?" She smiled sweetly at the waiter, ignoring Buffy's look of confusion. "I'm going to make a toast to your future," Cordy said simply.

Buffy stared at her hands for a long time, silently lost in her own thoughts. Finally she tilted her head and looked at her friend. "Do you really think I could let myself do that—let myself consider him as a possibility?"

Cordy nodded. "I really do. In fact, I feel like you owe it to yourself. Stop fantasizing—you could have the real thing." She thanked the waiter and handed her a glass. "Here." She held the flute with her immaculate nails. "Here's to new risks and the possibility of love. May we never be too afraid to live."

They clinked their glasses and drank in thoughtful quiet.

"Have I ever told you how amazing you are? How lucky I am to have such a smart friend?" Buffy smiled wistfully.

Cordy grinned. "Smart, ey? That's a new one. But don't forget sexy and incredibly talented, okay?"

They laughed and drank, and Buffy let go of the tight reins around her heart and body.

He took a shot of Johnny and shook his head. "No, I don't think she's interested. I mean, sometimes I think she is, but there's always this look of fear, like I'm gonna eat her or something." He sighed before muttering, "And not in the good way, either."

Xander chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, you got it bad. Can't say I blame you, though, since you're living with the one woman you can't have. You have all these women throwing themselves at your feet, and you gotta want the one who doesn't want a taste." He took a swig of his beer and shrugged. "Could be worse. At least she's not dating anyone."

Spike grimaced at the thought. "Thanks. I can always count on you to make me feel better." He nodded to the bartender and looked at his friend. "Why can't I get over her?"

"Because you've wanted her for a long time, and now you're living with her. She's in you—sleeping in your apartment, naked in your shower, eating in your kitchen...she's all over you, man. You're screwed. And not in a good way." He laughed at his own joke, enjoying his friend's discomfort.

Spike threw back another shot. "Got any ideas on how to get over her?"

"Nope. But there's no harm in playing the field a little, like talking to that brunette over there that's been staring at you for the past ten minutes."

Spike glanced over and shook his head. "Nope, that's not gonna work. Tried it, failed miserably. No, I think I'm just going to go home and sleep on it."

Xander laughed again. "You are so dead. Two shots, and you'd rather be at home in an apartment with a girl you're never gonna get. You're in love with torture."

Spike shrugged, knowing that it was true. "No point in feeling like shit tomorrow morning. Might as well be tortured and enjoy the view, right?"

"If you say so, my friend. If you say so. But I—" he said, finishing his beer and getting up, "I am going to try my hand with a few of the fine ladies tonight. So, you to your torture, and I to mine." He patted Spike on the back. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

He watched his friend make his way towards an attractive blond. He wished there was something, anything to push him out of this stool and into the playing fields. Unfortunately, the only thing he wanted to do was go home, chill on the couch, and hope that maybe he'd get to see Buffy for a little bit before going to sleep. "Wanker," he muttered to himself. Throwing cash on the bar, he got up and left.

He quickly walked home, not wanting the time alone to think about how much he thought about her and how much he couldn't have her. He convinced himself that he simply didn't feel like playing the field and wasn't holding out for any possibility of dating her—he just didn't feel like dating. Comforted by his delusions, he swiftly entered the apartment.

It was empty.

He tried to ignore the piercing disappointment that clutched his stomach when he realized that she wasn't there—tried to attribute it to the shots he'd just had, but convincing himself of that lie still didn't make the pain subside. He dropped his keys onto the table and plopped in front of the television, looking for someone cheesy, godawful movie he could make fun of to take his mind off of his state of solitude.

Surfing continually for about twenty minutes, Spike was about to turn off the TV when he heard keys in the door. He hurried to select an innocuous show, something on TLC, and feigned boredom to suppress the giddiness that was making him smile at her appearance.

Buffy entered the apartment and immediately smiled at the sight of Spike lounging in front of the television. She'd hoped to catch him tonight, hadn't wanted to think about the probability that he wouldn't be home on a Friday night.

"Hey, there," she called out, placing her keys and purse onto the hall table. "Whatcha doing?"

"Not much," Spike replied nonchalantly, turning around on the couch to look at her.

"Want something to drink?" she asked as she reached for a mug. "I'm going to make some tea for myself if you want some."

He smiled. "That'd be great." He played with a pillow and tried to sound less interested than he was. "So, what are you doing home on a Friday night?"

Buffy bit her lip, trying not to let her heart beat race at his question, at her new decision. "I could ask you the same thing," she replied lightly.

"Well, I went out earlier with a friend, but I guess I'm just not into the whole club/bar scene. He was pretty eager to meet someone, pick someone up or something, but I just wasn't feeling it," he said honestly, trying not to stare at her, at how much she seemed to belong in his kitchen, in his apartment. He shook the thought away and tried to focus on their friendship, two friends having a conversation.

