Author: Scarlet Ibis
Title: Impact Epilogue
Season/Pairing: BtVS season 6/Spuffy
Summary: Epilogue to Impact, in which Buffy and Spike don’t tear down the building in “Smashed,” and take things slow instead (it’s short—please read it first). Movie night at the Summers’ residence…
A/N: Dedicated to Sotia for her birthday. Thanks to Immortal Beloved for her beta work, and to katekat1010 for the banner.
“Okay, guys. I think I’m gonna call it a night,” Willow announced as she got up from the Oriental rug on the living room floor, giving a bit of a stretch.
Buffy gave what she hoped was a convincing pout as she pressed the pause button on the remote.
“Oh, but we’re like halfway through the movie. I mean, I’m sure they will, but who knows if they’ll get back together?”
Willow, her face partly in shadow from the lights in the living room being off for movie night and the TV glowing behind her, gave a lopsided smile at that, looking fondly at the comfy-cozy couple on the couch. Spike had his arm wrapped securely around Buffy’s shoulders, while she snuggled contently against his side, head on his shoulder, and hand resting on his chest.
“It’s okay. Unlike you, I’ve seen ‘Save the Last Dance’ before. Right, Spike?” Willow asked with faux innocence.
“Hey, I was just… keeping the Bit company, is all,” he replied, feigning indignance. Willow scoffed at that.
“Yeah, ‘cause she was oh-so lonely that one time, even though me and Tara were right there on the couch with the two of you.”
Spike rolled his eyes good naturedly at her and then began to rub idle circles on Buffy’s shoulder to keep himself busy.
“Anyway, it was nice of you guys to invite me to your movie night. Really. What with Dawn and Tara doing the hanging out thing elsewhere, and Xander and Anya with their kink fest planned for tonight. Which really, I so didn’t need to know, but Anya wanted to be sure that I stayed away.”
“I think she wanted to be sure we all stayed away,” Buffy added with a grin.
“But yeah—you guys are new to coupledom. Not even your first week. I don’t wanna infringe upon you guys’ quality time any more than I already have, being all third wheelie, so…Night!” she finished cheerily with a little wave, turning to leave before Buffy or Spike could say anything else.
Not that either was planning on stopping her.
“I’ll be in my room all night with the door closed!” she called out from the top of the stairs. “Unless I have to use the ladies’ very badly, but I probably won’t, so, yeah!”
Buffy tilted her head up to look at Spike as the sound of Willow’s door shutting filtered down the stairs.
“Looks like it’s just me and you, guy.”
Spike, eyes soft, stared intently at her.
“Yeah, looks like,” he said softly. Spike then looked back at the frozen scene on the television, waiting for Buffy to un-pause it. Buffy frowned, but pushed play, wondering what his deal was.
It’d been three days — three days — since they came out with their “something more/we’re dating, so deal with it” thing, and smoochies had been at a bare minimum, let alone something else. Either Spike had incredible restraint, or he just wasn’t all that interested.
Please, let it be restraint…
“Spike?” Buffy called out softly, mimicking his pattern drawing on her shoulder by doing some of her own on his chest.
“Yeah, pet?” Spike answered, eyes intently on the television and not at her fingers that seemed to be drifting ever so slowly towards his right nipple.
Bloody hell, he thought, shifting slightly as her fingers made contact with it against his silent wishes, drawing circles around it.
“So, like, how come…”
He looked at her as she trailed off.
“What?” he prodded.
“So, is there a particular reason why you haven’t…”
“Haven’t what, love?”
“Well, it’s just… you’re so…” She looked up at him. His eyes were peering at her, inquisitive. “You never…touch me. We hardly…”
She trailed off again, but this time it was from the blatant hunger that instantly appeared on his face. Her heart involuntarily quickened.
“Well, I just thought it best if you set the pace is all,” he drawled. “Didn’t want to push you.”
“Maybe I wanna be pushed,” she said throatily.
Spiked cocked his head at her, smirking a bit. “Maybe you should take the reins, then. This is your show, love.”
Spike smirked at her. “You’re the bloody lead, Summers.”
