Title: Gentle
Author: OneTwoMany
Email: onetwomany@bigpond.com
Summary: Let's fill in some of those blanks in Chosen. B/S all the way, baby!
Spoilers: Everything that ever happened on BtVS
Rating: NC-17 (this part R for language)
Disclaimers: I own nothing. Trust me when I say I'm not worth suing.
Feedback: Love it! Onetwomany@bigpond.com
Thanks: Much thanks to Juliaabra, for the wonderful assistance and for the title.
Chapter 3
Spike stands as she enters, black clad, hair and skin shockingly pale even in the dim basement light. He's silent, waiting for her move. Always waiting for her these days. This new patience of his kind of freaks her out. Motionless, too, except for the caving of his cheekbones as he nervously grinds his teeth, and the slight swing of the amulet as it dangles from his fingers, sending spangles of light flashing onto the walls and floor.
She glances at the jewel for a moment. He's taking it seriously, whatever it is, and she suspects he knows more about it than she does. Perhaps senses something with those uncanny senses, that frightening intuition. All she knows is that it's dangerous, but she trusts him to be careful, to be brave. She smiles a little, unable to resist the wave of ironic pride that comes with seeing their secret weapon in the hands of her once greatest foe.
And still the silence stretches between them.
"Looks good on you" she says finally, worse cutting through the thick, expectant tension. "Brings out the blue in your eyes."
Spike smiles a little, twists his hand over and holds the amulet up a little. "That right? Maybe I should ask Peaches where I'd get the matching earrings."
Her smile widens a bit at that. Good, this is good, easy banter. She moves closer to him with quiet, easy steps. He looks uncertain at her approach, teeth gnawing at his lower lip and eyes open but questioning
"I'm thinking you should give that a miss," she replies. "The minimalist thing you're got going suits you well."
"That right?" There is something very much like a smirk breaking across his face, and his eyes suddenly glinting with a seductive mischief. There's her Spike. "I seem to remember that the last time I dressed up we..."
She covers the space between them, cuts him off with a kiss. It's gentle, her lips linger over his for the sparsest of seconds before she draws back. Drawing back, she takes in the shocked look in his eyes, and remembers a second later how she'd made a bad habit of shutting him up with a kiss. Decides she doesn't care. She's always been a woman of action rather than talk.
And so she reaches up, takes his face between her hands, and kisses him again. Really kisses him, with everything she's got.
It's like a first time and yet so totally not. There's no bumping of noses or mashing of teeth, no awkward clumsiness or fumbling explorations. She knows him well, knows his shape and taste and how to make his delicious mouth open with the gentle caress of her lips and tongue. He moans, and she glides her hands over his checks, his neck, down his arms, feels the muscles bunch and tremor beneath her touch. He's coiled like a spring, ready to burst, kinetic energy. Excitable and exciting; just being close to him sparks feeling in every cell of her body.
The moment passes, and Spike pulls away, his hands on her arms holding her away from his shaking body. The loss of contact surprises her, the slight gap between them suddenly a cold and terrifying chasm. Buffy feels the fear rise in her stomach, a virtual vertigo, fear that in her eagerness she's tripped and is about to fall.
Spike's fingers work her arms for what feels like eternity, as his lungs draw unneeded breath until he can finally meet her gaze.
"Wanted a final kiss, did you?" His voice is husky with desire, but his eyes wide, pupils surprisingly large with what looks a lot like fear.
Oh Spike, there's nothing to be scared of. She raises her hand to caress the contours of his angular face.
"I was thinking of maybe a bit more than that..." She admits softly.
He doesn't respond immediately. His hands loosen on her arms as he sucks in his cheeks, drops his gaze to the ground. Seconds, minutes tick by as the wall of silence condenses and rises again.
He use to be so good at the talking; sweet, clever words, seductive and sticky like soft, warm honey. They made her hot, made her burn, made her melt, pissed her off. She's hated them even as she longed for them. Never failed to tell him to shut the hell up. But what she wouldn't give for some of those words now. He says so little now.
Why doesn't he say something?
