If anyone had asked Johnny how he made it to the kitchen in the dark without killing himself, he wouldn't have been able to say. By the time he and Tara had reached it; however, the lights had flickered back on to reveal Mark holding the sobbing Willow, his hand sliding over her back and soothing words slipping from his lips. He'd skidded to a stop, Tara running into him, the press of her body against his back sending a tremor through him.
"What the bloody hell is going on?" Spike asked as he and Buffy came in behind them. Mark's eyes met Spike's, fear evident in their depths.
"Willow?" Buffy moved past them to make her way to the redhead. Tara followed suit, concern marring her brow.
"Willow, sweetie. Are you okay?" Willow pulled away from Mark far enough to shake her head.
"Hell no, I'm not alright. I just saw a fucking ghost." Disbelief flooded Buffy's face, and she shook her head.
"Will, that's impossible," she started, only to be cut off by the furious green eyes of her best friend. Tara laid a soothing hand on the terrified woman's arm, trying to keep her calm.
"Don't start that shit, Buffy. I'm not twelve. And I may have been drinking, but I'm not drunk. We all know the lights went out. And don't tell me you didn't hear that wail." When Buffy looked away, Willow huffed in triumph.
"It was probably just an animal or something."
"Bullshit," Johnny chimed in, before Willow could say anything.
"Hey," Spike snapped, not liking the drummer's tone. Johnny barely spared him a glance.
"There's something going on here and you guys can't tell me you don't see it," he challenged the other two men. He was pissed, horny, and tired of this shit. Not exactly in that order. They were supposed to be here for work, and they seemed to walk right into the middle of some horror movie.
"John, I don't know what you think you've seen. . ." Spike said.
"Seen? I wish it was only that."
"What are you talking about?" Mark asked, still holding onto Willow. The face to face with the. . .whatever it was, wasn't doing any favors for his nerves. Johnny lapsed into silence, actually embarrassed by his experience.
"She's been. . .damn." A hand rested on his hip, and the other on the counter. He refused to look at any of them, but he could feel their eyes on him, waiting. When he finally looked up, his eyes instinctively searched out Tara's. Looking straight at her, he started to speak. "Every night, for the last three fucking days, I've been having these dreams. Some chick in white shows up, rides me for all I'm worth, and rips my skin off my chest. When I wake up, the marks are gone, and so is she." Tara's eyes widened as he spoke, a blush darkening her skin. The others in the room were still staring at him, trying to figure out if his dreaming about sex was strange, OR unusual.
"So, you're getting some otherworldly loving in your dreams?" Spike clarified, scarred brow raised. "And this is creepy, why? And for that matter, you're a slut John. Can't imagine it's too far off the norm." Johnny reared on him so fast, he didn't have time to dodge the fist swinging at him. The impact had him spinning into the wall, slightly dazed. He recovered quick enough and retaliated with a left across Johnny's jaw. They didn't hear the women scream, or Mark's command to knock it the fuck off. A haze passed over their vision as they circled each other, anger radiating off the taut lines of their bodies.
"So, up for a spot of rough and tumble, are you boy? Well, let's see what you got."
"Fuck you Spike. Sorry you can't seem to understand that I don't like being used as a living dildo for the dead."
"Well, now you know how your girlfriends feel." Spike smirked, dodging Johnny's outraged charge. He slammed the younger man up against the wall, jerking the drummer's arm up behind him. Neither of them heard Mark curse violently, or the sound of his boots as he crossed the linoleum towards them. Spike felt his hand on the back of his neck as he was hauled away from the purple haired man. Johnny whirled as soon as the pressure was released, ready to attack again, only to have his cousin's hand planted firmly in his chest, holding him back.
"Knock it off!" he growled, glaring at both of them. "This isn't helping." Spike and Johnny were contemplating how fast they could take out Mark and get back at each other. The three girls stood huddled together, the volatile emotions between the men making their eyes widen and their hearts race. The ghost was forgotten for the moment as they held their breath, waiting. Almost simultaneously, the two knocked Mark's hands away, throwing him off balance, and sending him backwards. He stumbled back a step, jumping back between them before they could reach each other. He knew he could take them both out, it wouldn't be easy, but he could do it. They were still trying to get at each other around him, the sound of material ripping in their struggles.
"STOP!" The sound of the female voice and the shattering of glass had them spinning to see what the hell was going on. Tara was standing in the middle of the kitchen, flanked by a very pissed off Buffy and Willow, hands over her ears and tears streaming down her face. The remnants of a platter lay scattered at her feet.
"If you three are done drowning in your testosterone, could we please try to figure out what the HELL is going on?" Buffy said, scorn dripping in her voice. *Men,* she thought, glaring at the three of them. Johnny pushed away from his cousin and friend, making his way over to the crying girl. Mark and Spike felt their anger drain out of them, to be replaced by shock when the younger man cupped Tara's face in his hands, and started to whisper softly to her. She started to calm as he talked, her blue, watery eyes meeting his.
"I think it's pretty obvious what's going on, Buffy. There's a ghost," Willow insisted. "I saw her, and Mark saw her. And she looked MAD."
"There's got to be some logical explanation," Mark said, running a hand through his hair. He didn't want to contemplate the obvious. Willow's wide, green eyes met his, incredulous.
"What? Mass hallucination? We SAW her Mark. And she was in white, just like the girl in Johnny's dreams."
"Yeah, and you're getting locks changed that aren't broken," Johnny reminded him, never turning around. "And Spike's been standing around like he's waiting for something to jump out at him. So, you can't tell me you don't think SOMETHING is here. With us." He turned and looked at his bandmates, daring them to contradict him. Mark and Spike looked at each other, seeming to come to some sort of decision.
"That first night, after you two left the house," Spike started, fishing for his cigarettes. Once he had one lit, he continued. "I was playing the piano, thinking. Thought I heard something. Got up to check it out. The foyer was freezing, and it felt like there was something there. Next thing, it feels like there's ice moving through me. Then, I can't breathe, like someone's strangling me. Then I start to see these flashes of things, a room, the smell of flowers. A dark figure. I thought it was my imagination. Brought on by Buffy's story or something. It's happened a couple times since," Spike admitted, taking a long drag off his cigarette. Buffy stared at him, denial still having her firmly in its grasp. Just as she was about to say that that was probably all it was, the blonde cut her off. "What about you, mate? Seems there's got to be a reason for replacing locks that don't need it." Mark sighed, struggling for a minute. He didn't know just how he was going to put into words something he just COULDN'T believe in.
"The door keeps swinging open. Happened that first night. When I was on the stairs, talking to myself," he prompted, reminding the other two. "I was talking to her. The girl we just saw. She was standing outside the door, trying to get me to come out."
"And it seems she's been using Johnny boy as a fuck toy," Spike pondered, his mind trying to reconcile everything that was being said. Johnny scowled at the description, but couldn't really fault it.
"Oh, and there's this feeling of violation that comes along with it." Spike took one last drag from his cigarette, then turned on the faucet to douse it with water.
"Yeah," Johnny agreed.
"So, the two of you have had actual physical experiences with her, and Mark has just seen her, and she's trying to show him something?" Willow clarified, snapping into research mode. Nothing staved off fear like trying to solve a problem. At least that's what she thought.
"That sounds about right," Mark replied.