“The lead, huh?” she said more to herself than to him.
Tossing her reservations aside, she moved, straddling his hips, hands on his shoulders as she leaned forward to capture his lips. Spike moaned as her tongue met his, her fingers moving to entangle themselves in his blond locks. He scooted down on the couch a bit, pulling her hips down so that she sat on him, letting her know just how she was affecting him. He wanted her to know exactly what it was she was steering. She moaned at the feel of him, undulating her hips slowly for more friction.
It wasn’t enough.
She pulled back, and he thrust upward, making her gasp. She reached down, going for his belt buckle.
“More. Spike—I need…”
Instantly, it was as if his hands were everywhere. One was unhooking her bra, moving around to the front to fondle her right breast, while the other unbuttoned her jeans. Spike groaned, stilling his movements once she made solid contact with his length.
“Bloody…” he mumbled, picking her up slightly and laying her flat on the couch. He maneuvered himself between her legs and then hovered over her. His eyes fluttered closed as she slowly stroked him. When he opened them again, his mouth was slightly parted open as he quickly yanked her shirt over her head, pulling her unfastened bra up and off her arms at the same time. He paused, staring at her. This time, it was Buffy who stilled her movements. He pulled back away from Buffy, gently grasping her wrist to move her hand away from him.
Spike shook his head slightly, giving her a little smile.
“Oh, Buff…” he trailed off, hands ghosting over her breasts before he leaned down, mouth hovering over the left before licking the nipple, sucking it into his mouth as his left hand massaged her right one. She moaned, arching into him.
While he teased her breast with teeth and tongue, his hand that had been fondling the neglected one slowly traveled down her smooth torso to the waistband of her jeans, unzipping without a pause, then sliding back up slightly, only to slide his hand downward again, but this time to go underneath the band of her panties, thumb first, through the curls there, massaging her clit gently. He looked up at her gasps and ever growing pants. He released the teased nipple, sitting up again, removing his hands and ignoring her groan of protest, and took advantage of the bucking of her hips to yank off her pants. He gave her a devilish smirk as he tossed the denim over the coffee table to the floor, and then hooked his index fingers onto each side of her black cotton panties. He dragged the material down her legs, eyes on her all the while. Chest heaving, she watched as he did so. As soon as her underwear cleared her feet, she sat up quickly on her knees, body flush against his, and reached for the hem of his t-shirt. Spike quickly put the panties in his back pocket before she made him raise his arms in the air to take off his shirt.
“Lose. Pants,” she panted in his ear before kissing his neck, worrying the skin there with nips and licks. Spike grit his teeth, palming her bare bottom with both hands, giving her cheeks a simultaneous squeeze. He released her then, standing up to pull off his boots. After he tossed the second boot to the side, he stopped, looking at her with uncertainty.
“Um, just how far we going with this, love?” he asked, feeling awkward as hell with his cock jutting out from his pants. Buffy swallowed, leaning forward slightly, reaching out for him, and took a pleasantly firm grip.
“I… thought you said this is my show.”
Spike swallowed then as well, but refused to look down.
“Yeah, kitten, it is.”
“Then lose the pants. It’s hardly fair that I’m all, you know,” she paused, blushing. “‘Starkers’ and you’re not.”
“Right,” Spike said, voice low. Buffy released him once again so that he could do what she asked. He bent down as he pushed his black denim to his ankles, pulled one foot out and then kicked the jeans off with the other.
Buffy leaned back on the couch and beckoned him over. When he tried to kneel between her legs, she pulled him up by his hair so that he hovered over her instead.
“Come on, Summers—let me play…”
“Later. I want you Spike. Hmm…” He could see the struggle on her face to find the words. “Touch me.”
He nodded, reaching down.
“No—I mean… why use your hand when you have a better tool?” she said lightly.
He chuckled. “I do at that.” Eyes trained on her, he positioned himself at her entrance, and…
“You sure bout this?”
She put both her hands on the sides of his face and pulled his head down for a tender kiss as her answer, thrusting her hips upward as she did so.
