Second and final contribution. Thanks so much again to enigmaticblues for her wonderful community! This round has been amazing thus far!
I haven’t gotten a chance to write just fluffy porn in a long while. *grin* Hope you guys enjoy!
Rating: NC-17 (for language and explicit sexual content)
Timeline: Spins AU in the last minutes of Harsh Light of Day
Summary: Hate walks a fine line with another four-letter word
Prompt: Written for seasonal_spuffy.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. They are being used out of respect and affection, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.
It didn’t matter that she knew she could toss him across the room in a blink. He was so quick. So tempered. So deadly. She knew well how he fought. She’d tasted it—hell, she practically made a living out of predicting his next move. She’d known after his last lame plan-gone-wrong that his leave of absence would be fleeting; that it would only be a matter of time until he returned to Sunnydale and resumed his rightful place as the thorn in her side. After last year’s botched kidnapping scheme, Buffy had resigned herself to the sad reality there was little she could do to prevent him from showing his disturbingly unugly face around her town. It seemed Spike’s solution for any setback was to come moping around the Hellmouth, a bottle in one hand and some harebrained scheme in the other.
She’d be amused if she weren’t so annoyed.
“That all you got, Slayer?” Spike demanded, wiping his mouth with the back of his duster sleeve, his eyes dancing maliciously. His human face had replaced the demon’s glare just after he kicked his way toward the closed gymnasium, smoking under the unforgiving sun and cursing her every which way at the loss of the gem. The gem which was currently secured in her front pocket, where it would stay lest Spike wanted to see it shattered into a thousand useless pieces before his annoyingly true-blue eyes.
Honestly, where did he get off having eyes that blue?
“I’m beginning to think it’s all you’ve got,” Buffy retorted bitingly, punctuating her statement with a hard kick to his stomach. “You’ve asked me that three times now.”
“Jus’ waitin’ for you to give.”
“Really? ‘Cause here I thought vamps had all kinds of stamina.”
Spike’s eyes flared dangerously. His True Blue eyes. Damn him. She liked it much better when he was in game-face. It was easier to ignore his eyes.
Not that Buffy made a habit of studying her enemy all that intimately. The sun had hit him in such a way right before he vamped that his eyes stood out for the first time in the two years they’d known each other, and even though they’d moved their party indoors, she couldn’t help noticing the way they danced.
“’Fraid I won’t be able to last the night, is that it?” he jested, running his tongue over his teeth. “Figure you’d have a problem with that, considering how quickly college boy scampered—”
Of course, that didn’t work. When did it ever? “Oooh,” Spike cooed, his voice rolling off a laugh. “Struck a nerve.”
A nerve. One. Yeah, he struck it. The big fat nerve she called men, pulsing hard under her skin and doing its best to make her the first slayer to die by coronary. Right now, the nerve called men was pumping large doses of anti-Parker, working its magic to twist her rage until it was useful. Anger was something she utilized in the middle of a fight; something she relied upon whenever faced with a particularly nasty foe. She called upon it every time she patrolled, keeping it tempered while her other senses did their thing, but unleashing its full, glorious fury in the heart of a fight.
Spike took her normal rage and turned it into the Hulk of Rage. And he did it with a smirk on his face.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
“Wonder how good ol’ Angel must feel, knowin’ he’s so easily replaceable,” Spike mused, wittingly tightening the holy-water laced noose around his neck. “Jump into the arms of the first bloke who smiles at you—”
He grinned. “There’s that nerve again.”
“Oh, and you’re one to talk?” Buffy barked, racing at him before he could reply and throwing him to the ground. It didn’t last long; just long enough for her to land a few especially brutal punches before he tossed her off. And still, she wasn’t slowed down in the slightest. “Tell me again,” she pestered, pushing herself to her feet, “what kinda demon is Dru banging now?”
There was definitely a measure of glee in how quickly the smirk on the blond pest’s face melted into a growl. “Careful there, girly,” he snarled.
“And what was her problem? Don’t tell me…torture’s not the way to get a girl back nowadays.” Buffy sighed wistfully. “Who’d’ve thought?”
“You’re treadin’ thin ice, there.”
