As hinted, here is another standalone fic. In answer to challenge #31 at BSV by redwulf, which is a bit naughty.

So, if you are going to poke your eyes behind this cut, make sure you are the required age to be legally allowed to read NC-17 material.

Summary? Er, during As You Were...Buffy finds Spike masturbating...need I say more?

Dedicated to Stacy at Bloodshed for her birthday. Happy Birthday Stacy!!!

 

Buffy had left the hospital with tears budding in her eyes, desperate to cleanse away the dryness from lack of sleep. Knowing since last night that her mom had to go for tests was probably not the best timing, depriving her of any recuperative slumber she might have welcomed. But the agony of waiting, the fear of what they were waiting for, almost pulled her away from rationality so that only the bare necessities could scrape past her defences for attention.

Buffy hated to think it, but thank God for Spike. He’d been there with her last night, sat beside her on the back porch and occasionally rubbed her shoulder blades. Rubbed the tension from her aching muscles. Rubbed the fear right off her back.

Until he’d left her alone again and she had nothing to distract her. Not even the memories of his grizzly stories of murdering her fore-sisters could infuriate her enough to stop worrying about her mom. Not his parting shot of her eventually having a death wish. Not even that kiss he looked about to give her before she pushed him to the ground and put him as far in place as she dared.

So, morning had come with Buffy and yucky puffy eyes. None of her friends had commented, everyone too concerned for her and what these tests could possibly mean. She’d sat by her mom, waiting for when all the medical stuff would begin, then comforted Dawn while they waited some more. It was just a massive morning of nothing, nothing but a debilitating suspicion of bad things to come and an inability to do anything but idle their time away through inaction.

Riley had shown up, using phrases designed to incite guilt for not calling him. For not being allowed to hang at her elbow, dragging her down to his level of distress. It was too late though; she’d bypassed the guilt stage, curled up within her own head as she waited and waited and waited.

And the finally, news. Consultation over results. And the fear set in again, the weariness finally getting to her enough that she could do nothing but dismiss Riley, asking him to distract Dawn while she went for some alone time.

Her head craved her pillow.

And so her feet turned toward Revello Drive and she made her way home with as much attention to life around her as one of the zombies she had fought in the past. Being on her own, and needing the comfort of silence so she could not think, her entry in the front of the house was almost whisper quiet.

Snicking the door shut and hanging up her coat, she was startled to hear a soft moaning of her name from upstairs. Instantly on guard against evil intruders, Buffy retrieved a knife from the kitchen, quickly darting back to the stairs to find her way to her secret visitor. Once at the landing, she heard tiny grunts from her bedroom, the door standing wide open.

It took only a second for the tone of voice, the sensual maleness to wash over her senses and reveal who was in her room making with the sexy noises. Buffy tiptoed forward, unusually intrigued rather than angry that Spike was once again sneaking into her house. She’d sort of become comfortable with him popping out of dark rooms without warning, making her home his without so much as a plea for the privilege. She’d not come across him in her room before, though.

No sunlight spilled through the doorway, showing that Spike had been in there a while and had prepared for his visit by drawing the curtains closed. Heavy panting broke through her thoughts, little sighs that raised the goose-pimples on her arms to all new levels.

When he started groaning her name she took an urgent step forward and stopped dead in the doorframe. The view should have been appalling, pushing Buffy into a frenzy of stake-first-ask-questions-of-settling-dust later.

But God, what a body.

Those muscles that seized and rolled with each clench of his body, she wanted to roll her tongue into each dip and curve over his abdominals so that she could recite the position of each and every ripple.

Buffy could feel the saliva burst in her mouth, her tongue darting out to coat her lips with a liberal amount. When her eyes settled on the pale taut skin pulled tight over his cock, her heart rate shifted to frantic pounding till she was sure it was about to slam out of her chest. Her belly was all warm and the heat spread like molten liquid, scorching her all the way to her womb before pushing liquid out her pussy lips in a rushing torrent.

She suddenly became fixated on her panties that he had draped over his mouth and nose, his eyes squeezed tight in concentration, his hand gliding smoothly up and down on his cock. He breathed deeply, and on the down stroke he sucked a small part of the panties’ crotch into his mouth.

Desire shot through her like a rocket, lighting every mini fire throughout her body till she felt herself blazing with heat. Her clothes became too heavy, too restrictive and she wanted them off.