"Yeah, that's sort of how I felt. I mean, there were a few guys who sent signs, you know, showed interest, but really? I'd rather be here." She glanced up, wondering if he would pick up on her tiny hint, but he wasn't even looking at her. She turned back to the tea.

Spike had tensed with her simple words and had repeated to himself that it was just being home—not being with him—that she was implying with her words. He closed his eyes, frustrated that he was having such a hard time being natural with her, even in this innocent situation.

"You want some popcorn? I saw that you were watching TV—I actually picked up a few DVDs, if you want to watch something with me." She threw out the invitation and tried not to hold her breath in waiting for his response.

He couldn't help but be pleased—regardless of her motivation, she wanted to spend time with him. That made him happy. "That'd be great. There's nothing on, so a DVD's perfect. Here, let me help you." He got up and headed towards the kitchen, grabbing the popcorn out of the pantry. "Do you want buttered or toffee?"

"Ooh, toffee! I've never had that!" She smiled at him as she added sugar and milk to the tea. "Oh, did you want milk? I just assumed—"

"That's perfect. I didn't know you liked milk in your tea. Most Americans don't." He leaned up against the counter as the popcorn popped in the microwave.

"Yeah, well, after I went to London for a year in school, I could never have tea without it." She shrugged and handed him his tea.

"Cool. I didn't know you did a semester abroad. And in the motherland. Good choice," he teased, blowing at the hot tea.

She grinned and retorted, "Oh, yeah. I didn't tell you I have a thing for British guys?" She cocked an eyebrow before turning to get a bowl for the popcorn.

Spike's eyes widened at her response. "Whoa, is she flirting with me?" he thought to himself. Before he could ponder the thought further, the popcorn finished. He took the bowl from Buffy, filled it, and followed her back to the living room. Sitting down on one side of the couch, he asked, "So what did you get?"

Buffy placed the tea on the coffee table and went to get the DVDs. "I got a few random ones. Let's see...I have a few foreign films like Y Tu Mama Tambien, Sex and Lucia, but then I got Princess Bride just because I love it." She brought the movies over and stood in front of the TV, waiting for his choice. "What do you think?"

Spike ran his fingers through his hair. "Uh, whatever you want. I love Princess Bride, but I've heard great things about the others." He tried not to remember his co-workers column on the best movies for seduction and shrugged indifferently, secretly hoping she'd choose Princess Bride.

"Well, how about we put in Sex and Lucia and then if it's slow or something, we can put in Princess Bride?" She nodded in response to his agreement and then put in the DVD. She then turned off the lights, grabbed the popcorn, and then sat right next to him, offering him the bowl. "Have some. You don’t mind the dark, do you? I just like watching movies in the dark."

He tried not to notice the warmth she brought or the reason she sat so close to him—if they were sharing popcorn, they had to sit close, right?" He tried to make himself comfortable, letting the darkness hide his unease, and leaned back to watch the movie.

The movie—despite its graphic sex, horrifying though mostly implied violence, intriguing plot twists, and engaging characters—still didn’t hold his attention when Buffy was so close to him, her body leaning against his. As the movie came to an end, he finally allowed himself to look down at Buffy. He was about to ask her what she thought of the movie, but before he spoke he noticed her regular breathing. She was asleep.

Spike chuckled to himself softly. “Here I was, trying to watch the movie and not look at her, wondering if her movements towards me are intentional or not, and she’s completely asleep,” he thought to himself. Her head was lightly resting on his chest, and her hand was loosely gripping the popcorn bowl. He eased the bowl out of her hand and onto the table. He allowed himself a moment to look at her, really savor her soft skin, the way her hair was mussed up around her forehead, the slight movements of her lips from sleep—and then tried to wake her up.

“Buffy? The movie’s over.” Nothing. She didn’t even acknowledge his voice.

He started to stand up, thinking the movement would wake her up. She suddenly wrapped her arms around his waist. “Uh-uhm,” she murmured into his chest, shaking her head. He tried again, but she just groaned, not wanting to move at all. Instead, she pushed against him, her legs curled up on the sofa and her body pressing against his.

“Uh, Buffy? Unless we plan on sleeping here all night, you’re going to have to get up.” He gently brushed his hand against her hair, not completely disliking that solution.

She merely purred contentedly, pushing him even further into the couch.

He sighed and then gave up. “Might as well get comfortable.” He lay his body fully on the couch, trying not to enjoy too much the way she made herself comfortable on top of him. He took her hand, kissed it gently, and then whispered, “Good night.”

Buffy, sound asleep and lost in her dreams, merely smiled.

