Misery Made Beautiful – 2/5

This entry is part 2 of 5 in the series Misery Made Beautiful
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 Two

It was worth keeping her word just to see the look of awe on his face. She didn’t say anything in way of greeting—didn’t do much more than smile at him when she pushed the crypt door open. In one hand, she had the clothing he’d loaned her in a plastic sack, freshly cleaned, and in the other, a pizza box—a two-liter of Coke balanced on the top. And honestly, she didn’t know what had surprised him more; the fact that she was there at all, or the fact that she’d come with food. That she had consciously decided to spend the evening with him, and wasn’t looking for a quick way out.

The only thing Buffy knew for sure was that she never felt as alive as she did when he looked at her. Spike stared unapologetically as though he was trying to figure out if she’d walked out of one of his dreams, but said nothing. He edged across the sofa to make room for her, clearing off his coffee table to make room for the small feast she’d brought, and accepted the bag of clothing with a nod of gratitude.

They’d eaten, drank, and played a round of Egyptian Ratscrew with a deck of cards she located on the floor. They’d talked about nothing in particular. He’d asked about Dawn, who was again with Willow and Tara, and how she was doing in coping with Joyce’s death. Then he’d taken Buffy’s hand and asked how she was doing, and the empathy in his eyes had nearly undone her completely. It was a real conversation—a real moment between them, just like the night before. The fact that she was experiencing it again made her heart sing.

The more time she spent with him, though, the more irritated with herself she became. The second night, for the entirety of her visit, there had been a voice in the back of her head, telling her over and over again that this guy was the real deal. This guy was something to write home about. And it had confused her that this guy was Spike—the former bane of her existence—and she felt like she was seeing him for the first time.

That much was her fault, and she knew it. The past few months had been nothing but botched attempts on the part of her former enemy to show her how much he’d changed, and while his methods weren’t always the brightest, the intent had always been there. He’d been waiting for her to make one small acknowledgment, take one small step, in order to uncover the man he was showing her now. Perhaps had she not reacted with such vehemence when Spike revealed his feelings to her, she would have been able to prevent the unfortunate Bot affair by providing the crumb he’d more than earned.

She left him after double-checking his wounds and applying the disinfectants that she’d left with him the night before. The process wasn’t as awkward as the shower, but definitely uncomfortable. She felt his eyes on her with every breath she took, every indiscernible move she made, and while she forced herself to remain trained on the task, the depth of his adoration for her made her feel loved in a way that none of her past boyfriends had ever approached.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she’d said before leaving him with another kiss. The look he’d given her hadn’t been all skepticism, though he clearly expected her to snap out of the random-acts-of-kindness thing.

He gazed at her with such hope.

The third night, Buffy decided to try the pizza thing again. Spike had been rather receptive to the notion that she wanted to bond with him as she’d bonded with her other friends, and there was something so incredibly elementary in sharing a human trait with him. It didn’t seem forced or awkward. And when he’d pointed out that he didn’t have any glasses for the Coke, she hadn’t missed a beat and said they could take turns drinking from the bottle.

That had astonished him, and rightfully so. The same girl that refused to drink from his flask wanted to share something personal with him? If anything, her offer seemed to choke him up more than her desire to bathe him the night before. As though sharing something that personal really meant she felt something.

When she arrived at the crypt, though, she found it vacant. Completely vacant. Spike wasn’t hiding out in his underground bedroom, either. He was gone.

Buffy’s shoulders drooped a bit and she plopped herself down on his sofa, flicking on the television. It wasn’t as though she could blame him for wanting to get out of the crypt—he’d been there for a few days now, and he had to be going stir-crazy. She just didn’t like the idea of him out there and vulnerable, especially since he hadn’t been moving all that well the night before, despite his progress.

He’d be all right. She sighed and curled into the cushions, her eyes glued to some nameless program on a channel she didn’t know existed. Spike would definitely be all right. Besides, if she went after him, he’d resent the hell out of her. He needed to prove to himself that he was still strong. That he was healing, and he had not been defeated.