Finally, her fingers itched for playtime and she couldn’t hold her tongue still any longer.

“Um, Spike? You’re masturbating. In my bedroom.” The voice that came out of her throat was so not what she’d been planning on. No self-assured Slayer, no ‘get off my bed you evil naked vampire before I stake your worthless pale ass’ kind of voice. Oh no, this was squeak voice. Buffy had eeped. Like Willow.

Spike’s eyes were large and comical in his exposure. His palm curved around his cock and Buffy’s thong slipping off his face as he sat up sharply, hand still mindlessly pumping in a slow, rhythmic move.

“Yeah. Didn’t think you’d mind.” He could almost see his epitaph as Buffy stood rooted to the spot, her eyes glued to his slickened length. Any second now she’d come flying at him with her pointy stick aimed at his chest. His bare chest.

“Ah, sure,” she told him almost absently. “No problem. I’ll, just…um…” she could feel her throat become dry and her body harden at the vision, wanting so badly to just fall headlong onto her own bed and encompass that glorious pole in her mouth, let herself become lost in the fascinating enticement of Spike’s rigid flesh.

She’d barred these kinds of thoughts from her mind a long time ago, and the very real visual she was hit sideways with now just brought all that yearning back, all that aftermath of sadness that came after Willow’s willful spell had been broken. Spike taste had wallowed in her mouth all night, and Buffy had spent the rest of it frustrated and tearful because of the perfect moment torn from her grasp. And Spike, all with the disgust and horror. It had broken another little piece of her, his reaction. They’d been betrothed, and when it was over, he’d been sickened while Buffy felt the bruising of loss all the way to her soul.

But now the promise was lying on her bed, completely nude and with the most amazing appendages Buffy had ever seen in her short history with the male anatomy. It brought to mind the obvious disparity: Riley very big man—rather average working parts; Spike an average man, er vampire, with very impressive looking…girth.

“Er, Spike? Did I see you just eating my panties?” Buffy was in some kind of a lustful daze, her body coiled ready to spring and turned on the more she watched his steady fingers glide over his flesh.

“Yeah, right tasty, too, luv.” Spike rolled his eyes, his belly fluttering with nerves; butterflies the size of elephants beating his insides with sticks while he waited for her fashionable shoe to drop.

And still he couldn’t peel his hands from his dick, loving the smooth stroke as he encouraged his hardness. His head was swirling on empty, commonsense evaporated the moment her eyes fastened on his pale cock and watched his rhythm. A scent he’d never thought to experience again was almost swaying around the room, pushing all but his baser instincts to the back of his mind. He’d tasted her lips during that bloody destructive spell, felt her warmth against his body in a deeply frustrating way, and now, while locked up in her room, he’d tasted her knickers. He was so turned on he didn’t know what to do with himself.

And then she’d appeared, like an irate mum come to spank a naughty child. Only she hadn’t reacted with violence. Her initial arrival had threatened to flag his mast, but as her eyes stayed strong on him, as she investigated the unveiled manly bits with interest, blood shot straight back to his protruding rod and he felt himself almost cry out at the pain of overload.

“Can join in if you want,” Spike offered almost desperately. Balls! So annoyed with the autopilot his mouth was on. But she wasn’t turning on her heel and hoofing it back down the stairs. He nearly sat completely up, his eyes following her moves with an incredulous excitement that kept his hands almost glued in place.

As he lounged a little up, but still sitting, he watched her pull off each singular item of clothing, her own eyes stubbornly fastened on his dick and balls, licking her lips with a sincere concentration that almost caused him to release his load. And as each golden patch of skin was revealed to him, he could feel himself whimpering like a hungry puppy. Bared shoulders, arms, her flat tum wrapped in a bandage still from the mishap two nights before. He could smell the healing of it, the seal against blood. But then the legs; legs he’d molded through the fabric of her pants while she curled into his lap the previous year but he’d been dying with a passion to feel the silken surface beneath.

For a second he blacked out, only seeing the roar of red behind his eyes and the blackness of nothing as sensation became too much for him. But her sweet voice, all soft and girly encouraged him back, reminding that it was way too early for him to bow out of the show yet.

“Spike?” she asked shyly. “Can I come and play?”

He bolted fully upright, his cock pointing almost straight at her as his hands pressured it down, not knowing whether to shout or dive across the room; grab her and shove her to the bed.