Finally, it's Buffy who breaks the silence.
"And he's speechless. But not in the way I was hoping for," She says. She tries for irritated-if-amused, but it comes out more hurt-and-insecure. This isn't going well.
Spike sucks his cheeks in again, until they look like fathomless hollows beneath his razor-like cheekbones. His gaze wavers for a second, back to the amulet, as if he's expecting it to provide some explanation for her apparently psycho behavior. Buffy's beginning to wonder if this isn't the most foolish move she's made; if she hasn't ruined everything by pushing too far. She can feel the blood rising in her cheeks, expects that he can smell it.
"Bit flummoxed, luv." He begins. "Not complaining, mind. But this is kinda hitting me out of the blue."
This is wrong, all wrong. Stupid. She doesn't know whether to be angry, or disappointment. Tries to reconstruct the walls, make for another controlled and dignified exit, but she's already lowered them just a little to much. To late, she feels the emotion swell, pour out in an embarrassing wave of babble.
"I know. This is unfair, and I have the worst timing, and I'm probably taking advantage. And if you don't want to...don't want me..."
He silences her with a whimsical smile and a finger on her lips. "I always want you, Slayer." His hand moves to caress her cheek. "Just gotta know you want me. Really want me. Don't fancy being kicked in the head tomorrow. Not good for my aim, you know."
She smiles, feels the relief wash over her in a giant, cool wave that seems to simultaneously wash away her working knowledge of the English language as well. Unable to find the words to answer him, so she meets his blue-flame eyes and tries to tell him everything, tries to open her soul to him.
And as she does, she can see the flimsy walls melt beneath the heat of rising hope and searing passion.
"Not gonna kick you tomorrow, although I can't promise anything else."
This time, he kisses her. Clever lips guiding her into a sensual dance. There's no shyness, no hesitancy this time. His hands capture her face, tangle in her hair, as his tongue plunders her mouth, seeking out places familiar and forgotten. Good, so good.
God, she needed this. Needed to feel like this, to connect and release and simply enjoy being alive. Live in the moment. Live this night.
She feels the world around them begin to melt away.
She lets it.
A skilled hand glides down Buffy's spine, and she arches his response, gasps enough to break the kiss. But only for a second, hungry moves reconnecting with desperate urgency. Hand settled on the small of her back, he pulls her too him, until her stomach is flush against his straining erection. He grinds against her in short, urgent motions, and her body responds instinctively, drawing upon memories buried deep beneath. She thrusts her stomach out a little more, grinds against him in turn as the heat between rises to a nearly unbearable level.
"Fuck it." He gasps. "Do whatever you want to me tomorrow...just keep doing that..."
The need to touch all of him, right now, is overwhelming. Buffy's hands glide from their resting place on hips, up under his shirt, over his flanks and the stark bones of his rib-cage. He quivers and groans as her blunt nails rake over his nipples, enticing them into hard peaks. She's such power of him, feminine power. God, she loves the feeling.
But it's not enough. Too much clothing. The T-shirt has gotta go. She pauses, a small, practical part of her mind reminding her of his critical clothing situation. Aw, screw it. She rips the fabric off his, and can't help but grin as he gasps with shock and pleasure.
"Slayer strength. So many uses." She manages between kisses.
"And I'm eagerly anticipating the next demonstration."
But there's no need for such strength now. Her hands on his chest are gentle, guiding him toward the cot. Smooth, beautiful chest he has, skin flawless and white. So weird. She's use to him ragged, torn and scratched, marked by the harsh rampage of her careless fingers and sharpened nails. Despite his recent tortures, he's had time for skin to heal and scars to fade so that he now looks deliciously perfect. Like one of those marble statutes of Greek gods that filled her art textbook - although, she thinks satisfaction, significantly better endowed.
She feels like she's floating, almost dream-like, stress and pressure have melted from her limbs, body floating without its weight of burdens. But she smiles as Spike takes clumsy, awkward steps beneath the pressure of her hands, his usual grace abandoned to passion. Their tongues are tangled and legs moving awkwardly together. He breaks the kiss only when his the back of his legs touch the cot. She pushes him down gently, and he sits carefully on the edge, actually looks endearingly embarrassed as he pushes a magazine and a packet of cigarettes onto the floor. People Magazine. So Spike.