"So, maybe we need to figure out what she wants," Tara suggested, smiling softly up at Johnny.
"This is impossible," Buffy gasped, her eyes darting around the group. Spike sighed and walked over to her, taking her hand in his.
"Pet. I think we can agree that something weird is about." Her eyes searched his face and he saw the stubborn resistence in hers. He traced a thumb across her cheek, and gave her a smile. "It's alright, luv." She snorted at that.
"You all are trying to tell me that this place is haunted, and you tell me it's alright? Why am I not too sure of that?" She ran her hand through her hair, desperately wishing her buzz wasn't wearing off.
"Uhm, guys." All eyes turned to Willow, who was looking at the floor, her face aghast. She pointed a shaking finger to the area between Johnny's and Tara's feet. The pair jumped apart, Johnny running into Mark, who had come around to see what was going on.
"Shit," the brunette hissed, not believing what he was seeing. There, on the floor, the shards of the plate were moving. And it didn't seem to be just in random patterns. Slowly, as they looked on in wide-eyed wonder, the jagged edges twisted around, forming letters.
Buffy pulled her hand away from Spike as she started to back away from the words, denial warring with the evidence in front of her.
Tara's hands flew up to her mouth, her gasp audible still.
Willow edged around the movements on the floor, her hand searching and finding Mark's. Spike and Johnny were transfixed, seeing the words that had been haunting them for three days.
HELP ME
FIND HIM
~*~*~
"Buffy!" Spike caught up with her just as she was trying to yank open the door. She spun around on him, her eyes wild with fear and disbelief. He slid his hands up her arms, trying to soothe her shaking. As soon as the words had finished forming out of the pieces of plate, Buffy took off out of the kitchen, nearly knocking down Spike and Johnny in the process.
"I've got to go," she said, trying to shrug his hands off. She needed to get out of there. NOW. Broken plates were not supposed to move together like puzzle pieces to ask for help. And spectral visitors weren't supposed to rape people and try to kill others. At least not outside of the movies. They were supposed to be little dots of light, or something.
"Buffy, calm down. You've been drinking. I can't let you drive."
"I don't care. I'm not going back in there. And don't tell me she can't hurt me. She's trying to kill you and she's raping
Johnny, God knows what she would have tried to do to Mark if he'd been stupid enough to actually follow her." Tears burned her eyes and fear lanced her heart.
"I don't think she's actually trying to hurt us, pet. She's not HURTING Johnny, and the flashes I get only last a second or two. I think she's trying to tell us something."
"Well, then she should use that little plate trick more often and stop with the physical shit."
"Come on, Buffy. I can't let you drive like this. And I sure as hell can't drive right now. Let's go back inside and try to chat this out. Maybe if we can figure out what she wants, we can send her on her way. You know, go towards the light and all that." Despite herself, her lips quirked.
"How can you be so calm? You're getting choked on a daily basis. Why aren't you sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth, going 'buh-buh-buh'?" she asked, astounded. He gave a little chuckle and shrugged.
"Dunno. Guess it's 'cause I had a girlfriend who said she could talk to the spirits, once." Her brows shot up at that, and a smile spread across her mouth.
"You're kidding?"
"No. Ask Mark and Johnny, if you don't believe me. Right loon she was. But, maybe she wasn't so loony, then," he considered.
"Maybe not," Buffy reluctantly agreed. She dropped her eyes to the ground, and scuffed her toe in the gravel. "I really do feel kind of fuzzy," she said, finally. He grinned and cupped his hand under her chin.
"Well, then you should come inside. Got one hell of a mess to clean up." His and Johnny's little scuffle had broken quite a few more dishes and a vase that was standing on a table by the door. Of course the table was also now the size of matchsticks, but she figured that wasn't really the point.
"Fine. So, we go inside, clean up the mess, and try to figure out what the hell she wants. Then what?" The gleam that lit his eyes had her blushing. "Not so fast, mister. We get to know each other first," she demanded, stabbing a well manicured nail in his chest.
"That's fine by me, kitten." He grabbed her finger and kissed the tip, lightly trailing his tongue around the pad. She was amazed that the gentle contact had her forgetting about ghosts and possessions and anything else otherworldly. She watched in fascination as he drew it into his mouth, teeth softly scraping her skin. A tremor ran through her at that and she pulled her hand away, practically launching into his arms and crashing her mouth over his. Their tongues mated furiously, as hands flew over bodies, moans filling the air. He pressed her into the car, his lean body making her softer one form to his. Lightening seemed to explode behind their closed eyelids, heat raced along their veins, burning them.
When they broke apart, it was with reluctance, and only because of their need to breathe. They gasped in air, staring deep into each other's eyes, the colors now sapphire and emerald, respectively.
"I think," Spike said around breaths. "That we need to go inside." She nodded her head, her ability to speak still lost.
He was loathe to step back and release her, but he did. Linking his fingers with hers, he gave her a tug, and led her back into the house.
Chapter 9
A/N-Hope you guys have your score cards ready. :) The fun's about to start. Tee hee. Lisa
The people who went in and out of the Sunnydale University Library on this bright Friday afternoon noticed a change in the shy girl that stood behind the counter. Students and teachers that went up to her to get help, each walked away with the sense of something having changed with the young woman. It wasn't anything outward. Her clothes were still the same, and her face still devoid of make up, her hair still it's same length and color. No, this difference could be seen in the glow of her eyes, the softness of her smile. Even the gentle flushing of her skin as she seemed to remember something. It was pleasant from what they could tell, and it turned the already pretty girl, beautiful. The other girls recognized the look, and either felt a twinge of jealousy or happiness for her. The men who approached her, noticed as well, but they couldn't put a name on it. But the girls knew. That was the look of excitement a woman gets when a man has entered her life. A special man.
Tara walked around the library, answering questions and filing books, feeling as if she were floating. By rights, she should have been dealing with fear and disbelief, in light of the Faith sighting. But, it was the other events of the night that kept pushing to the forefront of her mind. The memory of Johnny telling her she was beautiful, and seeming to mean it. The play of his mouth across hers in her second ever kiss. She figured the first didn't count, since she had been fourteen and it was a dare. This was her first real, kissed-by-a-man kiss. Whenever she thought about it, her skin would heat, and a sharp bolt of...something would lance through her. She couldn't name it, since she had never experienced it before, but it felt good.
Then of course, Faith had interrupted, sending them into all into a tizzy, and making the men admit their experiences. Johnny's had shocked her, the thought of a ghost raping him causing her brain to freeze. Her imagination had taken over, and the images that passed through her brain caused heat to flood her face, and a tremor to pass through her. She'd never been one to fantasize much. Why torture yourself with something you were never going to get? But, last night, after the girls had climbed into a cab and gone home, she had lain awake half the night, erotic pictures of her and Johnny making her quake. The gentle kiss he had brushed across her mouth before they left, fueling the fire.
Tara glanced at the clock on the desk, smiling a bit at the time. She was getting off soon, and Willow was coming to meet her so they could head back to the mansion to pick up her car. On the floor, in her backpack, was the notebook she had full of clippings and her own musings on the case. They had decided, after Buffy and Spike came back in and the kitchen had been cleaned up, to look into the case and try to figure out just WHO Faith wanted them to find. Tara thought she had a pretty good idea, but she wanted to know what the others thought first.