Ch. 19: Passionate Storms

Buffy awoke slowly, her body warm and stiff. She first became aware of a chest beneath her face, breathing regularly. Then she felt thighs beneath her own, then a hip under her hand. Her eyes finally opened, and she saw Spike sprawled under her, his arm around her. She smiled, then pouted a little at the idea that she had fallen asleep in his arms and hadn’t even noticed. She must have been completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to have allowed such a golden opportunity to pass her by.

He was completely dead to the world, his breaths deep and even, his mouth moving every so often, as was natural in sleep. His lips were slightly pouty, calling out to be touched, caressed. Her fingers skated over them, enjoying their softness. "Just a taste," she thought to herself as her body began to slide up, closer to his face. Still, he didn't move, was completely unaware of her movements. Smiling, she leaned in to taste him, to remember the way his lips felt against hers. She savored the warmth of sleep on his body, the fullness of his mouth, the way they so easily molded to her own. Slowly, he began to respond, to kiss back and taste her as well, though still through the blanket of sleep. Her body relished the slow contact of their bodies, lazily enjoying each other. When she finally pulled away, he merely sighed contentedly and continued sleeping.

Buffy smiled, licking her lips a little, and then rose reluctantly to answer the morning bathroom call.

Spike awoke to the sound of water in the bathroom. He'd just had such sweet dreams filled with Buffy and her sweet kisses, and he hadn't wanted to wake up. Buffy must have just woken up; he hoped she hadn't been scared away by the unfortunate morning hardness that was pressing against his pants right now. He had been looking forward to waking up with her still in his arms, but he supposed it was enough that she had fallen asleep in his arms to begin with. He slowly stretched out the kinks from sleeping on the couch and hoped that Buffy wouldn't be weirded out by their having fallen asleep on the couch. Despite the lack of space on the couch and the limited movement caused by Buffy's body on his, he felt oddly well-rested. Swinging his legs to sit up, he rubbed away the sleep from his eyes and yawned loudly.

"Awake? You want some coffee?"

Spike looked up to see Buffy, yawning as well but also smiling at him from the kitchen. He couldn't help but smile back. "Sure thing. I'm just gonna grab a shower real quick."

Buffy watched him go and tried not to imagine what his body would look like in the shower. Breathing in deeply, she set about making coffee and deciding how to push their relationship to a new level—and not fall asleep while doing it.

"So, we still have another movie, and I have to return it tomorrow. You up for another one tonight? Or do you have plans?" Buffy asked innocently, trying to sound nonchalant.

Spike tilted his head towards the window and shook his head at the steady downpour. "Nah, I'm not going anywhere. Ugly day, and I don't fancy getting wet for no reason." His eyebrow quirked at his own double entendre, hoping that she wasn't offended by his unintentional play on words.

Buffy smothered a grin and took the slip as a good sign. "Cool. Maybe after dinner?"

Spike nodded. "Are you planning on eating in? I was gonna make some steak—I could make enough for the both of us if you are."

"Oh, that sounds really good. I don't want to go anywhere in this weather. I hate dull rain." She frowned at the grey sky and its unrelenting patter on the roof.

They chatted easily as Spike maneuvered around the kitchen, seasoning and marinating and tenderizing as they traded random stories about work and other trivial bits. With the addition of risotto and a salad to the steak, the meal became a veritable feast—and a much longer process. Neither seemed to mind, as they slid into what seemed like a natural cooperation in the kitchen. Spike tried not to notice the way Buffy lingered by his side, sliding against him every now and then as she volunteered her help as an assistant, gathering ingredients and stirring whenever directed to do so. Not that he minded her company—he rather relished it—but it was difficult pretending that he didn't sizzle every time she touched him, whether accidentally brushing his body or affectionately holding his arm in response to something he'd said. She seemed comfortable with the friendly contact, so he decided to reciprocate, to allow himself the small delight of placing his hand gently on her back, of playing with her hair, of touching her arm in understanding whenever an opportunity came. As long as she didn't mind, never realized how much he took pleasure in the intimacy, Spike let down some of his defenses, allowed himself to savor her nearness rather than steel himself against it for fear of enjoying it too much.

Buffy inwardly danced when she noticed the change in Spike's behavior, when he stopped shying away from her touch. She had to suppress the desire to throw herself into his arms when he began not only to soften at her caresses but to reach out to her as well. His caresses were casual, friendly, indicative of nothing but easygoing affection, and yet her body was buzzing with anticipation. It was all she could do to feign casual conversation when her mind was racing with naughty thoughts.

By the time they had sat down to eat, the rain had turned into a turbulent thunderstorm. The storm seemed to match Buffy's unsettled nerves and violent emotions that were threatening to drown her. Hot from the cooking and the simmering sexuality between them, Buffy decided that it was time to take a chance.