They're making a mess. Watch how much she doesn't care.
Still sitting on the bed, he pulls her between his legs, runs his hands up her sides. The fabric of her shirt bunches slightly beneath his fingers before falling again. He traces the outline of her breasts, then slips his hands under the lapels of her jacket and pushes it off her shoulders with slightly trembling hands.
"Love touching you. Feeling your hot little body. So alive..."
He's rambling, suddenly not making a lot of sense, but then she's not thinking particularly clearly either. She watches, trying to focus as he struggles to remove her shirt next. She lets him undo the buttons, even when he takes so much time that she thinks she'll faint or explode. Where's that legendary vampire co-ordination now?
"...you like my hands on you too don't you pet." She wonders if that's a question, and there's enough hurt and desperation in his voice that she gasps out an answer.
She's wearing a simple, plain bra, more for utility than seduction, but if Spike's deep, limb-melting groan is anything to go by, he certainly doesn't seem to care.
Stepping out of Spike's grasp for a second, Buffy works her boots and pants off herself. He makes a slight whimpering sound at the loss of her touch, but it's more erotic than pathetic. He never removes his gaze from her, eyes burning with the intensity of blue-flame, tinged with yellow. So, so hot, in every sense of the word. Now she feels her insides turn to mush as well.
Finally, she's naked before him, and she tries not to think at all. The lack of clothes thing is still weird to her. He wasn't wrong, he'd seen it all. Licked it all even. Been up close and personal with every square inch of her skin. But that was during sex, or in the heat of passion, or when she wasn't really there. So different, this calm scrutiny. She'd never really given him the time to just look before. Well, not without letting him tie her up first, anyway.
"So beautiful." He murmurs "Glorious. Golden and bright. My own sunrise."
She grins. There's her sex-addled, not-so-eloquent vampire. Usually so clever with the words. Oh, how she loves that she can reduce him to this.
"You're not so bad yourself."
A sudden movement, and he pulls her back between his legs. Right where she wants to be. His mouth fastens on her nipple. Shit. Her jellied legs wobble, and for a moment she can't believe she's actually even still standing. She smiles with satisfaction as she feels his thighs tremble beneath her touch, one foot tapping nervously on the ground. He's always in motion. One of the many little quirks that bring a smile to her face, of the many things that are so very Spike.
Her hands cares, and she suddenly can't help but wonder why he is still in almost dressed. It's a situation that must be remedied, and her hands begin working the buttons of his jeans with a determined energy.
He hasps and breaks away from her as she finally unfastens his jeans. Realised from its prison, his cock bursts free. Beautiful cock, rich rose color, swollen and eager. She runs her hand down his length, silk over steel. For a moment they are both frozen, she luxuriating in the feel of him as he moans and gasps at her touch. She longs to taste him, can feel her tongue lips her lips, but he's tilts her head up and captures her lips before she can.
"Not now" he whispers between kisses. "Got me a bit too excited to stand much of that, yeah."
Twisting, he maneuvers her onto the cot. It squeaks slightly beneath their weight as he settles himself on top of her. The perfect weight, presses her into the bed, covers her without smothering her. God, so familiar, comforting.
She loves the feel of his chest, cool and dry against her moist, sticky breasts. But the denim of his jeans is rough, too rough against her heated, sensitive skin and her hands and legs work to push them down his thighs. He kisses her all the while, on her lips, her chin, across her cheeks then down her neck. Oh! He finds that soft, sensitive place beneath her ear, and she shudders beneath him as he bites down gently.
"Missed this...missed you." He murmurs into her ear, voice is muffled against her skin.
"I know." She gasps.
"So long..."
"Too long..."
He draws himself up to look at her, a delicious, wolfish grin breaking across his face. Now that's her vampire.