She waited, and the pizza got cold.

And she fell asleep.

*~*~*
Fingers were tracing her face, and someone was whispering her name.

“Buffy? Pet, I know that chair’s not that bloody comfortable.”

A small whimper tore through her lips, but she forced herself awake. Spike was kneeling before her, lovingly caressing her face, his bruised eyes warming when she saw him.

“There she is,” he murmured. “I was beginnin’ to think you were gonna sleep the night away.”

Buffy grinned wryly and sat up, stifling a yawn. “That sounds vaguely familiar.”

“I keep my best lines in rotation.”

“Where were you?”

Spike shrugged off his duster and folded it over the back of the sofa. “Patrolling,” he said. “Well…sort’ve patrolling. I was hopin’ to run into you.”

“I told you I’d come by.”

“Couldn’t wait.” He grinned and sank into the cushion beside her. “I dunno; I was jus’ worried, I guess. Though this explains why it took so long to find you. You broke the route t’night, din’t you?”

Buffy arched a brow. “You know about my patrol route?”

“I have patrolled with you a time or two.”

“Not enough to memorize my patrol schedule.” She grinned when he cast his gaze to the ground, suddenly timid and bashful. It was so strange, seeing this part of him. Encountering a version of Spike that she didn’t know—a version that was as tentative as she was about their new relationship. Still, with as adorable as Shy-Spike was, she wanted him quippy. She wanted him as she knew him, only sans the actual animosity. She wanted to show him that he didn’t have to change to appease her—she liked him just as he was. “Is this another sign of stalker syndrome?”

Spike’s eyes widened slightly, then settled into warmth when he realized she was teasing him. “Not stalker,” he grumbled good-naturedly, settling back. “’S practical, is what it is. Have a routine, have someone who knows that routine…jus’ in case somethin’ happens.”

She snorted. “Yeah. You’re a real pragmatist.”

“’S all for your own good, pet, if you think about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” She returned his smirk tenfold, and reveled in the small thrill that jolted down her spine. Then she shifted and raised a hand to his face, her fingers tracing the outline of his healing bruises. “These look better,” she observed quietly. “Do they feel better?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice strained at her touch. “Much.”

“I guess that makes sense. If you can move around to patrol, you must be feeling better.”

“You’d be amazed at what a li’l pigs’ blood can do for you.”

“I brought you more.”

“Mhmm.” He nodded to the pizza box on the makeshift coffee table. “Sorry I wasn’ here sooner, luv. Food’s cold.”

“Just a little. I don’t mind.” She made a face. “Although, you’d think you’d have a microwave or something in here, with as much as you prefer warm blood to cold blood.”

“You’d be amazed how bloody difficult it is to knick kitchen appliances when you can’t jus’ deck the salesman, grab the goods, an’ make a bloody run for it.” He tapped his head. “Bloody bug zapper.”

“Didn’t stop you from getting a television,” Buffy observed.

“Had Harm steal it for me. She walked outta here backwards before I could have her knick anythin’ else.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “Probably for her own bloody good. Not sure how much longer I could’ve put up with her.”

She arched a cool brow. “All the talk about unicorns wasn’t worth the free sex?”

A still beat filled the air around them. There was no way that he hadn’t heard the biting sting of her resentment. The thought alone was so foreign to her, yet she couldn’t help the feeling. She couldn’t help herself. Not when she wanted him like she did.

Not when she was admitting that she wanted him.

And of course, Spike would catch it. Damn perceptive vampire. “What was…are you jealous?”

“What?”

He looked at her a minute longer, studying her every move. Studying her like she was fragile—like making an inappropriate suggestion would send her running for the door. The idea was somewhat preposterous, as they’d already crossed the boundaries of inappropriate with the bath she’d given him two nights before.

Although, Buffy reflected, there had truly been nothing inappropriate about it. The territory she currently trekked was new, yes, but there was nothing about what she’d done to make her feel that she was in the wrong. That an unforgivable line had been crossed. That, despite her good intentions, she’d done something she shouldn’t have.