"Tara?" Her head snapped up, a blush creeping up her neck to stain her cheeks at being caught in her reverie. She peered up at the man with kind eyes behind wire rimmed glasses and smiled.
"Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. Hi," she greeted, spinning her pencil between her fingers. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce smiled down at her, his slight, subtly muscled frame encased in a pair of grey slacks, and a black polo shirt, tucked in. Tara thought he was handsome, the smile lines around his mouth and eyes the only indication he was over forty.
"Hello, Tara. You look happy today," he observed. The smile she gave him was secretive, and he was pleased. It was about time someone realized what a rare flower she was. If he had been twenty years younger, he would have taken after her, himself.
"Maybe a little," she admitted, her voice breathy.
"Well, that's just splendid." Tara giggled a bit, suddenly remembering she was talking to the benefactor of the library, and snapping out of her fog.
"Thanks. Did you need something? I-I mean...is there anything I can help you with?" She cringed at her abruptness, but relaxed when he smiled.
"Not really. Buffy called and said there was a bill from the locksmith, as well as for some dishes that were broken last night. Rock stars," he said with a sigh. He hadn't been real thrilled when Joyce had told him about the rental. But, he didn't own the house anymore, so he couldn't express his doubts about leasing it to a bunch of wild musicians.
"W-w-well, actually, I did that," Tara revealed quietly, looking sheepish. Well, she had done one, at least. Johnny and Spike's little scuffle had destroyed a few more.
"I'm sorry. You?" Wesley sounded incredulous.
"W-we were washing dishes, a-and it slipped. Sorry," she stammered, blushing to the roots of her hair.
"No, it's alright. And I don't have any right to say anything about it. I just came to pick them up. She said she'd leave them with you?" he urged, his brows raised a little in question.
"O-oh. Yeah. Here they are." Tara turned and plucked the envelope off the desk behind her, and handed it to him. She studied him for a minute, after he took it and pulled the handwritten bills out. She thought again, how strange it was that he was Joyce's accountant. He had plenty of money and didn't need to do it, especially for a house that held bad memories for him. She wondered if maybe he just needed something to do with his days, and couldn't quite let go of his father's house.
"Well, I'll send these out to their manager. Tell Buffy I'll call her later in the week," Wesley told her, and gave her an absent-minded smile as he turned away.
"O-okay. Have a nice day," she called after him, smiling when she saw Willow coming in her direction. Wesley acknowledged the redhead as they passed each other, not returning her smile as he studied the bills. Willow's lips quirked at his distracted manner, laying her elbows on the counter.
"Hey. What's with Wes?" Tara shrugged and turned to grab her bag.
"I don't know. He doesn't seem to like the idea of musicians in his father's house." Willow had to chuckle at that, and rolled her eyes.
"God, he can be so stuffy," the blonde snorted in agreement.
"Yeah. I'm leaving," Tara called to the other person behind the counter and walked around to join the other girl, without waiting for an answer. "Ready?"
"And able, Abel." It was Tara's turn to roll her eyes. They then walked out of the library, into the warm afternoon.
"Aren't you supposed to work tonight?" Willow huffed and nodded.
"Yeah, but I switched with Rick. Have to work all day tomorrow to make it up. Grr."
"That bites."
"In a big way," Willow agreed. She HATED her job. But student loans had to be paid. They lapsed into silence during the rest of the walk to Tara's ancient black Escort, opening the doors to let the heat of the day out of its interior. "Tara," Willow started, looking at the blond over the roof of the car. The other girl seemed to be in some sort of daydream.
"Hm?" She turned and looked at her friend, a happy gleam in her eyes.
"What's going on with Johnny?" she asked in a rush of breath. She might have been in the middle of one hell of a freak out, but she remembered the way Johnny hovered around Tara, and the kiss he'd given her when they'd left. Well, she'd only seen the tail end of that, since she herself was getting kissed breathless by Mark. But she knew of Johnny's reputation. Hell, anybody who could read knew it. He was an unabashed lady magnet, his odd hair doing nothing to detract from the sheer animal magnetism he exuded. She didn't want her shy, inexperienced friend getting hurt by a real live Don Juan.
"What do you mean?" Tara dropped her eyes and slid into the still hot car, throwing her pack in the rear seat. Willow followed suit, closing the door and buckling her seatbelt before answering.
"I think that little smile there answers it all. And the dreamy look you have in your eyes." Tara bit her lip to keep the smile from spreading into a goofy grin, her heart twittering in her chest as memory hit her again. Willow waited, wondering if Johnny was playing with her, or if he really saw the person she was. Tara cranked the car, trying to figure out how to answer. She didn't really KNOW what was going on with him. She knew she wasn't the sort of girl he went after. She glanced down at the black shirt dress she had on, the flowing skirt stopping at mid calf. She hadn't purposely picked this out, but she could see how it looked to Willow. She didn't normally wear dresses, but she had felt like wearing one. It made her feel feminine, and soft, and she liked it.
"I don't know," she admitted, pulling out into the busy afternoon traffic, and turning towards the mansion. "He kissed me." It was said quietly, but with so much excitement and anticipation that Willow struggled with happiness and worry for the girl.
"Oh, honey. That's wonderful. But, maybe you should be careful," she suggested, looking out the window. She missed the hurt eyes that flicked over to her, and the way Tara's hands tensed on the wheel.
"Why? You don't think he could really be interested in me?" Willow's head snapped around at that, hearing the pained tone of Tara.
"No, that's not it. He's just got this reputation. And I just don't want you to get hurt," the redhead insisted, willing Tara to look at her. She didn't, just expertly drove through town, trying to collect her thoughts.
"I know his reputation," she began, her voice tight. "And I don't care." A pair of russet brows shot up at that.
"What? You don't care? Tara, he's the love 'em and leave 'em type. He has more notches in his bed post than Bill Clinton."
"I. Don't. Care," she reiterated, turning onto Crawford Street. "Look, Willow, I'm not like you and Buffy. I don't attract guys like magnets. He seems interested in me, and I'm going to cherish every minute of it. If, when all this is done and they have the songs they need for their album, he leaves, I'll still have the memory. And that's enough." She pulled to a stop next to Buffy's Lexus, and turned to face the redhead. Willow had a look of shock on her face at her friend's willingness to be used.
"Tara, your first time should be with someone special, not just some random guy," she insisted.
"He's not some random guy. When he looks at me, I feel it, here." She held a hand over her heart, still awed that he made her feel this way, and she had only known him since the day before. "And it's my body to decide what to do with." Her voice held a firmness Willow wasn't used to hearing. The blonde had apparently thought a lot about this.
"Okay. Just. . .I don't want you to get hurt." Tara smiled at her and shifted to get out of the car.
"I'm not looking forward to it, either, but it's what I want," she said, before grabbing the pack and getting out of the car. Willow sat there for a minute longer, watching her as she walked towards the house. With a sigh of resignation, she got out, silently vowing she would personally cut off Johnny's parts when he hurt her.
~*~*~
"No Dawn. You can't go this time," Buffy told the teen who was dogging her heels. Spike was due there any minute to take her to the mansion, and Dawn was having a cow.
"Why not? You know, Mom's not going to like it that you're leaving me alone again," she said smugly, thinking that would be a way to get her sister to take her with her.
"That's why I called Amber's mother. You're spending the weekend there."
