Ta-da! Back with the final installment. Whew. This part may also need some more tweaking, but if I waited until I was completely satisfied, I’d never get anything posted. Heh.
Once again, many thanks to the lovely itmustbetuesday for all her hard work on seasonal_spuffy. It’s been a pleasure taking part and an even bigger pleasure sharing a posting day with the amazing thisficklemob.
Next on the agenda… replying to comments and reading some great fic. Whoo-hoo!
But first…
Title: Something in It
Author: annapurna_2
Setting: Season 2, around the time of “What’s My Line – Part 1.” Then it… um… goes a bit AU. Heh.
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spike makes Buffy an offer she can’t refuse.
Author’s Notes: This was something of an experiment for me, using a little different style. We’ll see how that worked out. ::rolls eyes::
CHAPTER THREE
His mouth is there, between her legs. Like in her dream. Only so much better. And so much worse. And in between, the things he says… it shouldn’t make her feel this way. Shouldn’t make her moan and sigh. Shouldn’t make her reach for his head, tangle her fingers in his hair, pull him closer, urge him deeper.
Shouldn’t make her cry out when at last he pulls back.
He’s breathing hard, eyes darker than she thinks they ought to be. His lips are shiny, wet with her juices, her essence, and she surges up to reach his mouth. To taste herself on him. But stops just shy of his face.
She can’t. She won’t. She’s not that far gone.
The lips she won’t kiss curl into a knowing smirk that makes her long to smash his beautiful face. But that’s not all she wants to do and they both know it. The danger to Angel is only part of the reason she holds back.
He settles against her, all muscle and marble – stealing her breath as he tempts her fingers with rock-hard biceps and strong, sinewy back. Stealing rational thought with a twist of his hips and the slow, insistent nudging in that place he’s branded with his lips and tongue.
She’s needy and throbbing, and the slick, hot friction makes her ache for more. Spreads her legs wider. Runs greedy hands over the steel globes of his ass, digging in with her nails, lifting her hips in blatant invitation.
He hisses sharply then laughs, half undone but still triumphant. Won’t give her what she needs. Expects her to wait when impatient is all she’s ever been.
Then his finger slips inside. Taunts her with a taste of what’s to come. Works her hard, strokes her fast, fondles her into a glorious frenzy. Whispers something low and dirty in her ear.
Ohgodohgodohgod…
She clutches at his head, buries fingers in his hair, pulls him all the way down to her desperate, seeking, gasping mouth. Falls into the stormy blue of his eyes as the wall crumbles and tumbles and crashes down.
Hungry, raw, damn-it-all-to-hell and then some.
Of course he would kiss this way.
And finally he’s inside, last wall breached. Fast and sharp – filling, stretching, catching her scream in his throat. She clutches him hard. Feels the pain but doesn’t care. Can’t get him deep enough. Can never get him deep enough.
Knows, with a terrible sense of hopelessness, that she’s forever bound to him now. Willing or not, this part of her will always be his.
Her spine arches off the bed, head falling back, offering the last thing she has left to give. But not her heart. Never her heart. He’d have to steal that, and of course he never could. Not even if he wanted to, which is nothing but crazy.
He follows her mouth. Ignores the golden length of her throat, clearly intent on another prize. Power and passion clash in a breathless battle of lips, teeth, tongues. She tastes blood. Doesn’t know if it’s hers or his. Can’t take time to care. Too much, too fast. But she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Then she feels him there, licking the throbbing pulse point beneath her jaw, trailing his tongue along the chords of her neck. Teasing, tasting, seeking out the life that flows through her veins. And all the while he moves inside her, making her feel in ways she never knew she could.
Fangs scrape against the tender flesh of her neck and it only drives her harder. Yearning, reaching, straining for something she just half understands. Too much and never enough, building and building until she’s certain she’ll shatter apart with the sheer power of it, but she wants it anyway. Needs it with a blind hunger that has nothing to do with right or wrong.
He bites and she comes hard, gasping and sobbing with the force of the explosion. She feels him in her, above and below. Possessing, devouring – taking everything as she falls. Lips, tongue, throat working in tandem, her lifeblood flowing into him on a tide of sensation.
There’s a moment when she thinks he won’t stop. That he’ll keep drinking until he’s taken all of her. Nothing left but an empty shell and the power that burns in his veins. A part of her is glad. It feels right, like the way it’s supposed to end. But most of her is sad because she can’t imagine never feeling this again.
Her head starts to swim and a strange sense of weightlessness creeps into her limbs. Then fangs gently, almost reverently withdraw, leaving her achingly bereft and adrift. She barely stifles a protest, turning her head to meet his eyes. Stunned at what she sees there, at what she feels as she gazes back.