"God, cooking makes me hot." She slid off her sweater, her arms crossing sexily and pressing her breasts together. She swung her hair out when she finally disentangled herself from the wool. She knew her actions were totally cliché, completely unoriginal, but the look on Spike's face when she glanced up through her lashes made it worth it. The camisole she had thrown on after her shower was velvet trimmed with lace—she had matching tangas on underneath her jeans, but he had yet to discover those. "Everything looks amazing." She briefly glanced at him while taking a first bite into the steak.

Spike swallowed and busied himself with pouring wine into their glasses. He glanced over at Buffy, who was licking her lips after taking a bite of her steak. His brain still had her supple breasts on pause, the image persisting, tormenting him. He could have sworn she were flirting with him, intentionally torturing him, but he convinced himself that it was his own wishful thinking perverting her actions. Licking his lips, Spike shook the image away and cut himself a slice of meat.

The wine was making her hot. Spike's lips were making her hot. Everything seemed to be making her hot. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her beating heat, imagined the rain cooling her oversensitive body. She felt stupid trying to act seductive and coy with him, especially after they'd been so comfortable in each other's presence, but her body was screaming at her to take action, to jump the sexy guy in front of her. She concentrated on eating quickly, wanting to quicken their movement towards the couch.

Eventually they finished, and Buffy volunteered to put the dishes away. "Go ahead and set up the movie. I'll be there in a sec." She shooed him away and started clearing the table with briskness.

"Wow, the storm is really picking up," Spike commented, pausing on his way to the TV as lightning flashed across the sky. "I hope you're not scared of thunderstorms."

"Me?" Buffy responded as she wrapped up the leftovers. "No, I love thunderstorms. Something about the violence and passion of the thunder and lightning—they've never scared me."

Spike looked up at her, wondering at the implication of her words, but she seemed engrossed in putting saran wrap on the risotto. Inwardly shrugging, and sadly dismissing the thought of holding her tight during a frightening storm, he put in the movie and settled onto the couch.

"Popcorn? Beer?" Buffy called out as she finished up.

"No, I'm stuffed. Just come on and sit," he answered, patting the seat next to him.

Smiling, she wiped her hands on the towel and then made her way towards the couch. "I hope this movie is good. I've heard it's pretty intense." Plopping down next to him, she settled into the sofa as the movie began.

Images of young, lustful boys danced across the screen, their road trip engaging the pair on the couch. Buffy could feel herself getting hot again, not only from the movie but from the warmth of the man sitting next to her.

Spike tried not to let the movie get to him, but he understood the strength of lust, of pure desire as depicted in the movie, and he willed his cock to stay put, especially with Buffy so near.

"Hey, could you pause it? I gotta pee real quick," Buffy whispered, moving up. She needed to splash some water on her face and alleviate the throbbing down there—she hadn't planned on acting on anything till the movie was over, and she wasn't sure she was going to make it. Quickly scampering to the bathroom, she left Spike staring at a couple kissing passionately.

Throwing the remote onto the coffeetable, he propped up his legs and breathed deeply. The rain outside was howling, thundering, and he understood the "violence and passion" that Buffy had mentioned earlier—all too well. He tried to shift a little, lessening the pressure in his jeans, and waited for Buffy to return. The faster this movie ended, the better off he'd be.

"Okay, unpause it," Buffy said as she came out of the bathroom. "I want to—"

She was interrupted by a huge clap of thunder; almost immediately the lights went out. Completely drenched in darkness, Buffy froze, not wanting to bump into anything.

"Well, I guess that ends the movie," Spike commented dryly. He tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice, the sudden change in atmosphere making his senses go crazy. "You okay?"

Buffy slowly made her way over to the couch. "Yeah, I'm—" Tripping on the area rug, she ended up on top of Spike, her hand on his thigh and her head colliding with stomach.

Spike froze as she picked herself up, her hand unable to avoid the large thrust of his cock, which had only stiffened further at her touch.

"I'm definitely fine," she murmured into his neck as she picked herself up. Buffy couldn't resist kissing his neck lightly—the dark had given her courage, and she could not stave off her desires any longer, especially when she realized that he was just as affected as she was. His skin was so sweet, and she found her lips making their way up his jaw.

Spike closed his eyes and held his breath, in wonderment over the feel of her lips on his body. Her touch was so gentle it was almost like a dream—but there was no mistaking the way her hand kept sliding up his thigh, coming closer to his cock with each caress.

Buffy finally reached his lips, and she feasted on their softness.