"What? That's so not fair. You're not supposed to call my friends' mothers behind my back." Buffy rolled her eyes and checked to make sure she had her cell in her purse.
"Dawn, she's your best friend." Buffy was starting to lose her patience, which was already spread pretty thin. After she and Spike had gone back inside, she had spent the next hour jumping at every sound, barely listening as the others discussed what they should do. Get the hell out had wanted to pop out of her mouth more than once, but she kept it back, since the rest seemed so intent on solving the mystery. Granted, her mother wouldn't be too pleased with her trying to break a rental contract, but she figured there were extenuating circumstances.
"I can't believe this." Dawn was beyond angry. She tossed her shiny hair off her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest, a look of teenage rage on her face.
"Look, you'd be trying to leave as soon as it got dark anyway. And that's only an hour or two away." Buffy tried to reason, glancing out the window to look for Amber's mother. "So, just go throw some things in a bag and get ready to go." Her tone brooked no argument, and the teen stomped angrily up the stairs.
"Fine. You go and hang out with the hot musicians, while I get to go and get tormented by Amber's little brother all weekend," she muttered, her voice fading as she progressed to her room. Buffy rolled her eyes, and looked outside again. She was tired and edgy, and SO didn't need Dawn's attitude right now. She'd already talked to Joyce, to get the low down on their aunt, and to give her the report on the gallery. Buffy worked there part time, still trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. It was Joyce's pet project, one that Hank had indulged with no qualms. She felt her heart squeeze at the thought of her father, and a sad smile touched her lips.
Seeing, or rather hearing Faith the night before had kept her up all night pondering the existence of an afterlife. She guessed, since her father hadn't made his presence known in the house, that he had gone on to wherever spirits went. She remembered the night the police had shown up at the door, their faces kind and full of sorrow, as they told her mother that Hank wasn't coming home. She and Dawn had sat huddled on the steps while they listened to the cop explain that the combination of the wet roads, and a sharp curve taken too fast, had ripped him from their lives. She'd been twelve, barely a year after they had moved here. Dawn had been seven, her wide, azure eyes looking at her sister, hoping the older girl would tell her that it was a lie, that their father was coming home. Unfortunately, once Joyce turned around, there was no lying that would cover the pain in her blue orbs, a pain that seemed to make her age almost before their eyes.
The sight of Spike's car, followed closely by Amber's mother's broke her out of her thoughts.
"Dawn! They're here."
"FINE!" came the angry reply. Buffy rolled her eyes again, and smiled as Spike unfolded himself from the car. If things worked out, Dawn would get plenty of opportunities to hang around the band. But, right now just wasn't the time.
The teen stomped down the stairs, just as Buffy pulled open the door. The brunette pushed past the pair and went straight to her friend's car, not even bothering with a hello or a goodbye. Spike's scarred brow shot up and he looked at Buffy, amused confusion in his eyes.
"She's pissed 'cause I won't let her come."
"Ah. I see. Well, nothing quite like a dose of teenage attitude to put you in the right mind, now is there?" She giggled a bit and nodded.
"Oh yeah. Just gets me right in the mood for ghost hunting," she said with a smile. Her smile faded as she looked into the blue fire that was his eyes. They were planted firmly on her mouth, watching in fascination as she had talked.
"Well, if that doesn't do it, how's this?" he asked, his voice husky. He took a step towards her, his hand coming up to rest on her hip. The air thickened around them, and it suddenly seemed hotter when their lips touched. She found it amazing that with just this gentle pressure, she turned into a warm pile of goo. His teeth scraped softly at her bottom lip, his tongue darting out to taste the strawberry lip gloss she wore. She sighed, her lips parting slightly. Pleasure sang through her veins when he pushed into her mouth, taking the time to tease, before sliding his tongue across hers. Tremors racked through them both, and little moans filled the air.
Gooseflesh broke out on her bare arm when his fingers grazed up the length, stopping to play with the strap of her dark green, spaghetti strap tank. His other hand had skimmed down over her cotton shorts, to caress the skin of her thigh. Buffy felt a wave of arousal hit her, and it took all her will power NOT to slam the door closed behind him and ride him right there. It really worried her that she couldn't really find anything WRONG with the idea. Especially since her hands had suddenly developed a mind of their own, and slipped under the hem of his t-shirt to discover the ridged muscle of his stomach. She moaned again, when the skin under her fingers rippled with her touch.
When he pulled away, his eyes were as dark as midnight, his breathing ragged.
"Let's go, luv," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. She giggled despite the sexual tension curling in her belly, and managed to remember to lock the door as he took her hand and led her out. She was pretty sure, she thought while they walked to the car, that if he kept kissing her like that, they wouldn't be waiting very long at all.
~*~*~
"Hey, John?" Mark knocked as he opened his cousin's door, calling for him.
"Yeah?" Johnny walked out of the bathroom, his long, bright hair damp from his shower. His jeans rode low on his hips, the cross on his back dipping below the band. Mark rolled his eyes at the evidence of too much alcohol, and closed the door.
"Tara and Willow are here. Spike went to get Buffy." Johnny nodded, grabbing a t-shirt and pulling it on. He looked up at his cousin and sighed, seeing the 'we need to talk' look on his face.
"What?" he snapped, his tone harsher than he had intended. He was tired, since he had spent most of the night awake, trying to stave off the dream as long as he could. Almost as soon as he had fallen asleep, she had shown up, fury twisting her face. He remembered his dream self trying to talk to her, tell her they were going to help her, but she didn't seem to care. She seemed intent on punishing him for whatever had pissed her off. Her teeth had sunk viciously into his thigh, dangerously near his parts, and this time, the bruise stayed. Just his luck he gets stuck with a jealous ghost. He so didn't need the lecture that was going to roll off Mark's tongue.
"I just wanted to tell you to be careful. She's not your usual type." Their eyes locked when he said that, anger flashing in Johnny's.
"Don't you think I know that?" he growled. "I just don't know what it is about her." He said that mostly to himself, the image of her sweet face flooding his vision. Mark quirked a brow at the look on his cousin's face. It looked like awe, and it made the guitarist wonder.
"She does seem to be a hell of a lady. But don't start something you don't intend to see through," Mark said, turning to leave the room. "Sex isn't everything, John." He said before pulling the door shut behind him. Johnny glared at the wood, feeling the need to hit something.
He didn't know what he wanted to do. Didn't Mark see that? He was as confused as he had ever been about anything, and his cousin poking his nose into it didn't help. Hell, he and Tara were both adults, so what did it matter what they did? He knew he wanted her, and he was pretty sure she wanted him. Why not? Just because she wasn't like the others, didn't mean they couldn't make some beautiful memories. Then, they could go on with their lives, just like he liked.
With that decision, he ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the tension that settled in his chest with it.
Phantom Whispers (continued)
Chapter 10
Six people sat in the living room of the mansion on Crawford Street. Willow and Mark were sitting in one of the oversized chairs, Buffy and Spike were on one end of the couch, and Johnny was on the other. Tara was seated in the other chair, her pack resting in her lap. No words were spoken between them, since none really knew how to start the conversation they were assembled for. Eyes met, and skidded away as they each tried to think of what to say. Finally, Willow got tired of it, and leaned forward to grab a notepad and pencil, turning her green eyed gaze on Tara.