She stood before him in her bra and panties, a lovely matching set in black satin and lace. Oh God, could he get any harder? He felt like his dick was gonna fall off if it got any more blood rushing through. It was like every wet dream come true: Buffy before him in just her knickers and bra, ready and willing for him to rub his cool flesh all over her naked bits. He couldn’t prevent the little tremble that took over his caressing hands, already picturing their replacement with her hot mouth.

Spike lay back down and spread his knees just a little wider under the pretence of getting comfortable.

“Can’t play, Pet. You’re wearing too many clothes for the party.” He eyed her lewdly, finding a bout of courage from inside he’d never thought possible in her presence. Particularly when he was lying completely starkers on her bed while rubbing his cock into a hopefully spewing frenzy.

She looked at him with suddenly frightened eyes, vulnerable from her sleepless night and traumatic day. She fidgeted, trying to cover her exposed skin before some internal decision was reached and she slowly began to remove the bra. Eyes rock solid on his shaft, she reached around herself to unclip the hooks and let her hands fall away, the lingerie drifting to the floor.

Spike allowed a hand to drift from its activity up to his forearm and gave his skin a vicious twist.

“Ow,” he shouted to the tune of Buffy’s amused giggle.

“What’d you do that for?” accompanied by the lowering of her panties. His mouth hung slack as he watched her step out of them.

“Thought I was dreamin’,” he told her, his voice suddenly very low and raspy.

“How do you know you’re not?” she whispered seductively, still not moving closer.

He felt a hunger that was desperate crash throughout his body, bringing him to an edge of release without even the benefit of her touch. Which wasn’t on. Not by a bloody long shot.

“Maybe if you pinch me, I’ll know for sure,” he encouraged, trying anything to get her closer to the bed.

He blinked and she was beside him, his nipple in her fingers as she squeezed with all her slayer strength. His eyes went wide as the pain pierced his chest and shot straight to his cock. A vampire was always up for a bit of pain.

“Bloody hell!” he erupted at her, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her into his lap.

“I know this is some kind of dream; not like you would be naked and not staking me otherwise. But you feel real enough, and I feel all inclined to taste a little of this succulent flesh.” His lips were all pale and engorged, watching her with the awe of a child suspecting his new toy to be ripped from his hands.

Buffy quavered on a moment of uncertainty, pictures of Riley and making love with him on this bed momentarily eclipsing the need she felt uncurling within her for this man—this vampire.

She raised her eyes and they glistened with passion; making decisions to follow her united heart and head for the very first time in her life. Their eyes melted into each other, their need one.

She could feel him poking her inner thigh, her skin so hot she felt giving in to pleasure might be the only way for her to cool back down. Buffy curled her arms around his neck, brushing the tips of her nipples against his hard chest, little fingering trickles of electricity sparking all through her, like mini fireworks going off at random.

“Make me forget, Spike.”

Her green gaze was pleading, so very sad in the burden of the day that it made his heart ache. He’d felt it the night before, the hopelessness that made the Slayer afraid. As he sat on her porch, not knowing whether to hold her or just be silent, he’d felt his own grief and worry about the health of one his favourite ladies.

“Can’t do that, pet. But I can make you feel good. Can make you bloody scream my name and forget all about Cock-up Commando.”

She giggled and he felt his hope soar, reaching heights he’d never allowed to think possible.

“Make me scream, Spike.” Her breath tickled the curls slicked back behind his ear, her tongue breaking the barrier by seeking out the shell and running a wet lick to the lobe, sucking into her mouth in a determination that blew his mind.

“I’d have to tie you up, luv. Think you could handle it?”

Buffy watched him; shocked. But the strain slowly drifted from her face as she considered it, shyness at being so thoroughly defenceless reddening her skin.

“Promise you won’t hurt me?” she begged, and his non-beating heart kicked in a beat.

He ran a gentle finger over her cheek, seeing the hesitance in her eyes and knowing that if he played his cards right, not only would he end up leaving her room still a thriving member of the undead, but maybe a little closer to his most fervent wish. To love Buffy from close up rather than afar.

Even though Spike suspected the unreality would disperse soon enough and leave him broken and depressed, he allowed his hands to tangle in Buffy’s hair, holding her head as he searched the Slayer’s eyes for her truth. He wanted her to be searching for him and the pleasure he could give her, not escaping the trials of her current circumstances by sinking into a sensual mindlessness with whoever was handy.