As much as he wanted it, wanted her, he had to know what was going on in her mind, what was driving this change in her actions. "Buffy, what—"

"Shhh," she whispered, putting her fingers on his lips. "No, don't speak. Last time you spoke, things got fucked up. This time, let's just not talk, okay?"

His heart burst with pleasure, with the acknowledgement that there might be a "this time." He pulled her tightly to him, her legs straddling his, and kissed her thoroughly.

Buffy smiled in between kisses and murmured, "I'm glad you agree."

Ch. 20: A Long, Stormy Night

At first, their kisses were quick and messy, devouring each other after having fasted for so long. Teeth clashed, lips missed, tongues probed. Eventually, as they got over the newness of each other, the kisses began to slow down but deepen, to taste fully instead of quickly; in short, it became about quality and not quantity.

She was straddling him, knees grinding into the sofa, one hand running through his soft hair and the other sliding up his neck. His face was turned up to hers, drinking in all that she had to offer. One hand was anchored at her hip, the other slowly sliding up her body to brush at her breast, cup its fullness.

Buffy pulled away for a little bit, smiling at him coyly. Then she slowly, seductively stripped away her camisole, leaving her pert breasts full in his face. She leaned in to give him a luscious kiss, her lips smiling as she noted the glazed look of lustful awe in seeing her nude body. The kiss awakened him from his temporary trance, and he breathed her in through his kisses, sucking on her lower lip before launching himself at her breasts, sucking and kissing and licking until she moaned with pleasure, her head hanging back to arch herself into his wet caresses.

And then suddenly she was on her back, nestled in the corner of the couch, with Spike kneeling before her. She lost herself in the hypnotic swirls of his tongue, one hand clutching a pillow in rapture. Spike suckled her, thriving on her squeals and moans and heavy breathing, the way her body curved into his sweeping hands. He just couldn't get enough of her taste, the way her skin came to life under his lips, humming with electricity. He deftly undid her pants and moaned in delight when he saw the lace-trimmed tangas highlighting her tan legs and tight ass. And then she moaned in harmony as his lips burned into their softness.

He slipped off her panties, hands sliding over every inch of femininity, from her dimpled knees to her lean thighs to her dainty toes. He kissed all of it, cherished the feel against his hands and lips, soaked up her mewls and sighs. It was like heaven, and he wanted to make it last as long as possible.

Buffy was in heaven. There were whirling lights and intoxicating, near paralyzing waves of pleasure. His touches were thrusting her higher and higher towards that mountaintop of satisfaction. She lazily opened her eyes and saw that Spike was just as affected—his eyes were half-closed, a wisp of a smile playing on his lips, his hands magically running up and down her thighs. He looked up and caught her glance, cocked an eyebrow sensually, and then took a long lick up her pussy. She gasped loudly and her eyes closed again, body tingling from his intimacy. She moaned in bliss even as her breaths came more quickly.

God, she tasted good. Spike's hand reached up to play with her nipple in time with his licking of her wetness. She was erotically spread out before him, legs splayed, head thrown back, arms raised. She was completely naked for him, and he was still clad—tightly clad—in his jeans and t-shirt. Continuing to move his mouth against her sex, he reached down to undo his pants and let himself breathe a little.

Hearing the sound of his pants being undone, Buffy got the energy to pull of his shirt before thrusting her hands into his hair and pushing him against her again. Spike hummed in approval, and the buzzing raced through her body. God, her voice was going to be hoarse by the time he finished. She shrieked again as she felt Spike add a finger inside of her as he played with her clit. Buffy tried not to pull his hair, but she had to hold onto something as he rode her with his tongue. Faster, harder, wetter, tighter—

Her body tensed up and she shot through the air in ecstasy, screaming, "Spike!" as her clit throbbed with velvety pleasure. When she finally let go, her body felt limp, exhausted, sweaty. And yet when she felt Spike slither up her body, she found the energy to wrap her legs around him, reach for his lovely face and kiss him senseless.

She was so incredibly hot, and Spike loved the way her body tightened before it released itself onto his face, the way her face screwed up with desire and then throatily called out his name. It was almost enough to make him cum. Almost. But now, body against body, heat against heat, and heart against heart, he was starting to lose control. Buffy reached out and kissed him once again, pressed her body against his, and then finally, at last, he entered her.

They were one.

One undulating, gasping, consuming entity. One element that began slowly, stoking the flame, and became hotter and hotter, burning into each other, quickening with slaps of flesh echoing through the apartment. It was a symphony of noises, of sighs and grunts and moans and smacks that were getting louder with every passing moment.

"Buffy, oh god, you're so, Buffy—" Spike babbled as he thrust into her hotness over and over again.

"Yes, oh yes, don't stop, ever, Spike—" Buffy murmured into his ear, nibbling on it in between phrases.