Spike smiled softly, forgoing the easy road. Another barrier breached. He’d reached for understanding rather than relying on snark. God help her, she was going to lose herself in him, and there was nothing to break her fall. “Nothin’ to be jealous over, kitten,” he said. “An’ if you promise not to stake me, I’ll tell you that I…well, Harm was more a substitute for what I couldn’t have. I don’ think there was a…every time I was with her, I thought of you.”

Buffy needed no expansion on what he meant when he referred to being with Harmony. No expansion at all. And while the visual her overly-helpful imagination provided only served to fuel an already raging fire, her heart couldn’t help but jump a little at the admission that she’d been in his thoughts all the while.

“Bloody poor substitute,” he went on. He was rambling nervously now—palpably afraid that confessing to lusting after her would result in the aforementioned staking. God, it was weird seeing Spike so lacking in confidence. After years of trying to break through his exterior, in one way or another, she’d finally succeeded. The results? She wanted him—needed him—to know that she wasn’t angry. That the period of bitchiness and punches was over, and she was ready to love him now.

Buffy paused inwardly, and her heart wrenched. Love him?

Oh God.

“God, that sodding bot was better company than her prattlin’. ‘Course that was—”

She arched a brow. The bot? She hadn’t expected him to bring that monstrosity up again…ever. And since she was over it, and crossing yet another boundary—I love him?—she might as well seize the opportunity to tease him mercilessly. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the bot.”

Spike’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “Buffy, it wasn’…I never…it wasn’ jus’ for what you thought it was.”

“You didn’t have kinky sex with it?”

“Okay, so maybe it was a little for what you thought it was.”

“Yeah. Kinda got that when the bot told me that I should get a load of you naked.” She laughed pointedly as his eyes fell in embarrassment. “Then again, I was back the next night, helping you into the shower.”

He grinned at that. “Bloody good advice, then.” He was quiet for a minute. “An’ yeah, I did…I tried to get my rocks off, I’ll admit. But it wasn’ jus’ for that.”

“Then what was it?”

“It was the closest…I thought it was the closest I’d ever get.” Spike released a deep sigh and shook his head. “It was fun, yeh, but only inasmuch as it covered up the…it would’ve gotten old fast. Havin’ the bot was jus’ a reminder that I couldn’t have the real thing.” A short, near-derisive chuckle tumbled through his lips. “I only had the sodding thing for a day an’ I knew it wasn’ gonna satisfy me. The more time I spent tryin’ to convince myself that mine was the better solution, the more I missed…”

Once again, silence settled. A thick, uncomfortable silence. She didn’t know what to say—how to go about reassuring him that the time that she’d hated him had passed. That she was a remade woman, and she was ready to jump into something permanent with him. The bot, for all the ickiness that surrounded it, had brought them together in a weird, roundabout way.

The time of before was over. And she was with him now.

Buffy pursed her lips, her eyes falling to the coffee table. The card deck was still there, and at the moment, it seemed to be the easiest segue. She’d been a fool to bring up the bot at all; since it was her fault, she’d be the one to change the subject. Thus with a small smile, she reached for the card deck, turning back to him with a brilliant smile.

“Up for another round of Egyptian Ratscrew?”

Spike blinked and shook his head. “Huh?”

“The game we played last night? I mean, yeah, your chip kinda takes away from the fun, but—”

He held up a hand and favored her with a wry look. “As much fun as it was the firs’ time ’round, luv, I think hitting me over an’ over again’s not exactly gonna help in the healing process.”

“Oh, you big baby. You’re well enough to patrol but not play a harmless card game?”

“Harmless? Bloody harmless? You gave me welts!”

Her eyes dropped to his hands. “Invisible welts?”

“I heal fast.”

“Yeah, I know. Case in point.”

“How about poker? No one gets bodily injured in that game.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “In poker, you play for money. Need I remind you how little of that I have?”