Her body shook against his. Little tremors getting bigger the longer he searched her soul, holding her inactive with his clenched fist. His eyes darkened with his awe, face softening as he accepted that she wanted this; was taking a chance on this.

And he’d better bleeding well be grateful for small mercies ‘cause under the circumstances, he was the luckiest bloke that walked the planet. He should be dust on her bedspread, having the nerve to spread himself out naked-- though glorious--and initiating pleasurable contact with panties on his face and hand on his cock.

To smell and taste her while he handled himself was just too good an opportunity to miss, and knowing Soldierboy was unlikely to return, he’d grasped it. It never occurred to him that Buffy herself might be back so soon, could witness him rubbing himself up while moaning her name.

He didn’t want to know why. Why she was home early, baring bad news or good. Didn’t want to know why the passive-aggressive, Boring Iowa Boy had missed her again. Didn’t want to know why she had stripped in front of his eyes and now perched almost lovingly in his lap, barely hovering over his weeping pole.

Buffy’s eyes told Spike that she wanted him, that she needed what he could give her. An hour or two of distraction, which implied the news was bad. Suddenly her permission to tie her up hit him in the gut and he wheezed, having missed that scrumptious tidbit somewhere in his preoccupation.

He swept her beneath him, laying her flat against the mattress. Her golden skin sang erotic songs to him, luring him as he lowered his head to one pale pink nipple poking all puckered up and begging him to scrape it with his teeth. Her back arched in a sneaky attempt to push her nipple further past his teeth, but he settled his warm hand--warm from friction--against her belly and held her down.

“Uh uh uh, pet. My game, my pace.” Spike traced a finger against the hollow at her neck slowly, dipping in to each curve before curling his back and lowering his head to the spot. His tongue darted out to taste her skin, eager to put a real sensation to the long imagined treat. His hand brushed the rough gauze of her bandage and he quirked a brow at her in question. A slight nod gave him enough impetus to begin its removal, tracing with a reverent finger the dried scab that protected the wound. He bent down and felt a rage jolt through him at her near miss; he kissed the spot and poured out all the animosity for his brethren for doing this, as well as all the anxiety he felt over her fate.

“I thought you were going to tie me up?” Buffy’s tongue fumbled over the words, almost ashamed that she had reminded him of doing something so utterly depraved to her. But the thought of being at his mercy, risking a little of her life to his hands, couldn’t help but bring back his cruel taunts, his too close jibes from the other night.

The things he’d told her, the things he’d learned by his interaction with the other Slayers. He’d learned by intuition, by observation. And what scared Buffy the most was the knowledge that Spike read people. He could look in your eyes and pull out the whole lot of you. The Buffy that was inside her was terrified he was correct, that he saw something flagging in the Slayer, see something about to capitulate to the beckoning of death.

She watched him with wide eyes, seeing the man and not the vampire, but still she was scared. “I don’t have a death wish, Spike. I don’t.”

He felt a knot in his chest expand, hurting him beyond the expected measure. He couldn’t explain why he was constantly trying to bring her down pegs, trying to show her arrogance up for the immaturity it was.

He’d been right, though.

Eventually every Slayer does have a death wish, and though it wasn’t fighting her now, he could see the weary lines around her eyes and the paleness of her face that indicated it might be on the horizon. He’d just have to make sure Buffy stayed strong, that she allowed Spike to help her stay strong.

He let his lips find hers, knowing that only softness would show her his depth. She lay under him, her lips at first immobile as she made one last effort to mentally detach from what she was doing, but Buffy couldn’t help but feel the wet silkiness of his tongue lick her lower lip, feel his cool breath settle over her lips. It set her heart beating on a crazy syncopated rhythm and her hands clinging to his shoulders.

His skin was so smooth under her fingers and Buffy felt tears prick her eyes at the slow, gentle way he was looking after her. And she had a revelation. Her need to trust him was strengthening with every moment she had spent with him lately. His rendition of how he’d killed two slayers had frightened her, took her back to the Spike she’d first met while he worshipped his loony girlfriend.

But that wasn’t who he was now, and she could see another reason for his harsh portrayal in storytelling. Like now he was trying to protect her, refusing to subject her to pain though he could probably get away with it if she let him. The chip might not recognise that making lo…having energetic sex would be an intent to rampage. But the point was, even with tying her up, she could see it wasn’t Spike’s intention to hurt her.