Climbing, scaling, rising, they held onto each other until twin howls of ecstasy penetrated the haze of lovemaking. Hearts beating wildly, Spike and Buffy slowly met each other's eyes and leaned in for a chaste kiss before collapsing again, succumbing to the pheromone-induced exhaustion. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

--

It was the thunder that woke them up. Lightning flashing, the storm was still going on strong outside, and the electricity was still out.

Spike blinked, trying to make sense of his awkward position on the couch, but he slowly grinned as he noted the girl breathing evenly beneath him. Another roar of thunder, and Buffy was awake, though not completely aware.

Kissing her gently, Spike suggested, "You want to get into bed?"

Stretching her limbs, she nodded sleepily. "Yeah, let's go up to my bed."

Spike eased her up, his cock still inside of her. He felt Buffy's arms slide around his neck, her legs slide around his hips. She seemed to slip back into sleep. Spike, however, was now awake. With each step, Spike felt himself getting hard again, but he wasn't sure if she could feel it.

Buffy could feel it. Every movement pushed his cock against her in that delicious way, and all she wanted was for him to fuck her hard against something, anything. When he began to climb the stairs, she couldn't take it anymore—she couldn't hold back a moan, couldn't stop herself from pressing her breasts against his chest, couldn't resist licking his neck and biting his earlobe.

"Buffy," Spike breathed, holding her tight. "Do you—"

"Yes, fuck yes," she interrupted, flexing herself around his hard shaft.

Without another word, he pushed her against the wall, one leg lifted on the higher stair, and drove into her. Buffy gasped at his ferocity, thrilled by the way he hungered for her, his hand threaded in her own, clasped above her flushed face. He sucked at her neck, slapped against her clit, grunted into their kisses. Such wild abandonment only made her wetter, and she clung to him desperately.

The wall rattled with the strength of their lovemaking, and the storm continued to rage, lightning revealing slick bodies fucking against the wall. Buffy's voice moaned with desire, and Spike groaned in response. This time was quicker, harder, their movements jerky with careless impatience. It was too much, and Buffy quickly threw herself into an intense orgasm, her chest heaving and her pussy pulsing with passion. Spike felt her vibrations and knew he was close. Plunging into her for one last time, Spike found his release and cried out huskily.

Buffy was completely drained, and her body could barely hold itself against Spike's—though the exhaustion was welcome. Spike breathed in deeply and kissed her before cradling her in his arms like a baby. Buffy lay bonelessly in his arms as he finished climbing the stairs. Throwing back the covers, he slid her into their warmth and then joined her. For the third time that weekend, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Ch. 21: Under His Thumb

Thunder woke her again, but it wasn't coming from the storm outside. She couldn't quite figure it out, as her eyes were unwilling to open just yet, but there was some kind of rumbling in the distance of her foggy mind. She heard it again, louder, and stretched out lazily in bed in capitulation to its loud pleas. And then she realized it was coming from her own stomach.

Giggling, she buried herself in pillows and tried to go back to sleep, but now the rumbling was not only pricking her ears but pushing at her belly as well. When her body finally began to stir, she was greeted by the soothing smell of coffee and toast. It was this last sensation that finally pushed her eyes open, if slowly.

Spike grinned at the woman lazing before him, her tousled blond curls falling over her face and partially obstructing the view of his morning treat—grinned at the way she suddenly snorted and shook herself awake, as if not believing the vision before her.

Buffy was pretty sure she was awake, but Spike, in his worn jeans and mussed hair carrying a tray of breakfast, was looking pretty dreamlike to her—and if things went the way her dreams usually went, she'd need all the sustenance she could get. Her face flushed at the thought.

Spike came towards the bed, head tilted in curiosity. "And what is making you blush so prettily?" he teased as he set the food before her.

Buffy sat up lazily, modestly tucking the sheet underneath her arms. "Maybe I'll show you after breakfast," she replied. Laughing at his blush, she then asked, "And what is making you blush so prettily?" she echoed with a grin as she dug into the scrambled eggs and took a large bite of jellied toast. She smiled again with her mouth full, and Spike couldn't help but smile back.

When the food was polished—pretty quickly—and set aside, and when the two were sitting in bed together, still not really addressing that fact of sitting in bed together, Buffy decided once again to take a deep breath and plunge right into things.

She leaned forward a little, wanting to look at him straight on. Spike, sensing she had something to say, braced himself for the end, for what was inevitably going to break this lovely morning camaraderie.

"So, this is the one and only time I'm ever going to bring this up, okay?"

Spike nodded, his whole body tense with dread. He shifted a little, trying to make it seem like he was nonchalant about the whole thing.