"Tara, I think, since you know the most about the house, you should start." Tara got a deer in the headlights look, her eyes dropping to the floor. Taking a bolstering breath, she unzipped the backpack, and took out the notebook inside. She busied herself doing that for a moment, not looking up at the people whose eyes were boring through her while they waited. When she was done, she rubbed her hands on her skirt and looked up, her eyes locking with Johnny's. He was staring at her with such intensity, that she lost her voice for another second, her face flooding with warmth.
"Tara?" Buffy prodded, not sure if she was liking the heat that was passing between the drummer and her friend. Tara's head jerked towards Buffy, and she shook her head as if to clear it.
"S-sorry," she stammered, taking another breath. She hated to speak in front of people, even when those people were her friends. "Alright, I guess the easiest thing to do, is start with the history of the house itself. It was built in 1981 by Frederick Wyndham-Pryce, Wesley's father. Nobody really knows why he decided to move here from England. He just showed up one day, bought this land, and started building. It's the biggest house in the County," she finished in a rush. "Not much is known about him, other than he was from England. His wife died about seven years before he moved here."
"How?" Spike asked, before she had a chance to continue. Tara's light eyes met his, and she gave him a slight shrug.
"Natural causes from what I know. Wes has spoken of her a couple of times, when I've seen him at the library, but not about her death. He was a late child, for them. I know his father was seventy when he married Faith."
"Talk about robbing the cradle," Mark said with a snort. Willow was sitting in his lap, her hand practically flying across the paper as she took notes. She gave a chuckle herself, and Buffy scrunched up her nose.
"That's kinda Anna Nicole, isn't it? I mean, how can you have sex with someone that's old enough to be your grandfather?" She gave a delicate shudder at that, a reaction that was only worsened by Spike's fingers grazing along her arm.
"What do we know about her?" Willow asked, still very businesslike, despite Mark's hand resting against her rib cage. Every so often, his thumb would brush along the underside of her breast, and she'd have to fight a tremor.
"Other than she graduated Sunnydale High in 1971, and was married to Frederick the next year? Not much," Tara admitted with a sigh.
"Don't forget her affair with Angel, and her murder," Buffy reminded them, settling herself more comfortably next to Spike.
"What do we know about him?" Johnny asked, knowing what she would say, since he read the articles too. He was just getting tired of sitting there. Tara gave his a smile before she answered, her heart doing a slow flip at the look in his eyes.
"Liam 'Angel' McKenna. When he was twenty five, he came here, with his sister. They were from Ireland, I think. Actually, he and Winifred, his sister, were the first generation born in the states. They were very rich, and their parents still believed in arranged marriages for the girls. Angel could marry whoever he wanted, but Winifred, or Fred as she was called, was set to marry Wesley."
"Wesley? He never got married, though?" Willow interrupted. She had never heard this part of the story before. She turned surprised eyes on Buffy, who just shrugged.
"Hey, I only heard the story once, and I wasn't even supposed to hear it then. Eavesdropping on my parents," she admitted with an impish grin. "And actually, until Tara just mentioned it, I forgot about it."
"Anyway, the marriage was called off right after Angel was arrested for killing Faith. She wound up marrying Charles Gunn, Faith's chauffeur. Which, back then, was scandalous."
"Why? Because rich people don't marry the help?" Spike said with a sneer.
"That and, even though it was only twenty years ago, interracial marriages were still looked upon as odd, to put it lightly. And this is a small town, so, it was gossiped about for a long time."
"What happened to them?" Johnny leaned forward a bit, his mind working the information that was being laid out, and his eyes burning into Tara's. It was a good thing he could multi-task.
"Uh-uhm. F-Fred died. She had ovarian cancer. That was right before Angel was killed in jail. A riot broke out, and he was shot in the confusion by one of the guards." A blush was creeping up her neck at the way Johnny was looking at her, like she was a treat he wanted to devour. The other couples noticed it too, not sure what to make of it. "Gunn was killed a few years later in a hit and run," she finished in a rush, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest.
"I wonder how Wesley took his marriage being called off, and the death of his stepmother," Mark wondered out loud.
"Knowing us English gentlemen, he was probably sitting up in his room taking a nip or two," Spike interjected, snickering. Buffy rolled her eyes, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his leg, sending shivers up his spine.
"Oh, and Angel never admitted or denied his guilt. He just went to jail. Nobody really knows what happened," Tara finished, sitting back in her chair.
"Well, I guess it's safe to assume he didn't do it, since she's trying to get us to find someone. And it's a 'him' someone," Willow said, finishing off her notes. She didn't see much that would help.
"Alright, we don't have much to start with. I guess we have four suspects, three of whom are dead," the redhead continued, frowning.
"Four?" Mark looked down at the paper, easily reading her flowing script.
"Yeah, Angel, just because I don't feel right excluding him just yet. Frederick Wyndham-Pryce, Charles Gunn, and Wesley."
"I still don't see how it could be Wesley. I mean, come on," Buffy interjected, the mild mannered British man filling her mind's eye.
"Nobody gets excluded. Which I guess means we better put Winifred in there, too," Willow said thoughtfully.
"Don't," Spike said firmly. Willow's brows drew together at that, her head tilting slightly.
"Why?"
"It was a man." His words were said with a surety that surprised the others.
"How do you know?" Buffy queried, turning to look at him.
"The flashes. I don't see anything clearly, but I get the definite feeling that it's a man. And a man that she's familiar with."
"Well, that still makes it sound like Angel or her husband," Buffy insisted.
"There's also the possibility that she had an affair with someone other than Angel," Johnny offered, scowling. How were they supposed to find 'him', when three people were dead, the other was supposed to be in England at the time, and who knew what she had been up to? Or who she had been up to. ANYBODY could have killed her. For once, Johnny thought maybe multiple sex partners wasn't such a good idea.
"Is there any way we can get a list of the people that worked here then?" Mark asked. Willow gave him a sly smile and cracked her knuckles.
"If there's a will, there's a database waiting to be hacked," she said with glee.
"Oh lord," Buffy said, glancing at Tara.
"What about the rooms that are closed off?" Johnny asked. "How long have they been that way?"
"I guess since before the house came to my father," Buffy answered. "Faith's room has been closed since the night she died."
"What about the police investigation?" Spike threw out.
"There wasn't one," Johnny answered before Tara could. All eyes shot to him and he gave a sheepish smile.
"Told you I went to the library. What do you think I went for? I had a ghost ripping me apart, and I wanted to find out more about her," he explained. "Angel was arrested on sight, and no forensics were done on the room. He was holding her when he was discovered, so anything they could have gotten off the body was contaminated. Plus, I don't know how advanced the science was back then, or if they would have found anything."
"So, what do we do?" Buffy asked, her head starting to hurt.
"I say we search the rooms that are closed off. After all, they're that way for a reason, right?" Johnny suggested, smiling at the incredulous looks he was getting.
"I don't know."
"Is that such a good idea?"
"What do you think we'd find after all this time?"
"Are you daft?"
"I think it's worth a shot." All these came flying at Johnny in rapid succession, until he wasn't sure who said what. Except for Tara, who had agreed with him.
"Come on, what could it hurt? She wants us to help her, so that means investigating, right? We're not going to find anything from the papers. Most of the people involved are dead, and it'll take time for Willow to crack whatever code she needs to crack to get the records. Until then, why not start with what we have. Three rooms that have been closed off for at least fifteen years." The others in the room looked apprehensively at each other.