She blinked at him, making a face. “Treading thin ice? Who are you, my father?”
“Not unless you got severe daddy issues…but then, you power girls all do, don’t you?” Spike smiled nastily, beckoning her forward with a crook of his finger. “Come on, Slayer. Give me all you got.”
A pause as Buffy’s brows arched upward. “Wow. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were enjoying this.”
Then the strangest of strange things happened; so strange it deserved its own Sci-Fi Channel special. Spike froze in mid-swing, his face falling until it was set in a pout. “What? An’ you’re not?”
There were times she swore she and Spike existed on two different planes of reality. This was one of those times. For as often as they crossed each other, as often as they fought without managing to seal a fatal blow, they might as well live in separate dimensions. “No!” Buffy cried, stepping back and staring at him like he doubled as Big Foot. “You came here to kill me.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well, that din’t take. Might as well hash out our personal problems in here, yeah? I can’t stand you, you hate my non-livin’ guts, but we never can get past this, can we?”
“This what? And don’t answer that.” Buffy held up a hand, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m not Dr. Phil, I’m the Slayer!”
Spike shrugged again just as easily. “All right, then,” he replied. “Your loss.”
The words were accented with a brutal punch to the cheek that sent her tumbling onto her back. She’d flipped upright in a flash, eyes blazing, hair a mess, angry irritation feeding her every move.
This was it. The definitive it. Spike was going to bite the very literal dust.
She didn’t care how long it took.
“We can stop at any time, you know,” Spike suggested, bouncing on his toes before offering her gut another sharp kick. “Look a li’l knackered, love.”
Buffy scowled and rolled over, leaping to her feet. “Bite me.”
“Very poor choice of words.”
A long groan rushed through her lips, rolling on the heels of a sigh. “I don’t get you,” she said simply, throwing her arms up in the air. “The slightest thing goes wrong, and your answer is to come rushing back to Sunnydale. You just can’t stay away, can you?”
Spike’s eyes flared. “You’re one to talk.”
“I live here.”
“Yeah, because you chose it. For a bird who gripes endlessly about the woes of bein’ the Slayer, you do your bloody best to make sure you’re the only one on tap when the apocalypse comes knocking.” He perked a brow. “’Course you could’ve gone to study anywhere, but you decided that home is where the Hellmouth is, din’t you? Seems to me you’re the one incapable of lettin’ go. What is it, Slayer, hmmm? The great housing market? Fine schools an’ restaurants? Or the fact that every three weeks or so, some dumb git decides to end the world?”
Something in his tone made her blood freeze. There were only a handful of people who knew about her SAT scores, and none of them were the type to blab to the peroxided pest. “What?” she demanded. “Who on earth would have told you that?”
Spike blinked at her. “Told me? No one told me rot.”
“Then how the hell would you know?”
“About my…you just said I could’ve gone to school anywhere!”
He looked at her like she was as nutty as Dru on a bender. “Yeah,” he replied, “even if you had flunked miserably, there’s always some community college waitin’ to snatch up this miserable country’s next generation. You mean to tell me you had the brains—”
“—to go anywhere an’ you still chose this god-awful place?”
Buffy heaved a sigh, her hands finding her hips. “What’s the point in going away when you’ll just follow me?”
That seemed to get under his skin. Spike balked violently, his nostrils flaring and his eyes flashing with anger. It was a look she knew well. “What the sodding hell does that mean?” he demanded.
She shrugged challengingly. “Every time something goes wrong, you come running to me.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s look at the track record, shall we?” She held up a hand and began counting off. “What happened the year first year I met you? Oh right. ‘My girlfriend’s a big ho. Let’s go see Buffy.’ Six months later; whups! ‘My girlfriend’s a big ho,’ and again your answer was to go see Buffy. And now, Dru proves herself, yet again, to be a big ho, and what do you do?”
“Sod off,” Spike snarled.
“Come crawling back to the Hellmouth with yet another piss-poor excuse to see Buffy. The first time it was because you wanted to save the world. What kind of lame ass vampire are you?”