"When I found out about the whole mom thing, I sort of freaked out. Understandably I think," she started, her hands nervously twisting the bed sheets in a way that belied the calmness of her voice. "I didn't know what to think, and I was unwilling to hear your side of the story because, well, what could you possibly say that would make the story go away?" She shrugged. "It made the most sense at the time, and I had somewhere to run to, so I ran."

Spike didn't dare move. He wanted to hear all her thoughts at once, and he was afraid that any movement would jar her thought processes and destroy the moment—and right now he was starting to have hope, something he hadn't considered a realistic possibility before.

Buffy sighed. "And then when my mom got sick—" She stopped, looking up at him. "Yeah, I didn't tell you about that," she said in a quiet voice. "She got really sick, and I had to fly back. And then she passed away."

"Oh, Buffy. I'm so sorry," Spike responded, wanting to say more but still unsure about how he should react to news involving her mother.

Buffy nodded in thanks, clearly not wanting to linger on that memory. "It was better, I guess—she was suffering a lot. But she tried to explain things to me, helped me understand things a little better. I guess that's what moms are for. I love her so much, and it was just weird to think about—well, you know." Sighing, as if trying to move on in her story, Buffy continued. "Eventually I came back here, and I couldn't stop thinking about you, not just about that or anything but just about how I felt we connected." She blushed at the memory of her heated fantasies but tried not to get distracted by them. Avoiding his eyes while she left that part of her mind, she continued. "And then as we started to hang out, I realized that it really was something." She met his eyes, searching them for understanding. "

"Can I say something?" Spike saw the hesitation in her eyes, the way her body stiffened in fear of hearing something about his old affair, something that might cause further pain or unwanted images in her mind—and he saw that she was fighting to look open and attentive. He appreciated that and decided to completely avoid mentioning it; Spike wasn't about to ruin the possibility of a future with a lingering of the past.

"When I ran into you here, I never thought I'd actually get my wish and have you here, with me. I was hoping for anything, that you would be willing just to be my friend—even though I knew I'd always want more." He reached out to press his hand against hers. "That we're here, together—that you're even willing to give this a chance—it means so much to me."

Buffy felt her eyes watering, but she didn't want to focus on the sad, didn't want to be teary-eyed at the beginning—was this the beginning?—of a new relationship. There was something about being too emotional that made her feel like some corny movie—one that ended right after the kiss, and she didn't want this story to come to an end just yet. Buffy blinked them away, trying to get a hold of herself and desperately thinking of something witty to say to break the tension. Words just couldn't come, so she simply slid her hand into his—and then tried to thumb wrestle him.

At first Spike thought she was just uncomfortable with the way their hands were joined, but then when he saw her thumb maneuvering around his own, he started to grin—he was an ace at thumb wrestling. He pretended not to notice what she was doing and caressed her thumb innocently before trapping it under his larger one.

"Hey! You tricked me!" she squealed, trying to squirm out of his grip. She looked up with a pout, eyes wide with disappointment.

Spike easily fell into her deception, because the moment he let up she grabbed the opportunity, yelling, "One, two, three Thumb Attack! Yay, I won!" she cried out, bouncing in victory on the bed.

"Oh yeah" I'll show you a thumb attack!" Spike taunted as he dove for a ticklish spot he'd discovered earlier that morning. His thumb brushed against her sides and then grabbed a foot.

"No!!" she shrieked out in laughter, barely breathing in between shouts for mercy.

Eventually, he had her pinned, arms above her head and ankles held down by his feet. He had a devilish grin on his face, one filled with victory. "So, do you give?"

"Ow, you're heavy—hold on," she muttered, trying to adjust herself to his weight.

Immediately he loosened his grip. "Sorry, I was just—"

"Hah!" she yelled again, turning him onto his back before he could finish his unneeded apology. "You're just too gullible!" she teased, straddling him and doing her best to hold him down, though it was obvious that he could get away if he really wanted to.

"You know, one day I'm not going to believe that pout of yours, and then you'll be in trouble. Haven't you ever heard of the girl who cried wolf?"

She shook her head, her silly grin of victory still in place. "Nope, never heard of such a thing."

"Ah, well, let me enlighten you. There's this girl shepherd who—"

"You mean a shepherdess?"

Spike rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. "This shepherdess who always cried out that there was a wolf when there really wasn't. But one day there really was a wolf, and—"

Jiggling her hips in mock excitement, Buffy interrupted and asked, "Was it scary? Did she beat it up? I bet she won, didn't she? Because women are much—Ooomph!"

She was cut off with Spike's quick maneuver—and suddenly she was on her back again.

"Actually, she talked too much, so the wolf just ate her up." He raised his brow cockily as he began to lick her neck. "Yes, he ate her up, enjoying her flesh immensely, and then you know what happened?"