"How could it hurt?" Tara offered, smiling at Johnny.
"Hello. Haven't you guys watched horror movies? There's always a way it could hurt. What if we piss her off?" Buffy asked.
"Oh, as opposed to how happy she is right now?" Johnny shot back, ignoring the glare Spike sent him.
"Well, I guess it is all we have right now," Willow said with a sigh. "And it is day time. She hasn't appeared during the day, has she?" she asked the guys, her eyes widening at the possibility.
"No," they all answered. The other three sighed in relief.
"Well, how do we decide who goes where? I don't think any of us will willingly go into Faith's room," Buffy asked, knowing full well she sure wouldn't go easily. Mark tapped Willow on the thigh to get her to let him up, then walked over to the fireplace. Pulling out three matches, he motioned for the others to follow him into the kitchen. He was pulling out a knife when they filed in, the matches laying on the counter.
"I think I saw this in a movie once." Willow said with a nervous giggle. Mark smirked, and slid the knife across the thin wood at different lengths.
"Alright, long stick takes the attic, next one takes Faith's room, shortest takes the basement." Nobody asked how they were going to split into pairs. It was understood how they would do it. Mark picked them up, and turned his back, adjusting them in his hand until they looked the same length. He then turned back around and held out his hand to Johnny. "First pick, cousin." Johnny snorted and pulled one out, unconsciously sighing when he pulled out the longest one. Spike took his turn next, scowling when he compared it to the one that Mark still held.
"Looks like we get the honeymoon suite, luv," Spike told Buffy, squeezing her hand reassuringly when she blanched.
"Wonderful," she muttered, clutching his fingers tightly. Fear gripped her tight, and she had to concentrate to breathe.
"We're in the attic," Johnny told Tara.
"Oh, that means we get the basement. What fun. Bet there's rats," Willow complained with a shudder.
"That's still better than a ghost," Buffy said.
"Well, let's get this over with," Spike suggested, dropping the stick on the counter.
"Basement entrance is over there." Buffy nodded towards the pantry. "It's in the back. You have the keys?" Mark nodded, pulling the key ring from jeans.
"God, was that what I was sitting on?" Willow's eyes widened and her skin blushed to the shade of her hair at the disappointed sound of her voice. Nervous laughter filled the air at her expense.
"W-we need extra flashlights. J-just in case," Tara suggested. Buffy moved to one of the drawers and pulled out three mag lights, handing one to each of the men.
"That's all we have here. There are light switches, I just don't know where, because I've never been in those other rooms," she said, apology in her voice.
"We'll be alright." Spike turned and left the kitchen, pulling her with him. Johnny and Tara followed, leaving Mark and Willow in the kitchen.
"Well, I guess we better get started." Fear laced through Willow's voice, and she gratefully curled her fingers around his.
"It's alright. We'll go down there, shine the light into the corners, and come back up. Sound good?" She nodded, then shook her head, deciding that NOT going down there at all was a good plan. Her breath hitched in her chest when he leaned down and kissed her, his lips coaxing hers into a fiery kiss.
"I'll be with you," he assured huskily. Now, Willow just wanted to say screw it and drag him up to his room and do just that.
"Let's get this done," she said firmly, her mind distracting her from the possibility of finding bodies in the basement with visions of Mark's body in it's natural splendor.
"That's my girl." He pulled her behind him, missing the smile that split her face at his words. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing, she thought, her eyes raking over his long form as they made their way to the door. At least she was going to be stuck down there with a hottie.
~*~*~
Spike, Buffy, Johnny and Tara made their way up the stairs, their movements slow. When they reached the outside of Faith's room, Buffy pointed to the door at the end of the hall that led up to the attic. Then, without a word, Johnny and Tara walked that way, their hands loosely linked.
Buffy and Spike watched them walk down the hall, and the bleached blonde waved a hand when Johnny turned to indicate they had gotten the door unlocked. Once they disappeared, he turned to Buffy, giving her a rakish grin before waving his hand towards the door. In response, she handed him her keys, a saccharine smile in her lips. Hers were the only ones with Faith's door key on it, but SHE wasn't going to be the one to open it.
Spike took a deep breath and took the keys from her grasp, finding the right one easily. Then, with another glance at her, he fit the key in the lock, feeling for all the world like he was opening Pandora's box. Without giving himself time to talk himself out of it, he twisted the key and turned the knob, the musty smell of the room hitting them. With another glance at Buffy, he took her hand and pulled her inside, the door shutting quietly behind them.
AN: Aren't I evil? ;) Don't worry, writer's block is all cured, and I now know how this is all going to go. (Give a big thanks to my best friend for that, by the way.) In fact, if you're real nice, I might even have a new chap ready by tomorrow. Tee hee. Now, what could Buffy and Spike encounter in that room? What will Johnny and Tara find in the attic? And just what secrets are buried in the basement? Review me my dears, to find out the answer's to all these questions and more. Mwahahahaha. Lisa
Chapter 11
Spike quickly found the light switch next to the door and flipped it on, bathing the room in the soft light of three lamps. They exchanged a confused look at how the light bulbs were still working after twenty years, but decided just to chalk it up to the other weirdness in the house.
Haltingly, Buffy walked away from him, her hand sliding along the surfaces of the furniture that were caked with twenty years worth of dust. Vases filled with the skeletal remains of flowers sat around the room, reminding them that nothing had been changed before it had been closed off.
Buffy walked over to the vanity, reverently wiping the dust off of the silver backed brush before putting it back down. She drew a finger over the bottles placed there, the pretty glass devoid of its contents that had evaporated long ago. A tall, free-standing jewelry box sat next to the vanity, drawing her curiosity.
Across the room, Spike was gingerly pulling open the drawers of the nightstands, not seeing much of interest inside. He tried to ignore the eerie feeling that was crawling under his skin, the idea that he was trespassing niggling his mind. Despite the layers of dust and the aura of death that hung in the room, the idea that the room was waiting for its mistress to return hung in the musty air.
Turning slightly, Spike looked down at the still turned down bed, a dressing gown thrown across the foot. Scowling, he slapped a hand down on the coverlet, sneezing at the dust he'd raised. *Bloody brilliant, Spike,* he muttered to himself, glancing around the room for Buffy. Suddenly, the temperature dropped, and he braced himself for the images of death to hit him.
He blinked in confusion when all that happened was an overpowering surge of lust hit his loins, hardening him to the point of pain. His eyes searched for Buffy, coming to rest on her tiny form leaning against the vanity, a blood red ruby nestled against the hollow of her throat.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice husky, her eyes glazed. Spike opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she was talking about, confusion hitting him anew when that wasn't what he said.
"I had to see you," he said instead, starting to walk towards her. She gasped, her pupils dilating with desire, her body trembling with anticipation.
"You shouldn't have come," she insisted, pushing away from the vanity and meeting him halfway.
"Why? You want me, I want you. I don't see a problem." Neither noticed as Spike's voice switched from his smooth English accent, to a different, light Irish one.
"What if he finds us?" Buffy's own voice took on a thicker, throatier quality, as her hands slid up his arms, her fingers linking behind his neck. Their minds scrambled to catch up with what was happening to them, neither able to stop it. It was like they were actors in a play, slaves to the scene until it was done.