If Buffy were the sort to worry, she might have felt a slight tremor at the dangerous way the vampire’s eyes darkened. His oh so blue eyes. True Blue. She really needed to stop noticing that. “You’d be smart to tread carefully, love,” Spike snarled. “Wouldn’t wanna say anythin’ I might have to kill you over.”
“Oh no. I might have to dodge yet another empty threat.” Buffy sighed heavily and shrugged, irritation wrangling every nerve in her body. “Is this what you do every time a girl dumps you? Get it in your mind that all you need to do is cast a spell or find a stinking piece of jewelry? Maybe I was wrong; maybe you do need Dr. Phil. But I swear, Spike, I am so sick of cleaning up your messes. And this is it. It. I’m done.”
“Yeah, like you’re a beacon for stability an’ reason. Did college boy even have to get you sloshed before you tossed your knickers at him?”
That one hurt. A lot. “Go to hell.”
“Oooh,” he cooed, eyes sparkling. “Struck another nerve. Guess I was right, then. It was the talk that did it. Lemme guess…he looked into your pretty green eyes, said he thought you were a really, really special girl, an’ he respected you if you decided against jumpin’ his vulnerable, sensitive bones.” He tsked and shook his head. “Gotta say, Slayer…I expected more from you.”
“Why? Because he doesn’t have antlers and isn’t covered in slime?”
A cold, still beat. “Watch it.”
Buffy’s eyes widened. “No. You came to my town, tore up my streets, approached me on my campus, and you’re gonna get your ass kicked. And you keep doing this! Every time you get it in your mind to come here—”
“—it’s always the same story. Dru left me. Dru cheated on me. Dru won’t take me back. Dru, Dru, Dru.” Her eyes flashed. “You might expect more from me, Spikey, but really, this is getting a tad predictable.”
A furious roar ripped through the vampire’s throat, and before she could blink, he was against her, his hands clutching her shoulders and pulling her flush against him. And for a second—a tiny, insane tick of a second—a ripple of arousal shuddered through her body. A ripple which swelled and mounted until it formed into a tidal wave. Shock rattled her bones, a strangled gasp clawing through her throat before she could stop herself. Her hands shot out to grasp something solid, which happened to be Spike’s incredibly toned sides.
Oh, not good.
“I said, shut your gob,” he growled, his voice somewhat shaken.
What? Had he felt it, too?
And then Buffy said something stupid.
“Or you’ll what?”
Spike growled again and his nostrils flared, his arms tugging her closer until his cool breaths rocked against her mouth. Sound drowned away in favor of hard, raucous gasps, his fingers tightening around her, his brilliant, angry eyes consuming hers for endless seconds before dropping to her lips. It didn’t occur to her until that moment how close they really were. How easy it would be to take an unprecedented turn and lose herself in an unexplored sea of possibility.
If she were smart, she’d punch him hard in the gut and reach for something pointy. She’d end this charade now before things got out of control. She’d do anything but remain idle in his clutches, drowning in his eyes and hoping against hope he couldn’t smell her arousal.
It was useless. Even she could smell how hot she was.
Then something happened. Fury slowly drained from his face, his attention suddenly gripped with her mouth. His gaze was fixated, warped, angry breaths growing longer and more pronounced. She became thoroughly aware of the bulge pressing against her stomach, even more so of their intimate environment. Spike had kicked his way into the campus gymnasium, leaving their surroundings to balance beams, punching bags, stretch pads, arm-weights and an assortment of exercise equipment. The gym was closed on Fridays. No one was going to interrupt them.
Buffy inhaled sharply. This had the potential of getting very bad very fast.
Push him away.
Spike robbed her of option. The next thing she knew, his mouth had consumed hers. Consumed in every sense. Her lips fell open against his prodding tongue, a hard whimper tickling her throat as her mind raced to her aid, only to fall short under his kiss. Thoughts dissipated completely, rendering her thoroughly blank and helpless against his assault. She knew she should fight—knew she wanted to fight—but God help her, he tasted so good. So good. Good in ways she never thought possible. Cigarettes, alcohol, the hint of mouthwash, sweat, adrenalin; he was raw and masculine in ways she hadn’t sampled. Rational thought washed away. God, she’d never felt fire like this. Not once. Not with Angel and certainly not with Parker—it was unparalleled and overwhelming, and for a wonderful instant, she wanted to fall completely into his arms.