"Gonna make up for lost time." He promises. And this time, his voice is muffled only was the rumbling, deep growl. How she loves that sound! It ripples through her, releasing a wave of longing and a gush of warmth between her legs.
Then he's moving down her body, lips tracing the line of her neck, her clavicle, before his mouth closes over one hard nipple. God, the things he can do, the way he makes her feel! Unable to get the jeans down further, her hands move unconsciously to grab his head, hold him to her as her fingers wind into bristly curls.
Raises his hand to play with her other breast. Clever, deadly fingers. Talented at pleasure and pain. She watches his beautiful back arch and writhe, muscles slipping and bunching beneath the skin as he licks and pets past the areola to nip at the skin above her sternum. Shit! So good...
He traces the bones of her ribs, the sensitive skin of her side, then over hip and down one leg and his tongue circles around her navel. Leaves a warm, wet trail that makes her shudder and her stomach fill with butterflies. Finishes the journey with a gentle kiss that makes her leap then starts downward again. Hand traces back up her calf, slips between her legs. She almost swoons, opens her legs wider and thrusts into his waiting fingers.
She can feel him smirk against her skin. He's an arrogant jerk at times, another of those quirks. Fingers trace her in long, knowing strokes and he glances down, then up to catch her eye.
"Look at you, Slayer. All ripe and juicy." Rumbly-purry voice, causes another flow of liquid. "Delicious and ready and all for me. All mine."
"So what are you gonna do with me?"
He's between her legs in second.
Tongue delving deep, reaching places untouched for over a year. Pleasure shoots through her, causes her to arc and cry and grip his shoulders with bruising intensity. It's times like this she's beyond thankful that he's not a normal man. There's no need to hold back, to cling to some semblance of control lest she crush her lover's head or squeeze out that manly bravado. Instead, she loses herself to the sensations, only vaguely aware of closing her legs close around him, drawing him in. In as far as he can go. Now.
Touch me. Mine.
And then she's coming. Flying and falling and exploding into a million little pieces, scattering through a vacuum of timeless, stress-less, bliss. Finally, finally free.
He still there when she comes down, lapping gently against the painfully sensitive skin. How can he keep doing that. Of course, he has no need to breathe. No aching, sore muscles, either.
Incomparable.
"Get up here Spike."
She doesn't have to ask him twice. He moves up her body with the cat-like grace. Her vampire panther, pale and white. Aren't there white tigers? Or a lynx? Sometimes she thinks the silliest things, but it doesn't matter as he kisses her again. She can taste herself on him, potent and salty. Feel, also, that his smiling against her lips, and his body rumbling with that soft growly sound he knows she's loves. The slight vibration sends tingles pins and needles through her, causes her toes to curl.
He breaks the kiss and smiles at her. A deep, wide smile. So long since she's seen him happy, and it's such a gorgeous sight, white teeth and flashing sapphire eyes. Devil may case mischief. Even more gorgeous because he's hair is sex-rumpled and wild. Whose hair sticks straight up now, Spike?
"I love you." He says.
Sort, simple, unexpected at this time, the honesty and truth of the words obvious from the expression in his eyes. So matter of fact. A moment of fear as she wonders how to respond. Terror, even. Things are still so uncertain, and she only wanted this. But he kisses her and saves her from deciding now. Knows her to well for his own good.
She raises and bends her legs around him. It's an invitation he understands well. Shifts his hips, and she can feel his cock at her entrance for the barest second before he pushes inside with a groan and a shudder.
"God..."
"Christ..."
He fills her completely, wonderful and perfect despite the moments discomfort. Been a while, but it's a welcome violation. His eyes, squeezed shut at the moment of entrance, open and find hers. There's a desperation there, waves of it washing over his open, eyes, along with disbelief and relief. And love. Pure, adoring love that makes her heart ache and her throat seize-up and her stomach turn to jelly.
She watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. Leans up and kisses it, feels him jump inside of her.
"Not helping..." he rasps.
His face is a study in concentration; and she can feel the muscles of his body fluttering under her fingers. He's taking this so seriously, and she feels a rush something very much like adoration spread from her heart through her limbs.