“Like I’d take your money.”

“Then there’d be no point behind the game.”

“Other than havin’ fun, you mean? Bloody irritatin’ chit.” His eyes, however, were full of mirth. “How about we gamble on things instead?”

“If you think you’re gonna coax me into taking off my clothes—”

Spike smirked. “Well, someone sure is gutter-minded.”

“Me?! I’m gutter-minded?”

“Glad you agree.”

“Ugh. Ego, much?”

“You’re the one tryin’ to take advantage of my frail, healin’ bod.”

“In your dreams.”

“Several times,” he agreed with a nod. He then reached under the sofa, producing a small notebook as though it had been waiting for him. “Here…write down things you don’ want on scraps of paper. We’ll make bets, yeh?”

“Things I don’t want?” she repeated skeptically.

“I dunno. Frilly girlish things.” He paused, then added with a wicked grin. “How about a pair of your knickers?”

“Spike!”

“’S that a no, then?”

“That’s a hell no.”

Spike frowned. “Ouch.”

She flushed and gathered up the cards, rising to her feet. “Well,” she said with a saucy smile. “I thought you’d prefer to have me in the panties.”

That managed to stun him into silence. She tossed him a brazen grin and sashayed over to the sarcophagus in the corner. They’d discovered the night before that it was easier to play cards when they could look directly at each other, and the coffin offered room that the sofa did not.

When she turned to hoist herself atop the surface and caught a hint of the naked lust in his eyes, her insides filled with warmth. Perhaps he would see, now, that she didn’t want him hesitant. She didn’t want him on his best behavior. While she loved the gentleman he was, she needed the rebel just as much. She needed them both.

I love him.

She shivered. That voice was becoming more and more convincing. More and more prominent. Her heart hammered, her body shook, and wetness pooled between her thighs. She remembered feeling this—a long time ago, when Angel had turned her world upside down. Oh yes, she remembered this feeling. She remembered it well.

Only it hadn’t been as strong before.

I love him.

“You saucy minx,” Spike drawled, raking his eyes down her body, tapping the notebook against his hip as he started toward her. “Right. So…how we gonna do this?”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Do this?”

“Poker.”

“Oh.” She flushed. Oh. “Ummm…well, I don’t want anything gross. And I’m sure you don’t need anything…well…I have some old Sweet Valley High books that I wouldn’t cry over losing.”

He arched a brow. “You think I’m gonna pull the cards over a kiddy series?”

“Hey, this was your idea, Mister.”

“Playing cards was your idea. Don’ try to blame me.”

“Playing Egyptian Ratscrew was my idea. Poker while betting things I don’t want anymore was your idea. I don’t want my SVH series, therefore I’ll bet it.” Her brows flickered challengingly. “Your move.”

Spike stared at her for a minute more, then turned his gaze downward to the notebook in his hands. “Fine,” he said, scribbling something quickly. “Let’s do this, then.”

It didn’t take long to realize why he was so hard on her gambling choices—he was definitely the superior player, which made sense as the only poker experience Buffy could claim came from homeroom class back at Hemery High. Even with Spike going easy on her, she’d managed to lose half her belongings.

Well, the belongings she didn’t care about, anyway.

“Aha!” Buffy squealed, fanning her cards across the surface. “Straight!”

Spike glanced up, grinning as though she were the most adorable thing he’d ever set his eyes on. He didn’t show her his cards—just slapped them down and shrugged. “You got me,” he said, though she knew immediately that she hadn’t. “Guess you’re taking my laundry back with you.”

She wiggled and decided not to call him on it. Besides, his clothing had been way too comfortable to give up. “Good,” she said with a happy nod. “I decided it was my favorite sleep shirt.”

“You slept in it?”

“Well…yeah. I was worn out when I got back, and I just kinda collapsed.”

“Worn out from what? You helped me shower, luv. We din’t do aerobics.”

Buffy arched a brow. “And whose fault was that?”