“Oh God,” Buffy gasped, loath to pull her lips away from his but needing air. Her head was so light it might as well float off into the stratosphere. “Oh my God…Spike…”
She barely recognized his voice or her name. She couldn’t focus, not with his lips tearing down her throat, suckling her skin between his teeth as his hands lost their inhibitions. She found her breasts cradled against his palms, her hard nipples slaves to his thumbs. Her hips had taken over in lieu of her wandering mind, thrusting hard and fast against his steely erection, her hands slipping under his t-shirt to explore the cool, hard flesh that mapped his annoyingly perfect body. When had he lost the duster? She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was touching him. Feeling his skin beneath her fingers. Feeling his mouth against her body. Feeling anything…anything…
What the hell are you doing?
Her mind was not welcome here. Her mind would bring with it thoughts, and thoughts would lead to logic. Logic…logic…
“Taste so sweet,” she heard him murmur. “Why do you have to taste so sweet?”
Kissing his way back up her throat, Spike covered her mouth with his again before thoughts could take control of action. “What are you doing to me?” he asked harshly, licking her lips before consuming her again. “What…fuck…Buffy…”
It came without warning, the bolt of logic that zapped her Spike-inebriated brain. A reminder in plain black and white of who he was, why he was here, and what had brought them to this place; he was after the gem, he was strung out on Drusilla, and he was banging Harmony. And he’d beaten the snot out of her while mocking the humiliation of being a fraternity challenge.
Screw the Slayer. It’s pledge week at Phi Gamma Phi.
Moaning in protest, Buffy somehow found the strength to shove the vampire away, her blood buzzed and her body on fire, but her mind was finally back where it belonged. She didn’t care to examine the way he gasped or the disappointment that flashed across his eyes. It was his fault, dammit. He brought this on himself.
What the hell had he been thinking when he kissed her?
“What,” Buffy demanded, panting hard, “was that?”
Spike just stared at her, his chest heaving. “What was that?” he echoed. “You were a bloody blink away from tossing me on the ground—”
“I was the lungee! You were all with the…the wandering lips and I just happened to be here—”
He barked a laugh. “Just happened to be here?”
“I don’t know what your deal is—”
“Weren’t puttin’ up such a big fight a second ago, now were you?” Spike seared her with a knowing look that made her feel very small and very turned on in the same instant—two sensations that didn’t bode well when placed in proximity of one another. “You were moanin’ an’ pawing at me like a bitch in heat.”
“Wrong choice of words, buddy.”
“Yeah? Din’t seem to think so when you were gasping my name.” Spike took a step forward, his eyes raking her body in a manner that should have earned him a jawful of slayer fist rather than another aroused shiver. “You can’t tell me you never thought of it.”
She flinched, and not in disgust. “Thought of what?”
“You. Me. We’d be bloody glorious, Slayer.”
“An’ you’re delusional,” he retorted. “It’s okay to want it.”
Buffy inhaled sharply and shook her head. She needed to remain focused. “Want it?” she replied. “You came here to kill me, remember? What the hell happened?”
Spike shrugged. “Found somethin’ I want more.”
“And we’re back to you’re sick.”
“It’s sick to want you?” He paused, blinked, then shrugged again, hands sliding into his jean pockets. “Well, guess that’s fair.”
Buffy frowned. “Hey!”
“Hot an’ cold. Make up your mind.”
“This is insane,” she decided. “You’re insane.”
“Definitely getting there…” Spike muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You want me, love. There’s no fakin’ what I felt just a mo’ ago. Your smell…your taste…the way you moaned for me. You want it. I want it. We’re here an’ blissfully unattached—”
“You came here because of your breakup with Dru!”