Suddenly, despite the simmering passion, it's important that she be so very gentle. She smiles, gently touches his face. Feels the line of his razor sharp cheekbones as his beautiful, blue-fire eyes lock with hers.
"It's okay." She whispers. "We've got all night to get this right..."
And then there's merriment in his expression, and a delightful teasing tone in his voice. "This is us slayer. Since when did we ever get it wrong?"
Then, drawing a shaky breath, he begins to move slowly within her. Just gentle undulations, coupled with tentative caresses as they explore and familiarize themselves with each other's bodies again. She glides her hands over the slope of his of his neck, the tight muscles between his sharp shoulder blades, the sensitive hollow of his back.
He rests his forehead against hers, eyes still fixed, gaze penetrating her more deeply than cock. They're both gasping, sharing breath, his scentless, dry, but warmed slightly within his straining, energized body. She wraps her legs above his hips, heals digging into the small of his back. Voiceless mutual agreement passes between them, and he pushes harder, deeper, their joined hips rising from the bed and bunching the sheets beneath them. Gentleness forgotten, she's grinding herself against him as he plunges into her with a force that would probably split a normal woman. Muscles clenching, fluttering, and she's arching and crying and coming for the second glorious time.
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she's aware of Spike collapsing on top of her, strong arms failing him. He buries his head between her shoulder and her neck, back trembling slightly, and she can see her fingers leaving a sticky wet trail down his back. The temptation to murmur endearment is real and frightening, but she's never been great at choosing words. So instead she lazily runs her foot down the back of his thigh and calf, runs her hand through his neck and hair and tries to re-fill her burning lungs with needed air while her vampire lover draws his own, unneeded but steadying breaths.
Finally, Spike shakes his head and begins to push himself off her, and she almost forgets herself as she watches, fascinated, while his muscles move beneath the quicksilver skin of his back. The loss of connection is brings an unwelcome, unbidden burst of fear, and she holds him tight with legs and arms and gaze of steel. He's stares at her with wide, dark eyes.
"No. Stay for a bit"
"'m too heavy."
"No you're not. There's nothing of you. And, besides," she adds quickly, off his slightly incredulous look "I'm the Slayer, remember? Consider this display of slayer strength number two."
Spike smirks and shakes his head, almost laughs. "Well, I did say I was lookin' forward to the second demonstration."
He settles down again, hips still resting between hers, but body slightly off to one side. She flexes her muscles, reassured to find that she can still feel him within her. He's still watching her with that adoring gaze, but his eyes are now slightly watery and a little dazed. Nice, post-sex dazed. Satisfied. Gives her a rippling feeling of female pride to know she can reduce William the Bloody, slayer of slayers, to such a relaxed, kitten-y creature. Probably not exactly what the Watchers Council meant when they said that wanted him taken care of, but a mutually satisfactory outcome anyway.
This would usually be where the talking would begin, where he'd start with the constant run of words. Questions and demands and gentle teasing, soft syllables, husky accent, all bone-meltingly sexy words that would envelope her like warm, soft, honey. Their sticky sweetness has pissed her off no end, but how she'd longed for them. How she longs for his words.
But he doesn't talk now.
Why doesn't he talk?
Finally, it's Buffy who takes the initiative, says the only thing that comes to mind in the blurry aftermath of truly amazing sex.
"Spike..." the word is soft, coming from between her swollen, kiss-bruised lips.
"Yeah?"
"You're still wearing your jeans."
"Uh, yeah". He laughs, glancing downwards.
Again with the happy, and this time there's a mirth and shyness to his eyes that is distinctly un-Spike like. She imagines that if he could, he'd actually be blushing. He gives her a quick, light kiss, almost shy really, then finally rolls off her to kick his pants off the rest of the way. The loss of contact is sudden, harsh, and she can't help but tremble a little.
But then, the visual bonus as he stretches out beside her is almost worth it. Fully naked and so damn beautiful.
Sleek and powerful and totally lickable.
But best of all, hers.
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