He treated her to another of his awestruck gazes, swallowing audibly. “I din’t know…I mean…God, Buffy. You’re not sayin’…what are you sayin’?”

“I’m saying…I…well…” A long, awkward moment stretched between them. She released a hard sigh and gestured to the cards. “Your bet.”

Spike stared at her for a minute longer, then nodded and glanced down, visibly disappointed. “Okay…you know that if we were playin’ for cash, you’d basically be livin’ off the William the Bloody Trust-Fund for the rest of your days, right?”

“Yes.”

“An’ yet, I’m stuck with a bunch of rubbish that you realize I’m never gonna come by to collect.”

She arched a brow. “So why don’t you gamble for something you want?”

“You offerin’?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Spike held her gaze, searching, then glanced down and scribbled something on a new sheet of notebook paper.

“Why do you have that thing, anyway?” she asked. She was just speaking to fill the silence—to break away from the seriousness that had unexpectedly infiltrated their fun. Needless to say, it was a lost cause; her voice sounded husky even to her.

He offered a non-committal shrug. “Jus’ do.” Another pause as he ripped the paper in half and tossed his gamble between them. “Okay. Here it is.”

Buffy pursed her lips and gingerly plucked the wager from the pile of forgotten bets. In strikingly elegant penmanship were two words.

A kiss.

She glanced up in surprise and met his nervous gaze. He was looking at her like she would break if he so much as flinched; his body was wrought with tight anticipation. And it occurred to her then how easy he had made it for her. This was yes or no—this wasn’t spilling her heart out. He’d rendered her thoroughly speechless instead of rendering her powerless; he’d handed her everything. His heart now, instead of hers.

I’m such a coward.

Buffy expelled a deep breath and smiled then, reaching for the notepad.

“I see your kiss,” she said matter-of-factly. “And raise you…on the lips.”

She tossed her wager between them and settled back.

Spike stared at her for a full minute, thoroughly astonished.

“You gonna fold?” she asked, gesturing to the game. “Or are you gonna raise my bet?”

Another long beat passed before he broke into the silliest, happiest smile she’d ever seen, and it warmed her heart to know she’d put it there. He really was gorgeous when he smiled. “I see your bet,” he replied coolly, snatching the notepad away. “An’ raise you…for more than a minute.”

He was still playing it safe. Time to show him up.

“With tongue,” Buffy retorted as she tossed her bet onto the pile.

“With touching,” he countered.

“I see your touching and raise you groping.”

The lust burning his eyes set her body on fire. He was teetering on the edge of control, and she had never seen anything so sexy. God, he was so gorgeous. So incredibly gorgeous. And whatever she’d lacked in sight before, she was making up for now. She would never doubt him again. “Buffy…”

“Whaddya got?” she asked, her gaze flickering briefly to the cards.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He growled the words before his mouth attacked hers, his arms seizing her by the waist to pull her to him, and the world around her vanished. Buffy whimpered and hooked her hands around his neck, lost in the feel of his lips moving against hers, his tongue playing with her tongue. Dancing with her, loving her without words. They bruised each other with their kiss—a mixture of eagerness flooded with the joy of shattered boundaries.

She didn’t know how she ended up straddling his waist. His kisses had her drunk; she was losing herself, but she no longer cared. There was sanctuary in Spike’s arms that she could no longer deny herself. Bliss unlike anything she’d ever felt—as though a dark part of her had finally been unlocked, and the emotions she’d held hostage for the past three years were finally liberated. She was finally free to feel again.

“Buffy,” Spike moaned against her lips. “Oh God, tell me I’m not dreaming.”

She smiled, her mouth dropping to the crook of his throat. “You’re not dreaming,” she whispered, suckling on his skin. The gasp that tore through his body went straight to her clit, and she found herself grinding her body harder into him if only to elicit more of his delicious whimpers. “You’re not.”

“Oh Christ.”

“You’re not.”

A thrill raced up her spine as he moaned. “Is this…are you doin’ this ‘cause…or…”

She sucked harder on his throat. God, he tasted good.