“No,” he corrected irately, cocking his head. “I came here for the gem, an’ even that was a ruse. Din’t see it till too late, though. Never bloody do.” A quick, almost maniac laugh bubbled off his lips. “Found some tarty chit to fill your shoes, din’t I? But even that wasn’t enough. Can’t blame a girl for being right. Christ, I hate it when she’s right…”
At some point, he must have taken the exit ramp. Buffy just watched him for a few confused seconds before closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Have you completely lost your mind?” she demanded. “What the hell—”
“Dru,” Spike answered shortly. “Drusilla. She said it. I din’t wanna hear. Came here to…fuck, I don’t even know anymore. I had a plan, I think. It seems I had a plan. Bloody always do, they jus’ tend to fall apart. I wanted the gem but not enough to really…” He trailed off, and Buffy didn’t bother to follow him. The look in his eyes was distant and lost, and though it would be easy to jump on his case again, a larger part of her understood he was drawing nearer to his conclusion. Then, a beat later, his head snapped up and his gaze fixed on hers.
“It’s you,” he said. “Of course it’s you.”
Buffy blinked. Hard. “What?”
“It’s always been you.”
And then words didn’t matter. Not to him, and not to her. She didn’t know when she reached the bridge in her mind or what prompted her to cross it. In that instant, it didn’t matter. Her protestations suddenly seemed insignificant compared to want. Compared to the magnetic draw of his eyes she couldn’t find the will to fight. Perhaps she was lonely, perhaps she needed this in the harsh light of what had happened, and perhaps—screw it—perhaps he was right. Hell, he was right. And suddenly she had no will to fight him anymore.
They came together in fury, met each other halfway, mouths fusing, limbs entwining, and nothing else mattered at all.
“So hot,” he murmured, teeth skimming across her bra. “So fucking hot.”
His eyes wandered upward, twinkling when they clashed with hers. “You want this,” he purred. His fingers wandered over her mound, played across her wiry curls before rubbing her opening with unmistakable intent. “Can’t hide from me, Slayer. I feel you here.”
God, she felt it, too. Felt herself dripping with want, saturated with need beyond need. Spike was fingering her pussy and she wanted more. It didn’t make sense—nothing made sense—but the line had been drawn and she wasn’t about to retreat. Not when this felt so right. Out of wrongness, perhaps, but somehow, it had been made right.
“Yes,” she whispered, whimpering and thrusting her hips against him.
Spike perked a brow. “Yes?” he echoed, thumb slipping over her clit. “Bet lover boy couldn’t find this button with a bloody map.”
A sound that might have been a laugh ruptured through her throat. Buffy shook her head hard, thrusting against him again. “More,” she begged sweetly. “Please.”
She nodded. He nipped at her breasts and pinched her clit; then, without warning or reason, pulled his touch away, leaving her to drown in frustration. Dammit, it was so like him. So infuriatingly like him to do the exact opposite of what was asked…and to do it with a smile on his face.
“Gah!” Buffy cried, prying her eyes opened. “What are you—”
Spike pressed a finger to his lips and winked. “There, there,” he mused, wiggling his hips until the unmistakable shuffle of jeans falling down his legs registered to her numb ears. Then something cool and hard was pressed at her opening. She knew what it was—she’d felt it before. Twice before. Twice. She’d felt it. The raw excitement. The passion. She’d felt it before even if no amount of familiarity could have prepared her for this moment. For what was to come.
As it was, the shapes in her mind didn’t fully solidify until he slammed inside her. Slammed. No gentle entry. No calm, soothing words of faked emotion. No murmurs of how beautiful she was and how much this meant. There was nothing but the feel of his cock prying her pussy lips apart, invading her, splitting her until there was nothing but the wall at her back and Spike between her legs. Spike’s length locked within her body, his brow resting at her shoulder, harsh breaths colliding with her skin.
Spike’s inside me. Oh God, Spike’s inside me.
Buffy’s eyes went wide, her hands clutching his shoulders. “Oh God!”
“Oh God,” Spike echoed, lapping at her flesh. “You’re so warm.”
She didn’t know what the meant, but it didn’t matter the next second. He’d withdrawn from her, his head lingering at her opening—hesitating just long enough for her eyes to meet his. He was still in human form. And for whatever reason, that realization shook her to the core. Reality might have checked itself out, but facts couldn’t be denied. Buffy was having sex with Spike. Spike was sliding his cock back into her body. Her back hit the wall with enough force to surprise her, but not as much as her answering gasp and the way she arched her hips to recapture him.