And so what if he did? Nothing in this room he could find to tie her with would be too strong to prevent her escape if she needed it. So she actively kissed him back, allowing his tongue into her mouth and sucking on it desperately as she made her decision. She would let him and see where he went with the action, see what she could learn about him in the process.

“No, baby. Not yet, and I’m gonna make sure you never do.”

His words made her jerk; recall her fear-fuelled denial of a few minutes earlier in relation to surrendering to her destiny. He was going to protect her, and why did that make her tummy feel all warm and fuzzy? The tears that never really backed down were up again, pushing at the barriers she had erected to keep them at bay.

“Tie me up, Spike. You promised to make me scream.”

His answering grin was pure evil. His lip curled and his tongue darted out to waggle at her. She knew she should be revolted, and maybe when she wasn’t so busy contemplating all the varied uses for that tongue, she just might be. He nodded his head at her, sliding his eyes to look at the wrought iron headboard.

Buffy lay back and placed her hands high so as to be bound, but he was shaking his head, his eyes dancing with a light of merriment and fun that Buffy hadn’t seen since the first night she’d met him.

It was the anticipation that took her. It challenged her own naïve version of how all this love play was meant to carry out.

“Sit up,” he demanded, and without any thought to disobeying him, she scooted up against the top of her bed. Buffy gasped when he took a slender wrist one at a time and tethered it to the bars of her bed frame with the twists and tucks of two pairs of her panties. He stuffed a pillow behind her back apparently absently, but the gentle touch to reassure not an inch of her skin lay against the cold metal gave her insight to Spike’s real motivation.

So she sat, feeling more exposed to his eye that she had the whole time she’d been before him naked. Buffy sucked in a ragged breath and became achingly aware that her chest was thrust up and out with the action.

“Almost pretty as a picture, Goldielocks. Gonna set you up real nice.” His voice was hypnotic, soft and rumbling as his hands stroked her smooth skin so gently, barely touching. They skimmed over her clenched knees, rubbing enticingly until he suddenly pried them apart and spread her legs wide. He positioned each little foot to either side of her bed, leaving her glistening wet pussy open and weeping to his hungry gaze.

“Bloody hell!” he muttered, unable to reach a higher level with the awe choking his voice.

He looked up, concerned at the fear that seemed to hang around the corners of her mouth. One finger wiped them away while he shared with her an intimate, tender smile.

“You are so beautiful, and I am going to worship you.”

Buffy nodded helplessly, already feeling a tightening in her stomach, telling her that though she was set up like some kinky sex slave, it was doing wonders for her libido.

His mouth dived again to her neck, leaving long wet kisses on her sensitive flesh. Two hands found each rock hard nub and he played, rubbing and rolling them between his fingers before he felt it time already to taste. His hands swept to cup the sides of her breasts, pushing them in against each other so he could reach each nipple easily with his cool lips, sucking each one alternatively and slowly swirling with his tongue, capturing each with a little sharp bite.

Buffy sunk into an abyss of pleasure, wondering if she would ever want to come out of this haze. Spike’s hands tickled lightly over her ribs to her waist, holding her steady as he continued to suckle on her breasts, each little scrape of his teeth jarring her into another helpless moan. She could feel herself suck in her stomach, arching back in an effort to call him lower, and almost missing the move, he was.

Buffy felt helpless against his touch; against the drugging surety of his lips. A little cry in her head-- but not her heart—reminded the little girl in her of Riley. Solid, dependable Riley that loved her. Loved her so much he was suffocating her with his normality, with his lack of understanding. Wanting to be there for her when she didn’t need him; didn’t want him because she had Spike.

Oh God, she couldn’t run away from it. For so long he’d been apart of her dreams, long nights of sheltering behind lusty dreams of Spike. He was everything Riley wasn’t, yet so very much more.

He let her breathe.

Like last night, when he was closer than he had ever been post-‘The Spell’, and he hadn’t submerged her under masculine deliverance and comfort. He just was. Perfectly what she needed in her time of crisis, in her moment of Buffyness. Her weakness. He’d countered her terror and just was. Buffy felt so grateful.