“Oh bloody—”

And she wanted to taste more. With a small sigh, she forced her head up, her eyes clashing with the impassioned storm that raged in his own. Then, purposefully, she slid off his lap.

He went rigid. “Buffy…you’re not…are you leavin’?”

She held out her hand in reply, and a small jolt raced through her system when their fingers entwined.

“Not going anywhere,” she replied, nearing to kiss him again.

She had him then. She knew it. Spike was utterly at her mercy, and she could do whatever she wished with him. The thought inspired a streak of wickedness she had long thought dead, along with the capacity to love—the same she’d sought on her stupid vision quest. The First Slayer had told her she was full of love; perhaps, the entire time, it just took the right man to unleash it. Perhaps death was her gift inasmuch as Spike was dead but full of life, and completely hers.

He’d rocked her foundations; she was ready to rock his. With a saucy smile, she tugged him to his feet, shoved him against the wall, then pounced. Her hands cupped his face, angling him into her kiss. She was ready now. She was completely ready.

“What are you doing?” he panted when their lips broke apart, desire combating with anticipation. His erection was prominent and pressed into her abdomen, and the knowledge that she could arouse him so effortlessly left her feeling slightly heady.

“I figure I’ve put you through enough,” Buffy replied, dropping a kiss across his shoulder, her hands tugging at his belt. “What, with the constant bitching and the not-giving-of-crumbs and locking you out of my house—”

He laughed nervously. “Yeh, well, I did chain you up, pet.”

“Be that as it may…I want to make it up to you.”

“Oh God.”

“Let me try?” She didn’t even bother to wait for a reply; she knew what she wanted, and right now, the naughty part of her psyche refused to be ignored. Buffy dropped to her knees, prying the zipper to his jeans down with slow intent. His cock leapt into her hand the next second, and a long moan ripped through the air.

Okay, the peeks she’d stolen—unwittingly—two nights before hadn’t done him justice.

She ran her forefinger from base to tip, getting a feel of him. He was a work of art, her personal Adonis, though infinitely better endowed—and she wasn’t going to give him up. Not in this lifetime or the next. Now that the stupid phase was over, she was ready to embrace all facets of what it meant to be what she was, and who she was all at the same time.

Being the Slayer meant giving up certain things, but also gaining things that no one else got to touch. The lack of normality? Well, who wanted normal, anyway? She’d done normal—literally—and it had bored her to tears.

“Fuck, Buffy,” Spike moaned, threading his fingers through her hair. “God, please tell me you’re not jus’…wait!”

She glanced up, worried, though she refused to release him. “Did I do something wrong?”

Another nervous titter rang through his throat, and he shook his head. “Fuck no. I jus’…Buffy, God, I want you so much. I love…you know how I feel, right? I don’…you can’t bloody well give me this much an’ then say there’s nothin’…”

Her eyes softened.

I love him.

There was no sense arguing with knowledge. She loved him. But as much as she did, she couldn’t let him know—not yet. Not with the world potentially ending around them. Not with Glory out there hunting for the Key. Buffy had become too jaded to truly fear for her life anymore, though there was something in the air about the impending days that cast everything in shadow. She didn’t want to give Spike her love, only to die in the last battle. She didn’t want him to break completely—he couldn’t break completely.

Dawn couldn’t lose them both.

Yet, on the same note, Buffy refused to live life by what might happen. Giving Spike just this much might rightly undo him completely, but she wasn’t about to deny herself. If she loved Spike, she wanted as many memories with him as time permitted before the final showdown. She wanted something to carry with her into battle.

But she couldn’t forfeit everything. If they survived—yes, if they all survived—she’d tell him after it was over.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her hand pumping his shaft slowly, “because I want to be. Right here is where I want to be.”

“Are you saying—”

Her tongue made a sweep of the head of his cock, and his knees about buckled. “I’m saying that everything I’ve done or said in the past doesn’t matter. It’s over. Forgotten. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” She released him for a quick second to shimmy his jeans further down his legs, then pressed his length to his stomach to suckle at his balls.