This shouldn’t feel so good. Why did it feel so good?
“So warm,” he murmured again. Her body rocked against his chest, wind knocked from her lungs, but she didn’t care. “Tell me you wanted this. Tell me, Buffy.”
“Tell me you wanted this.” Spike didn’t await a response, instead leaning inward and burying his face in her throat, fingers grasping her hips, his thrusts mounting in intensity. It wasn’t nice or slow—wasn’t cautious. He didn’t treat her like she was going to break. He moved inside her with frenzied hunger, with irrefutable need, with a driving thirst that couldn’t be denied. “Tell me you’ve wanted this all along.”
He growled, blunt teeth scratching at her shoulder. “Don’t?” he rasped, cock stabbing her with brutal thrusts. “You can’t tell me you never thought about this—”
“—dreamt about this. God knows I have. Dreamed about you. Fantasized. Jus’ like this. You ridin’ my prick. Drenching me. Feel how you drench me?” He didn’t let her answer, capturing her lips in a fierce, anxious kiss. And God, she nearly came apart. Feeling his lips move against hers, his desperation, his body slamming against hers, his length sliding in and out of her pussy—the wall of unreality came tumbling down.
She understood. There, gasping and holding onto him as he bruised her with his body, she understood.
This was why he’d come back. Not the gem. Not to kill her. Not for any reason but this.
Buffy’s eyes watered, her hands sliding up his arms and linking behind his neck. Their lips parted as their eyes met again.
And in that instant, something changed.
“Buffy,” Spike murmured, thrusts growing harder and more frantic. He was going to knock the life out of her, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered but sensation. “Buffy, Buffy…so fucking sweet…”
“Look at us, precious,” he instructed softly, capturing her chin in his left hand and pointing her face downwards. “See how we move together.”
Buffy swallowed hard and watched, mesmerized. She’d never even considering watching before, but the first glance held her captive. His juice-drenched cock pressed between her vaginal lips, disappearing deep inside her body and sliding out again. Over and over. A dance between them—dip and return, dip and return. Watching her flesh fit snugly around him, feeling herself growing hotter and wetter with every plunge, needing something she couldn’t name or describe.
Her hips surged into battle, desperate to claim him for her own. He kept pulling away from her when all she wanted was to capture him forever.
Her insides were burning. Were they supposed to burn?
“We’re glorious, aren’t we?” Spike whispered, capturing her lip between his teeth and suckling sweetly. “Fit so tight around me.”
“That’s it, Buffy. Say my name. Tell me who’s fucking you.”
Her eyes flashed and for a second—a split second—sensibility returned. Buffy grunted and shoved him back before she could stop herself, her feet hitting the ground. She ignored the cut of protest, ignored her body’s pleas, ignored the hurt look on his face and the eager bob of his swollen cock.
If they were going to do this, they were doing it her way.
“Who’s fucking me?” she retorted, storming forward and shoving him again. He fell over this time; his jeans, bunched around his ankles, made gravity his natural enemy. “Who’s fucking me?”
“Bloody hell, Slayer!” Spike snarled. “Give a fella a bit of warnin’, will you?”
“This is why you came back, isn’t it?” she demanded. “To see what it’d be like.”
He stared at her for a blank second, managing to look both lost and annoyed in the same beat. “What? Don’t bloody flatter yourself.”
“You came here to screw the Slayer.”
“I came here to sodding kill you, you nit.”
“And yet you ended up—”
Spike’s nostrils flared. “Well, that wasn’t the plan, now was it? It jus’ happened.” He sighed angrily, wrapping his hand around his erection with a casualness that disarmed her, as though he pumped his length in front of an audience every day. As though she’d seen this a thousand times. “An’ I was quite willing to let it keep happening.”
Buffy didn’t respond at first; her eyes were ensnared by the rhythmic pumps of his fist. Up and down, up and down, tightening around the tip, up and down. He wasn’t circumcised. She’d never seen a man not circumcised. His foreskin closed around his belled head, and descended again. Up and down. He was masturbating in front of her, and God, if the ache between her legs wasn’t potent enough to flood a small city before, it sure as hell was now.