Spike slowly pushed forward at that. He pulled back from the kiss with a gasp at the feel of her. He wanted — needed — to see her face.
“Buffy,” he called out softly to her. She nodded at him, watching him watch her as they slowly undulated together.
Though that only lasted so long. After a moment, he had to kiss her again, so he did. Their dance above as well as below instantly became synchronized — languorous and passionate.
Buffy broke away from the kiss once Spike began to pick up the pace, gasping into the crook of his neck as she wrapped her legs around him, ankles crossed at his lower back, while her name was an echo from his lips. Her hands, of their own volition, began to claw at his back, wanting more.
She called out his name brokenly as she flipped them over and off the couch. Spike gave an “oomph” as his back crashed against the rug covered floor in tandem with him being thrust even deeper into Buffy, who gasped, crying out incoherently as she began to ride him. Spike growled, gripping her hips, his hands urging her faster, and then she was constricting around him, so powerfully that he came undone right along with her.
Buffy collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily as he held her close, stroking her long hair gently. She turned her head and kissed his neck, hands resting on his shoulders as she gave a contented sigh.
And then she frowned.
“What is it, love?” Spike asked, concern laced in his voice. He held her then, closely, afraid she would move, afraid she would leave, that she now had regrets.
“It’s just…” She sighed, taking a deep breath. “Do you think Will heard any of that?”
Spike chuckled in relief, squeezing her a bit in his embrace before loosening his hold. He didn’t have to worry about her wanting to run now.
“Well, it’s a bit late to worry bout that, isn’t it?”
Buffy pouted, groaning a bit in embarrassment.
“I guess.” She sat up a bit so that she could look at him. “How’s about we move this to my room?”
Buffy quickly put on Spike’s shirt as he put on his pants. Her brow furrowed as she picked up the rest of her clothes.
“Uh, okay. Where are my panties?”
“Oh, you don’t see them?” he asked lightly while zipping up.
“No…” Buffy began pulling up the couch cushions before looking underneath it.
“I’m sure they’ll turn up, love.”
“That’s the problem—I’d rather they didn’t. Unless it’s by me. Or you, I guess.”
Spike smiled, walking over to her, taking her arm.
“Come on—let’s turn in,” he said, before gently kissing her. Buffy nodded and lead him quietly up the stairs.
After round two in Buffy’s bed, in which Spike got to “play” as requested, they lay side by side, facing one another, Spike with his hand on her hip, and Buffy with her leg draped over his, just looking at one another, enjoying the moment.
“So, tell me something,” she murmured.
“Anything in particular?” he asked, thumb caressing the skin of her hip.
She shrugged slightly, stifling a yawn. “Anything of anything. I don’t mind.”
Spike moved his hand from her hip, bringing it up to tuck her hair behind her ear, before resting on the column of her neck. He leaned forward, kissed her chastely, and then pulled back.
“The one light that doesn’t burn, are the rays from her shining sun.” Buffy’s eyes widened at that, but she said nothing.
“Giving warmth on days so cold, when she allows my arms to hold. Wraps me so tight, I come undone, for her love and strength I dare behold.”
He smiled slightly before looking down, embarrassed. When he looked back up at her, her eyes were glimmering with unshed tears.
“That was… who wrote that?” she asked tentatively.
“Yeah, um… I did. For you. I’m sorry if—if it wasn’t—”
“It was beautiful. Just… thank you.”
She hugged him, kissed his neck, and felt a few tears free themselves. The emotions growing inside of her almost felt as if they were all too much; she never knew that words could have such a profound effect on her. But they did — he did. After all, it was words that set them on this course in the first place, less than two weeks ago.
But Spike was a talker, wasn’t he? And also, as she just learned, a poet. A passionate one at that.
She was ever so glad that she hadn’t made him be quiet in that dilapidated building, that she’d listened to him say his piece as opposed to shutting him up like she initially intended. His impassioned speech had lead to them being here. Now.
Though she had to admit that she never would have guessed that words would be her undoing, she was learning: words could make more of an impact than a fist when it came to matters of the heart. And being with Spike now, like this, maybe she too could one day touch him with words from her heart.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/315159.html