And her gratitude lent her toward selfishness; but only if he was, too. Only if he took from her, and allowed her to feel like she was a successful giver. Not like Riley who criticised her for her lack. The bitter anti-Riley thoughts came to her with no shock, knowing down somewhere deep where she didn’t like to acknowledge truths that she had outgrown him, had probably outgrown the concept of normal the first time she had felt Spike’s manipulative lips against hers. Those same lips that now gave her such tingling pleasure that she knew he was claiming every part of her he licked.

Her knees widely parted, Spike curved a hand under each leg and buried his head against the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Almost as if she knew what to do, she obeyed his silent commands and allowed her legs to rest on his shoulders, his now hot tongue gliding around the outer edge of her pussy lips as he seemed to be searching for the opening at which to dive. The opportunity was tardy, yet when it came she nearly stroked at the wet slide of his tongue; inside her, outside her, he was everywhere. Spike sucked and licked, letting his tongue get lost in the taste and shape of her. Buffy’s clit stood out like a small little soldier, demanding her time with the powerful master. He engulfed her clit in his mouth, curving his tongue around it and blowing coolly, stretching it like silly string away from her body and nipping gently with his teeth.

“Spike!” she screeched almost without warning as the tension of sensation consumed and then burned her.

Continuing moans poured from Buffy’s mouth, great guttural grunts that came from all the way down her gut. He could feel their pressure as he licked her, resolved to service the divine actuality of his Buffy. His senses were overcome; the sounds, the taste, the scent, he was going out of his mind with a need to be everything to her, to do everything to her. He wanted to claim her mind, as well as her body. And her heart would be a nice tidy bonus!

His tongue kept up the onslaught, keeping her teetering on the edge of another precipice with nothing but the talent of his tongue.

And then he filled her with his fingers, the long slide of his rubbing, searching for the place that would make her writhe. A cold sweat broke out on her skin as she threw her head back, closing her eyes against the power of his pleasure. Her hands grabbed for the bars she was tied to, her breathing a heavy pant as she tried to bear the exquisite torture of his mouth and digits. She couldn’t stop the soft roll of her body as she moved to his dance, feeling almost faint as another build-up began to take her over…it was so loud, this roaring of blood that told her how close it all came to crashing down on top of her. There was music she wasn’t sure was outside her head, but the tongue and fingers that teased her to a second sweet release eclipsed the shattering crescendo.

Falling gradually, like a whispery feather falling from some great height, she attempted to slowly recover, only to tense when she felt Spike’s mouth stir her again, his fingers lavished with plenty of her natural lubricant pushing from her pussy lips on a journey to discover something else.

When one finger pushed into her back hole, Buffy wanted to jump from the bed. But as she could feel herself stretch, thoughts of Riley filtered low. He was there always, on the periphery of her life. Far more than Spike suspected he himself might have been. And she made the decision to leave him there.

Buffy had never considered herself the type of girl that would cheat on her boyfriend. Would have run a mile from any guy trying to hit on her while in a relationship, though that happened far less often than she could understand. So, in her mind a resolution was reached about what she was allowing. She no longer belonged to Riley, if she ever had.

Her head had pursued Spike amidst the topsy-turvy repercussions of Willow’s will, and on top of that her feelings of betrayal from Angel’s absence. Two vampires had caught her imagination-- her romance-- and lodged her in a world of fantasy unlike any normal boy could reproduce.

Buffy felt a sadness mingle with the heady highs of pleasure, but she knew there was no point lying to herself anymore. Riley was a liability to her, a hanger-on that she couldn’t afford to support. He played at being a superhero, and even though the Slayer suspected he would always blame the removal of his own computer chip for his weakness, to Buffy he always had been. A little stronger than the average human, maybe, but strong enough to survive in her world? Unlikely. It was all she was to manage to keep her friends alive.

The sensations wrought by Spike’s fingers were catastrophic to her train of thought and Buffy felt herself slip into another world. A world where this kind of tender lovemaking was a thing that revealed secrets, was a thing to celebrate regularly.

The tenderness forced her eyes open just as Spike came up for air, to be pulled back to the beacon of her breasts, plump and swollen in reaction to him. They stung with the need for touch, and as cool lips again painted invisible pictures against her skin, she felt them slip into a sigh of relief.

The panties were removed from Buffy’s wrists at the same time as her throat released a small sob. With sudden tears in her eyes, Buffy watched Spike as he moved in for a kiss. At her intent stare, he halted, his lips barely a lick away from hers. It was Buffy that covered the distance, keeping her eyes open for the beginning of the kiss as the slow yet sweet torture told tales to the one bestowing it.