What are you doing?
She didn’t know or care. Not right now. Not today.
She just needed him inside her.
“Stop that,” Buffy said softly, waving at his length.
His eyes blazed in protest. “Fuck no.”
“Not gonna bust a nut for you, Slayer. You don’ pull the reins in mid bloody shag like that. Don’ care how much you hate me. You know, you got some nerve—”
The only way to shut him up, it seemed, was with action. Buffy rolled her eyes and pounced, landing astride his hips with precision only a slayer could muster. It was worth it for the widening of his eyes and the strangled gasp that tore free, and the fire in his expression died in favor of soft awe that made her insides tingle in a way she didn’t care to examine too closely. Her fingers instead wrapped around his wrist, drawing it away from his erection. This time, there was no protest.
The fire in her body couldn’t be denied. Not with the head of his cock rubbing her entrance—not with his eyes consuming her so thoroughly.
She’d never been looked at with such tenderness before. It made her uneasy.
Made this seem real.
“Stop talking,” Buffy whispered, sinking down, her body fused in bliss.
His eyes rolled up inside his head, his hands seizing her ass. “Oh fuck yeah,” he purred, favoring her with a long, slanted leer. “Gotta admire a girl who takes what she wants.”
“And this,” she replied, rolling her hips against him. She felt open and exposed like this—in the daylight, in the gym, astride her mortal enemy and riding his cock without thought or regret. It was new and bold, strange and wonderful, and she was determined to relish every second. “This is what I want.”
Spike ran his tongue over his teeth, sighing softly as he steered himself into her thrusts. “’Bout time you admitted it.”
“Why couldn’t you just stay away?” she whimpered.
“You don’ want me to stay away, precious.”
Buffy’s lower lip jutted out, her body sizzling. Muscles she only used for high kicks and impossible leaps itched to take over. Itched to squeeze him until the smirk on his face was a ghost of a memory, and his cock was buried so deep he’d still feel her around him when they were separated by continents.
A dark shiver rushed down her spine without warning.
This was a snapshot. A moment in time. Spike was here now but then he would leave. That was the way it happened. He came, he created a mess, and then he left. He’d be back, of course, but what face would he wear? Would it be the one he showed her now or the one she’d long ago memorized?
Would he even remember what happened here? Would he care at all?
She shouldn’t give a damn, but she did. This moment was hers. Hers. And Spike was in her moment. Spike was hers. And she’d be damned if he forgot it.
“This is mine,” she all but growled, bouncing hard on his cock. The air was coated in their mutual gasps, accented with the hard, wet smacks of their bodies colliding. The burn in her belly spread, touching nerves she hadn’t known existed, firing her veins, branching to places that hadn’t been explored. It was exciting and terrifying in the same beat, and she wanted more.
More, more, more.
“Fuck yeah,” Spike agreed fiercely, his left hand slipping between their bodies. “God, I love this pussy.”
“You’re so tight. So wet. Gonna drown in you, Slayer.” His finger nudged her swollen clit, eliciting a sharp, almost painful cry. “Wanna drown…”
“Never what?” he retorted, sitting up before she could blink, nudging his cock further within her, touching parts of her that had never been touched. “Never felt this? So right? So deep?” Her breasts flattened against his chest as his mouth found her throat again, pressing his right hand hard against her ass. “Love riding me, don’ you?”
Buffy bit her cheek to prevent herself from whimpering a response.
He nipped at the straps of her bra, rendering it completely useless. Then her left breast was consumed by his mouth, tongue flicking her nipple as his teeth tenderly scraped her sensitive flesh. “You have such pretty titties,” he purred, sucking her sweetly. “Buffy…”
The world moved. She was on her back in a flash, Spike moving hard and fast over her—
deep, unrelenting strokes, pounding her pussy without mercy. Every thrust rendered her tighter and wetter, the burning in her veins moving fast toward something she couldn’t see—an end she couldn’t predict. Her walls constricted tight around his prick, needing, wanting, desperate to hold him inside her. Every time his hard flesh slipped away, she fell with him. Needing more. Needing…needing…
“Stay,” Buffy gasped. “Stay.”