Buffy had swiftly become breathless, and she swallowed hard at the way his tongue was making her feel all fevered. "What happened?" she murmured.

"She died a little death," he whispered into her ear, right before sucking her lobe into his mouth.

Buffy's breath hitched, and all thoughts of thumb attacks and stressful mother talks and serious relationship determining discussions were forgotten at the sensations he was creating. His lips were skating down her neck, nibbling at her collarbone, shushing against the skin right above her breast. He nudged the sheet down and found one ready nipple, perky with anticipation. His mouth tightened around it, and her hands involuntarily tightened around the bed's iron headboard. He was no longer holding her down, but Buffy liked the way her body was splayed for him, there for his delight.

Spike loved the way she tasted, loved the way she mewled and sighed with every move. He made his way down her body, stopping to take in each vista along the way before finally glorying in the view between her thighs, his cheek brushing against the soft mound of her sex.

Buffy gasped at the thrill of each touch, still in awe of the simple ways in which he could make her body boil with desire. Her eyes closed, and she let herself sail away on the waves of ecstasy, her own hands threading into his rumpled curls.

Spike could see her relax into his hands, knew the moment she gave herself completely to him. Though his tongue was thoroughly engaged in giving her pleasure and swirling around that tightened bud, but his eyes drank in his own pleasure at the way her head was thrown back, the way her nipples were tightened, the way her face showed such wanton satisfaction—it made him even harder than he already was.

He was so amazing with his tongue—it made her feel almost guilty for taking so much pleasure without giving any. Shaking herself out of her pleasure-induced stupor, she sat up a little and started pulling—if weakly—at his torso.

"Yes?" Spike drawled, licking her length slowly before meeting her eyes.

"I need something to suck on, too," she purred, pulling one more time.

He cocked one eyebrow and began to climb up her body.

"Oh, no, you don't get to stop," she teased. "You just have to learn how to multitask," she murmured. As his body turned, she lay back and caressed his hardness, humming in anticipation. Her tongue reached out to swirl his head, and his groan only made her pussy vibrate. She smiled and continued to taste his cum, flicking his slit and sliding around that ring of desire.

Spike was in heaven. He was feasting and being feasted on; the feeling was incredible. It seemed like his whole body was drenched in heat; he was tasting hot honey and sinking into sun-ripened pool of warmth. Her tongue was welcoming yet urgent, and he could only moan and make his own tongue match hers in action.

They sucked and teased and licked each other with feverishness, and the moans of one merely led to the groans of the other. It was a balance of ecstasy that they both worked hard to maintain—but eventually the scales had to tip, and Buffy found herself tightening her thighs in anticipation of that climax. Spike recognized the movement and quickened his licking in delighted expectation. When her mouth stiffened around his cock, he moved in to suck her clit into his mouth, wanting to feel every orgasmic vibration. He was instantly gratified, and her whole body became taut under his, thrumming with the aftershocks of her sensual heights. He smiled at the way she throbbed erratically against his tongue, as if her body were trying to catch its breath.

When she finally did catch her breath, Buffy was determined to have Spike join her—and she attacked his cock with relish. Spike forwent all pretenses of licking her—of even thinking coherently when her hands joined her mouth in pushing him towards climax. He couldn't help but thrust into her hot mouth, loving the way her hands firmly gripped his shaft, lightly fondled his balls. She kept creating these sensations with her hand and her mouth and her nails and--

"Buffy!" he bit out, his body tensing up and finally releasing into her greedy mouth.

She hummed in satisfaction, loving the power she had in eliciting such raw responses from her lover.

Eventually his body relaxed, and it took all of Spike's energy to turn his body and not merely slump bonelessly on top of her. "You are amazing," he murmured, his eyes already beginning to drop with sleepiness.

She giggled at his quick enervation and snuggled herself into his chest. She savored the way he warmed her up so quickly with just a simple arm draped around her shoulder—it wasn't like this with anyone else. Grabbing a blanket, she covered the both of them and rested her hand on his chest, lightly caressing his skin.

He simply hummed in response, pulling her closer.

Buffy kissed his skin lovingly and then whispered, "I am willing to give this a chance. No more running away for me, I promise."

Spike opened his eyes at her declaration and met her eyes unwaveringly. "I am definitely willing to give this a chance, and I promise not to screw things up again." He leaned in and gave her a sweet kiss, one filled with hope. "And if you try to run away again, I'll just attack you with my mighty thumb."

She chuckled, not only at his words but at the way he was so clearly falling asleep. She slid her hand into his, enjoying the way they fit so nicely, when he grabbed her thumb with his own.

"One, two, three thumb attack," he murmured before finally falling asleep.

She giggled to herself, her amused expression smothered by his hard body, and followed him into his dreams.