They both allowed lids to fall as they sighed into the kiss, lips crying out for the completion of its partner. They were joined so carefully, so sensually that the tears began to drip from Buffy’s eyes. As the salt sank into the cracks around their lips, Buffy curled her arms around her vampire’s neck, preventing him from pulling away from the embrace.

Spike was lost, the tang of Slayer tears giving him the stamp of reality like nothing else could have. His hand moved of its own volition and held her flush against him, squashing her beautiful breasts against his chest. Though another part of him was swelled to the point of agony, he invested more of his time into capturing her completely, his tongue slow in its exploration of her mouth, submerging past her lips to tangle and tame the wild neediness of her own.

The slow rub of them together heated Spike’s blood like nothing else. Not even fresh blood gorged from the source. For the first time he felt guilt for what he was; for the subconscious things he thought. Images of death didn’t belong to this moment, only sweet caresses of love. Even if Buffy didn’t recognise them.

When her weight had fully relaxed against him, her body as pliable as a wet noodle, he rolled her to the side, her hair fanning beneath him as he allowed his lips to drift and coddle her jaw.

“Pet,” he whispered into her skin and he rejoiced in both the flush and the shudder than ran through her at the sound of his voice. “Need you to touch me, baby.”

Spike felt a breath catch in his throat, more than expecting his request to be the catalyst for all this to come to an abrupt end. But instead he felt warm hands engulf his cock and he moaned a sob of sweet relief. A gentle push and Buffy had rolled him to his back, a tentative smile offered as she began to play.

Hair shifted against his shape as she made for lower rewards. The brush of her cheek against his length was a surprise, but the soft trail of her mouth over his slit had him bucking his hips in desperation.

“Please, luv,” he willingly begged, knowing at this junction, if she forced him out he would walk straight out in the sun, no commando required.

“Argh,” was automatic as it bulleted past his suddenly numb lips, the blazing heat of her mouth as she spread her lips and sucked hard on the whole of his head, tongue slipping over the underside of his knob as his body dissolved into uncharacteristic shivers. And then her hand was cupping his balls, massaging them gently as her mouth began to venture further down the shaft.

Spike could feel his whole body flash fire, his hand reaching and stroking the softness of her hair. His knees spread and she altered position, climbing into the space so she could comfortably go to town with consuming his cock. He felt the tip bounce against the back of her throat and felt compelled to babble nonsensical encouragement, complete drivel spewing forth in an effort to counteract just a little of the intensity. Just a little thing for his brain to focus on so he didn’t combust on the spot.

He could feel the rush of his cum as it began to climb, could feel the fluid enter the final run and quickly pulled Buffy from her position. She looked bewildered and dazed as she looked at him, licking her lips hungrily. He grabbed her and pulled her into another urgent kiss, hands skimming the flesh of her back to curve around her backside and position her over his sensation sensitive cock.

Buffy rubbed her sopping pussy against him, allowing his head to travel shallowly around the places he’d so recently worshipped with his tongue. All of a sudden she stopped teasing and was still, no words spoken as she sought his gaze and kept it, not wavering as she allowed him to breach a centimetre of her opening. The first tiny stretching widened her lids in surprised pleasure, and Buffy clung to the communication of their locked eyes as she slowly lowered herself, her insides wanting to clench against the stretch that was forcing their submission to a girth that was new and yet very, very exciting.

It hurt a little, but in such a good way that the tears that fell to her cheeks were ones of happiness. Buffy could feel herself finally sink to the root of his cock and she whimpered in a heightened level of passion, so thoroughly stretched that she felt a little close to bursting. Her first move up brought the sensation even stronger, and as Spike claimed her nipples for toys, Buffy felt herself already head toward a release. God, it was so good. This feeling, this fever that caught her blood was so much, too much but yet, not enough.

The pulling at her nipples created a vacuum of arrowed pain. Buffy ran her hands over his abs first, then smoothed their way to Spike’s pectorals and she marvelled how he could be so perfect, so beautiful, and so hers. In the back of her head, she’d known this would happen. Since the spell, since the chip forced him into her life again, but permanently. All the abuse, the nastiness designed to force a distance, was never going to work. Not when they were too alike, not when their bodies together could be this explosive.