His eyes shone down on her as though she was made of sunlight. “Oh Christ.”

Buffy grinned up at him, her mouth abandoning his sack as her tongue took to the underside of him, slowly licking a path back to his velvety head. She lapped at him there, nipped at him as her right hand curled around the base to pump him slowly. Her past experience with blowjobs wasn’t something to brag about—Parker had asked, and being terrified as she was, had managed to embarrass herself in a way that still had her mortified. Riley had asked a time or two, but she’d gotten the feeling he wasn’t too impressed. She’d approached the task as if it were just that—a task. A string of mechanical motions that always left her feeling tawdry.

Those reservations weren’t present with Spike. There was no way to look in his eyes and think herself anything less than a goddess. His experimental thrusts weren’t demanding, the grip on her hair was loving, rather than constrictive. And she felt more loved right now than she ever had.

Then his voice broke through the silence with a resounding gasp, and her heart leapt. “Buffy…” he moaned. God, that had to be the sexiest sound to ever grace the air. “Oh fuck. Feels so good. So perfect. Hot li’l mouth…”

She licked and suckled at his sensitive skin, teasing him with her teeth.

“Bloody hell!”

A grin pulled at her lips, and she released him with a sinful grin. “I take it you’re enjoying this?”

“I’m your slave for all eternity,” he ground out, his head hitting the wall as his eyes squeezed shut. Then, as though remembering himself, he glanced back down at her and grinned when he saw she was still there. “God, you are the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Funny,” she retorted, lapping at the side of his erection before moving to take him back into her mouth, her lips gracing his spongy head with a tender kiss. “I was about to say the same about you.”

“Oh fuck.”

Instinct warred over experience and won, and her mind was lost to a haze. Every single technique she’d read about or failingly attempted in the past suddenly sprung forward, and she wanted to do everything. She licked. She sucked. She nibbled. She lapped softly at his head, then drew him as far into her mouth as she could. When she felt him brush against the back of her throat, she began working her throat muscles to swallow around him as her hands squeezed his calves with encouragement. She wanted him to take solace inside her. God, she wanted everything right now. She wanted to rise to her feet and impale her pussy on his erection, then ride him until they both blacked out.

But no—more than anything, Buffy wanted to give without taking. She wanted this. Right now.

“God!” Spike gasped. “Buffy!”

She drew her lips slowly up his length, her tongue swirling around him, licking at his sensitive slit and slurping hungrily. That was it. She felt his balls tense in her hand, and knew without warning that she had pushed him to the edge.

“Buffy!”

“Do it.”

“Oh God. You’re gonna be the end of me.”

She nodded, her mouth latching onto his cock again. His entire body tensed beneath her fingers, and then he was coming hard, his hips pistoning into her of their own volition. He spilled himself down her throat with a roar, the grip on her hair tightening, but she didn’t think to pull away. And while the impact of his spendings wasn’t the best thing she’d ever tasted, she felt she could happily dine on him for the rest of her life and never think to complain.

Her mouth continued to love him until she felt him slump. Her eyes trailed upward and clashed with his, his cock sliding from her lips with a wet plop. “Spike?”

“Oh God.”

The next thing she knew, Spike had sunk to his knees and taken her in his embrace, his face buried in her hair.

“I love you,” he murmured. “God, I love you so much.”

Buffy breathed a deep sigh and hugged him tighter when he began to tremble. He was crying. She’d moved him to tears. The awareness was both crippling and empowering. As though she’d only then realized how much he loved her. It had been knowledge before—simple fact. Now it was understanding. “Spike—”

“Will you stay? Stay with me tonight. God, Buffy, please…”

Her heart clenched. “Yes,” she replied. “I’ll stay.”

There was no way she was leaving now. Not now, when something monumental had happened between them.

Not when there was nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.

TBC

 

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/101802.html

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