"I don't care," Spike growled in the second before his mouth crashed over hers, taking, demanding. Possessing.
Buffy returned the kiss, her hands fisting in his hair, the action bordering on painful. The added sensation only fueled Spike's lust, a lust he recognized as not fully his own. Their tongues battled fiercely, their bodies pressed tightly together, eliciting moans from them both. Buffy knew this wasn't really them, making their desire for each other reach inferno qualities. They wanted each other, yes, but this need was desperate, cloying. She couldn't have stopped what was happening if she'd wanted to.
Her legs wrapped around his waist as he picked her up, his mouth never leaving hers while he carried her to the bed. He laid her across the suddenly clean spread, his hard length pressed against her very center. She mewled into his mouth, electric shocks skimming along her nerve endings at the feel of him spread so intimately across her body.
"Tell me you don't want me. Tell me you aren't a shell of a woman when I’m not here, touching you," Spike growled, his hand skimming under her top to roughly squeeze her breast, his fingers pinching her nipple. Buffy writhed beneath him, her head thrashing on the bed at the arousal raging through her. "Tell me," he demanded, giving her nipple an extra hard pinch. She arched into his hand, a low, guttural moan ripping from her throat. Her glazed hazel eyes met his, her kiss swollen lips slack.
"I'm only alive when you're inside of me," she breathed, thrusting her hips up to get her point across. A wide, wolfish smile spread across his face at that, and he lowered his head to nibble the flesh of her throat.
~*~*~
"Jesus," Johnny said, shining his light around the cavernous attic. Boxes and crates, furniture covered with sheets, and ornate frames littered the space, a thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering all of it. He turned to look at Tara when she sneezed, an apologetic smile on her face.
"Sorry. I'm allergic to dust." Johnny just grinned and gave her a shrug.
"Come on." He took her hand and pulled her deeper into the room, weaving through the mess. The flashlight swung in a wide arc around the room, enabling them to see at once. Tara stuck as close to him as she could without tripping him. Perspiration beaded her skin at the emotions assaulting her. Fear was the most prominent, since she didn't have any idea what to expect. Then there was the underlying arousal that seemed her constant companion when he was around her. "What do we have here?" Johnny mumbled, stopping at a large trunk.
"It looks like a trunk," she said, blushing at the stupidity of the obvious comment. *OF COURSE it was a trunk,* she told herself.
"Let's see what's in it." Johnny wagged his brows, causing a nervous giggle to explode from her lips.
"O-okay." They bent down together, reluctantly letting go of each other as they did so. Johnny brushed the dust away, careful to push it away from Tara. He then pushed the button, hoping it wasn't locked. When the latch flipped up, he gave her a triumphant smile, his breath hitching in his chest at how close she was. All he had to do was dip his head, and he could taste that mouth again. He felt himself harden uncomfortably, the zipper of his jeans digging painfully into his sensitive flesh. Her eyes swirled with what she was feeling, the color darkening to a deep sea blue. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her heart starting to hammer in her chest.
Johnny took a deep breath, and forced his mind back to the problem at hand, willing himself to calm down. She frowned in disappointment when he turned away, but looked into the trunk when he opened it. They both scowled at the pile of blankets they encountered.
"Well, that was a whole lot of build up for a whole lot of nothing," Johnny sneered, hissing in a breath when her soft fingers touched his mouth.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered, her ears straining to catch the faint sound she thought she heard. Johnny's brows drew together, as he did the same. They held their breath, waiting, both of their eyes dropping back to the trunk when they heard it.
"Is the trunk moaning?" he asked, looking back up at her incredulously.
"I-I don't think so. It's muffled," she replied. Johnny looked back down at the trunk, seeming to make some sort of decision. With a hard shove, he pushed the trunk, to reveal a large hole in the floor. The moaning got louder when he did this. Their eyes met once more, before they leaned forward to look into the hole, their gasps at what they saw mingling into one.
~*~*~
Buffy's nails raked over Spike's bare back, the ripple of muscle thrilling her and the spirit that was invading her body.
"Oh, God," she moaned, when his teeth grazed her nipple, pulling and teasing until it was a tight, hard nub. His tongue then laved the tender flesh, his hand sliding over the bare skin of her abdomen to slip his fingers inside the scrap of satin covering her curls. Neither could have said just how they had both lost their shirts, or how Buffy was now writhing beneath him, clad only in her thong. At the moment, they didn't care. Their desire, combined with the phantom arousal gripping them, intensifying everything flowing through them until they thought they might explode.
"What do you want, baby? Hm? Tell me what you need." Spike's voice hummed against her skin, sending shivers along her heated flesh. She buried her fingers into his hair, pulling him up to kiss him hungrily, her tongue stabbing in his mouth, tangling with his. Her hips surged up, seeking friction against the hand that was currently teasing the edges of her panties. She groaned in disappointment when he ripped his mouth from hers, piercing her with the midnight of his eyes. She gasped when they flashed brown, not realizing that hers were doing the same. Her eyes widened when she saw a different face hovering above her for a brief instant. For a quick second, Spike's face was replaced by a dark haired man's, his handsome face twisted with desire, his dark eyes blazing with need.
"Say it," he growled, Spike's face returning, his fingers teasing her cleft through her panties. A sound that Buffy didn't recognize ripped from her throat at the promise of those fingers, her own fingers plucking uselessly at the satin beneath her. Spike bared his teeth in a snarl, waiting for her to answer. This fire was threatening to consume him, and he was about to take what she refused to admit. He needed to taste her, his mouth was watering at the thought of her sweet juices flowing down his throat, quenching this heady thirst. He hissed in air, when her features temporarily shifted to that of another woman's, the fan of her hair darkening on the white spread beneath her. Her mouth filled out, turning a slick red, her light eyes turning brown.
"I want your mouth. I want you to make me scream," she said, smiling ferally. As Buffy's features returned, his hand ripped the scrap of satin away, and he slid down her sweat slicked body, a sly grin on his face.
"My pleasure," he purred, spreading her legs wide and pushing his hands under the globes of her bottom. With one last, searing look, he dipped his head, plunging his tongue into her folds, moaning at the taste of her nectar. Buffy keened at the feel of his mouth on her, her hips grinding against the bed, urgency making her pant. Within seconds, she was crashing into orgasm, her juices flooding his mouth, spilling over his greedy tongue. He lapped eagerly at what she offered, never stopping in his ministrations until she was screaming for him again.
~*~*~
The air was thick and heavy around Johnny and Tara as they watched Spike devour Buffy. Johnny's breath was coming in heaving gasps, the pain of before returning with a vengeance. The moans drifting up to them through the hole wasn't doing anything to alleviate the tension. Tara's trembling form pressed against him wasn't helping either.
Tara felt heat suffuse her skin at the sight below her, her mind screaming that they shouldn't be watching this. Spike was ravenously pleasuring Buffy, making her writhe and scream in ecstasy, their actions making it obvious that they didn't think they were being observed. But, no matter how many times she told herself she shouldn't look, her eyes were riveted to the light playing off their sweat slicked skin, the sheer naughtiness of watching keeping her attention. Her mind took the vision and transformed it, until it was her lying on the bed, her fingers lacing through Johnny's hair, and pressing him against her in the most intimate of kisses.