How could something that felt this good possibly be wrong?

Buffy was no fool. She’d been with Angel, and received a ‘nice’ night and a very rude awakening. She’d been with Parker and had a less than mediocre night and another bitter rejection. She’d been with big bear-like Riley, experienced sex in a more ordered and rigid fashion. None of it had felt like this.

None of it made her feel like she was floating. None of it made her feel like she was a Goddess.

A Goddess beneath him as Spike flipped the tables and got himself closer to her. Not once had they lost eye contact since the first penetration. He lost himself in the depth of her revelation and rejoiced at how happy she seemed to be with him moving within her.

A soft kiss to her lips and he had her eye again, pumping his rod for all his worth, then slowing to an agonising pace before her frantic cries propelled him to action once again.

The tingles spread between them, developing to a flush that erupted as Spike’s steady pumping pushed them both to the edge. Actions caught them in a web of feeling, and Spike craved for the emotion to match the act. He could feel the difference, knew so thoroughly what this moment had meant to him. To her he wasn’t so sure. Beyond a little escape, he was too scared to think about it.

They came tumbling past his lips as the roll of his hips, the rub of his cock against her spongy inner walls snapped them off the edge. Gushing warmth from his fired up blood packed a wallop, the spray of his cum against the top of her womb such a reassuring thing that…Buffy listened.

Listened to his jumbled words of devotion as his body fought against the come down that came with satiation. His hoarse voice revealing secrets that made her smile happily…made her insides skitter uncontrollably, telling her this moment was finally the right one.

Buffy curled her legs up around Spike’s hips, ensuring his remaining connection, and then pushed him up a little. She revelled in his confusion as she let her eyes feast on the pale length of him that remained firmly seated within her.

Buffy wanted this.

Despite whatever was coming, what animosity would be thrown their way, she wanted to feel this sense of euphoria again and again. Wanted this strength to be fully behind her when the trouble came.

Pulling him back down to rest against her breast, Buffy buried her face against his throat. And with a resulting shout of shock, she sunk her tiny teeth deeply into his skin. She delighted in the roar that burst from his throat and was only a little apprehensive when fangs sliced into her neck.

Her own mark taken care of, Buffy’s head fell back as she took in the pleasure of the feral bite, feeling her blood pound through her veins, the orgasm rip through her body. It was strong as the blood was pulled from her vein, two, three gulps before Spike cut himself off from her addictive life-force.

Only when they were done, when the shock of the whole thing wore off for them, did they make two rather large observations. The chip hadn’t fired. Buffy actually enjoyed the smirk that curled along Spike’s lips, amused at his macho display of domination.

And then they noticed Riley’s presence in the doorway.

A sadness for things passed over invaded Buffy as she looked at the man who was still her boyfriend. At least in the literal sense.

“Don’t tell me this isn’t what it looks like,” he demanded, stony eyes beading in hate as he ground them into the image of Spike.

“All right, won’t then.” Spike stood, all his treasures dripping and dangling to view, stretching casually and scratching at his belly. Buffy cringed her embarrassment as she made quick work covering her nudity with a sheet.

“Riley, there’s nothing to say.”

He turned pained and betrayed eyes on Buffy, but remained completely silent, waiting for some indication from her on how he was to act.

Buffy made no step to reassure him, and instead reached out a shaking hand to Spike, now clad in his trademark black denim, unbuttoned and resting dangerously low on his hips. His blue eyes seemed a bit misty as he took hold of her proffered hand, and brought it slowly to his lips. He was drowning in awe at her choice in him and he sat on the bed beside her, tucking her hastily worn sheet more tightly around her.

Riley’s fury buckled under their unity; he lowered his eyes and thought.

“I told Xander you didn’t love me.” He looked up one final time, heartbreak and betrayal causing his shoulders to tremble. “Didn’t think I’d lose out to…” Words failed him and he turned away.

“Goodbye, Buffy.”

The crack in his voice brought a choking lump to her throat, and she couldn’t help but call out, wanting to do something but knowing there was nothing that could make this easier.

“I’m sorry, Riley. This wasn’t planned. It wasn’t right to do this to you, and it was the first time. But it wasn’t wrong.” But she had turned away by the last, pledging herself to Spike in the determination of her gaze.

And as Riley left the house, Spike looked once at their joined hands, then the realisation of feeling on her face, and he smiled.