Some of it must show on her face. Impossibly, he grows even harder inside her.
She gasps – a tiny sound, a hitch so soft that only a vampire could have heard. He smirks and the moment is gone, replaced by brash bravado and ultimate control. When he starts to move again, he’s detached, remote, defiantly untouched. Each powerful thrust is calculated to prove something. Make her scream. Make her beg. Make her come again.
But it’s more than a life hanging in the balance, and she won’t let it go. Can’t let him walk away knowing he’s won.
As he rolls his shoulders and lowers his head, she makes her move – surges upward, latches on, small teeth sinking into the muscled column of his neck. She bites down, squeezes him hard.
The response is electric.
His body jerks and a deep roar escapes his lips, head snapping back, hips pumping wildly, slapping against her in a wild staccato of unbridled passion. She hears each labored breath, feels every taut muscle in his body. He pounds into her with a single-minded ferocity that takes her over the edge once more.
As it does, she bites down harder.
For the space of a heartbeat, his body seizes up. Then he’s spilling into her, groaning her name, filling her with heated passion and cold triumph. She releases her hold on his neck, her mouth seeking his. Opens wide beneath his demanding lips as he meets her halfway. Tongue plunging inside, eager to accept this unexpected concession, possessing her as thoroughly as she possesses him.
She’s never kissed like this before. Deeper, harder, so intimate it makes her quiver all over.
Their lips finally part as his arms relax and his body sinks into hers, covering but not smothering. She welcomes the weight. It holds her down, gives her an excuse to lie quiescent beneath him. In this moment, she doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to do. Only has to be.
But too soon, he stirs, pulls away, leaves her empty and sore. He won’t look at her, and she’s glad, relieved now to have it over. Ashamed of what she’s let herself feel.
She reaches for the sheet, covering herself as he dresses, refusing that last glimpse of what has once again become forbidden territory. Cold calm descends, and when she looks again it’s with all the scorn and anger in the world.
“I’m going with you. I don’t trust you to keep your word. And he’d better be okay, or I’ll make sure you won’t have anyone to cure.”
He shrugs into his coat before he finally looks at her. “Don’t have to go.”
She grits her teeth. “Really do.” Makes herself look him in the eye.
His head tilts, and she sees quite clearly the mark she’s left on his neck. Her own twin pricks throb in recognition.
“Don’t,” he repeats and smiles. “Don’t have him. Never did.”
The revelation strikes with cold precision. It takes her a minute to know what to say.
“You lied.”
“Shocking. But, yeah.”
The chill spreads. “Oh god.”
Wicked triumph dances in his eyes. “Now don’t be like that, pet. Could give a bloke an inferiority complex. Make him think you didn’t really want it.”
And just like that, ice-cold shock gives way to red-hot fury. “I didn’t! You fucking bastard!”
He grins, tongue tucked behind his teeth in unholy glee. “So I am. But tell me something, Slayer. Why didn’t you ask for proof? Afraid I wouldn’t have any for you?”
Her glare is fierce. Her voice stabs. “Angel was the only reason I let you touch me. The only reason for any of this! Everything about you disgusts me.”
Blood loss has left her sluggish. He’s in her face before she can blink.
“That’s right. Go on and tell yourself you did it for him… that you didn’t like it, not even a little. Lie to yourself, if that’s what makes you feel better. But the truth is there, Slayer, deep in your gut and twixt those lovely, wet thighs. It’s a part of you now, as much a part as I am, and you’ll never be free of it, no matter how hard you try.”
He straightens again, black-leather back mocking her as he turns to leave. He knows she won’t stake him, not tonight. And damn it, she knows it, too.
But she’s not the only one pretending.
“I guess you should know.”
The truth strikes him smack between the shoulder blades, his body halting in mid-stride, head lifting as he stares through the open window. Refuses to turn. She gets a perverse thrill of satisfaction as his left hand curls into a fist then slowly relaxes.
Vampire, 1; Slayer, 1. Tie game.
“Give Drusilla my regards. Be sure to tell her it didn’t mean anything. If it makes you feel better.”
This time, he gives her the last word. She’s not convinced that’s a good thing. The silence he leaves behind as he slips out the window is all too damning. For them both.
She slides off the bed and crosses the room, not bothering to retrieve her clothing from the floor. In the second or two it takes to reach the window, he’s had plenty of time to vanish. But he’s still there, and for some reason she’s not surprised. Standing beneath the large oak tree outside her room. Not moving. Staring up at her.
Tomorrow, she’ll rage. Tomorrow, she’ll lie. Tomorrow, she’ll pretend it never happened. It’s easier that way.
But tonight, she returns his gaze as something unspoken passes between them.
And there’s a part of her that knows she isn’t dreaming.
—————————
FINIS
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/37089.html