Johnny shifted, trying to relieve the pressure behind his zipper. His breath caught in his throat, when Spike gave a wicked grin, his eyes staring intently at Buffy's face while he spread her folds open, and pushed two long fingers deep inside of her. A strangled groan escaped him when Buffy bucked wildly, another orgasm crashing through her. *Never knew Spike was such a stud,* he thought numbly, not realizing that his hand was resting on Tara's knee, his fingers seeking her soft flesh.
Tara's eyes never left the spectacle below, but her heart slammed in her chest when Johnny's fingers slid underneath the hem of her skirt, the calloused pads skimming along the tender flesh he found there. Her nipples pebbled painfully against her bra and she rubbed them absently against his arm, seeking relief.
Another scream filled the air, eliciting groans from the voyeurs. They watched Buffy fist her fingers in Spike's bright hair, hauling him up her body, her legs wrapping around his waist. Tara inhaled sharply when Johnny's questing fingers found their destination. Without thought, she spread her legs, allowing them inside. Her attention was torn away from the couple beneath them, when Johnny turned his head and claimed her mouth, his tongue plunging inside in the same instant his thumb started to tease the swollen nubbin at the top of her sex, his fingers playing in her slick heat.
~*~*~
"Inside me. NOW!" Buffy demanded, her fingers fumbling with the fly of his jeans. Intense need gripped them both, fierce and sharp. Spike pulled away long enough to kick off his boots, and jeans right behind. Buffy pushed up on her elbows, to rake her eyes over him. Her ravenous gaze had him hardening impossibly, and he felt like he was ready to bust just from that. He stood proudly before her, the chiseled muscles of his lean form quivering with the control it was taking not to just plunder her. Somewhere in the back of their minds, they resented their first time together being directed by the ghosts of dead lovers. But, they could also appreciate the eroticism of it.
"Like what you see?" His voice was rough, the accent unclear while he struggled with hunger.
"I'd rather feel it," she replied brazenly, pulling her knees up to open herself for him. Buffy was mortified by the words coming out of her mouth, never being one to talk during sex. But, boy, did she like what she saw. He was beautiful, like a sculpture. His shaft was long and hard, angling just a bit to the right. She couldn't wait until he was inside of her.
Spike leered down at how she was spread out before him, his arms hooking under her knees, and pulling her butt to the edge of the bed. She mewled softly as he gripped his erection in one hand, then slid the tip along her clit, sending shockwaves reverberating through her.
"Beg," he demanded, positioning himself at her opening, barely pushing the head in. She shook her head violently against the bed, trying to surge her hips forward, and bury him herself. He pushed a hand into her abdomen, holding her down. "I said beg!" he hissed, eyes flashing brown. A wicked grin split her face, as Buffy realized this was some sort of game.
"Never!" she spat back, her nails digging into his wrist, trying to wrench his hand away from her. He leaned over her, careful not to allow further penetration, the other face appearing over her again.
"You'll beg, or I"ll leave you here, panting like the bitch in heat you are," he said viciously, his free hand twisting her clit painfully. A whimper of need escaped her throat before she could stop it, another wave of wetness flooding her channel. Before she knew it, words were spilling from her mouth, making Buffy blush, while the image of the other woman shimmered in Spike's eyes.
"Fuck me, god fuck me."
"What do you say?" Spike taunted, relieved to be looking into Buffy's eyes again, even though he knew the words they were saying weren't their own.
"Please," she mewled, desperate for him to fill her. His grin was nasty, as he thrust into her, their pelvises slamming together brutally. She arched into him, screaming once more. He started a ruthless pace, thrusting with long, hard strokes, twisting his hips ever so slightly to stimulate the over sensitized bundle of nerves at the top. She ground hard against him, her fingers pinching and twisting her nipples, incoherent words tumbling from her lips. "Harder, harder," she gasped, her inner walls starting to clench around him.
His eyes rolled back into his head at the feeling, the last of whatever control he or the spirit had snapping. He bent over her, slamming hard into her, sweat slicking their skin, grunts and groans filling the air.
"So good, so fucking good," Spike mumbled, feeling his sac tighten, his climax starting to rip through him.
"Nobody but you. Always you," she returned, her nails gripping his tight buttocks, driving him harder into her.
"Oh God!" he roared, slamming into her a few more times, his final thrust sending her spiraling over the edge, and his shaft pulsing his seed deep inside of her womb. With shuddering breaths, Spike collapsed on top of her, his lips fluttering over her skittering pulse in her throat. She raised a tired hand, to lace her fingers through his bright hair, her eyes drifting closed with fatigue. They lay like that, drifting into an exhausted sleep, Spike still buried to the hilt inside of her, the ruby still glinting on her throat.
~*~*~
Tara gasped in wonderment, her hand fisting in her skirt when Johnny dipped his head. After he had brought her to her first ever orgasm at a man's hand, he had pulled back, his eyes searching hers, his fingers still stroking her flesh. She shuddered with fresh arousal, her eyes giving him permission. With a groan, he pushed her gently back, his hands skimming up her thighs to push her skirt up. He hooked his thumbs in her plain cotton panties, sliding them over her supple skin, to reveal the thatch of golden curls.
Tara fought back her self consciousness, and her embarrassment. This was the first time a man had ever seen her, even this far undressed. His eyes burned into her when he looked up, his hands molding her skin.
"This is just to take the edge off. I refuse to make love to you in a dusty attic," he told her, his bold, promising words sending a thrill up her spine, and a blush to her cheeks. She nodded in acceptance, gasping when he positioned himself between her legs, his fingers spreading her open to his gaze. Her embarrassment flew out the window with the first stroke of his tongue over her swollen flesh. Her breath hitched in her throat, her hips instinctively surging towards to the source of the intense pleasure singing through her veins.
Johnny eagerly dove into her cleft, internally singing that he was right about her sweetness. She quivered underneath him, her second orgasm close. With that knowledge, he attacked her clit single mindedly, one finger starting to push its way inside. His eyes widened in shock when he felt how tight she was around the digit, realization slamming into as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on his head. He heard his name tumble from her lips, as her climax crashed over her, her head thrashing wildly.
He lapped up her spendings eagerly, his mind spinning at the implications that she was a virgin. Sure, he'd known she was inexperienced, but he'd figured she'd done it at least once.
He pulled his head up, and looked at her flushed face as she gasped for breath, trying to calm down. Her eyes met his, and in that instant, she knew he knew.
"You should have told me," he rasped, desire clouding his eyes as he slipped from her, pulling himself to his knees and helping her straighten her clothes.
"I wasn't exactly expecting this to happen," she said, dusting off her skirt as best she could, and rising to wobbly legs. "Does it scare you?" she asked, pinning him with her eyes. He took a deep breath, and decided that honesty was the best.
"A little." She studied him for a minute, tilting her head to the side.
"Don't let it. I don't expect anything from you," she said, giving him a smile, and turning to leave the attic. She figured they found what they needed to find. Johnny stared after her for a minute, then followed, filing their encounter away until later. He wondered just how he was supposed to explain watching Spike and Buffy having sex, and tell them about the hole at the same time.
AN: Yeah , yeah, I 'borrowed' a little from Waiting in the Wings. So what? Lol. Hope you liked. We'll tackle Mark and Willow in the next chappy. Tee hee. Lisa
TBC
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