He struck her hard, and she squeezed. She squeezed using every muscle she could summon. Squeezed herself around his prick, and watched in awe as his eyes widened and the True Blue faded at last.
“Oh my fuck,” Spike roared. “Again. Again.”
“Those muscles. God, those…squeeze me, oh fuck, pet, squeeze me jus’ like that. Oh yes. God yes. Feel so good. So good. My slayer. My Buffy. Mine. Again, oh God, again.”
His fingers were between them again, finding and massaging her clit with abandoned frenzy, a brutal assault that would have hurt had it not felt so good. More and more, she wanted more. Wanted…
She was going to explode.
Spike growled again and fangs descended, sinking into her flesh and triggering an inner supernova. Ecstasy beyond experience blazed through her skin, triggering lightning that crashed and collided, sparked and grew into a fervor that couldn’t be tamed. It was not tamable. Non-ending. Never ending. It touched every cell, every nerve, alighting every inch in her body, and just when she thought the waves might recede, they started over again.
Spike slamming into her. Spike growling into her throat. Spike fingering her clit. Spike murmuring words as his body wound tight before he finally gasped her name and spilled inside her. As his cock plunged again and again into her wet depths, demanding everything she had. Commanding her to fight him—to hold nothing back.
Words. There were words.
Words, and then blackness.
Her pathetic one-night stand’s explorations hadn’t felt anything like this.
Spike was buried between her thighs, two fingers stretching her pussy walls as his mouth made love to her clit. His eyes were fixed on her, a slow grin spreading across his face when he noticed she was awake. His hair was tussled, his lips sucking on her swollen pearl before giving her warm, gooey flesh a good shake. And the sight was so erotic—so startling—she felt herself tremble and fall apart without warning. It was sweet and unexpected, and so completely profound and new she felt her eyes well again with tears.
“That’s my girl,” Spike purred, favoring her pussy with a parting lick before beginning a long prowl up her body. Her remaining clothing had disappeared at some point, as had his, but she didn’t care.
God, the world could end now and she wouldn’t care.
“How long was I out?” she murmured.
“Long,” he replied, kissing one of her nipples, dragging his hand across her pussy.
“What time is it?”
“Late.” His lips brushed against the corner of her mouth, cock nudging her sodden folds.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to shag you,” he replied matter-of-factly. He grinned and brushed the head of his prick against her clit, licking his lips when she moaned. “Again. And again.”
“What happened to the fight?”
Spike shrugged. “Fighting’s overrated.”
Buffy fought for some smidgeon of common sense. She’d been so certain it would return after lust had settled into a post-coital hum. Perhaps sex had rendered her mind goo along with the rest of her. “How long?” she asked.
“’m thinkin’…” Spike grinned and dipped his head again, his tongue lapping delicately at the fresh bite wound on her throat.
Oh God, she’d let him bite her.
Buffy blinked, trying to see through the fog. “Forever?”
“You did something bad, didn’t you?”
Spike chuckled, his cock beginning a long, slow slide into her body. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“With the bite. You bit me.”
“Mhmm…an’ then some.”
“Found out what I want. What I came for. Not lettin’ it go.”
Gah. It was beyond difficult to think with a massive vampire erection splitting her in half. But then again, Spike was probably banking on that. It was the one thing, aside from her sated limbs and her suddenly softened heart that was keeping him alive.
Right. That argument is officially retired.
“What?” she asked, hissing through her teeth and thrusting up against him. “Oh…Spike…come back…what?”
“What I came back for,” he replied in an annoyingly unaffected tone, brushing his lips over her nose before consuming her in a soft kiss.
He pulled back and closed a hand around her breast, and for the first time she understood. She truly understood. Something had changed here and there was no going back. No going back at all. With his mouth wandering across her neck, his fingers exploring her clit as his other hand stroked her skin, there was no going back. She waited and trembled, body aching, heart thundering, her whole self wrapped in the moment. Wrapped in many moments—waiting, desperate for what she’d needed from the start.
Needed all along.
He didn’t disappoint. Smiling into her eyes, he told her what she wanted.
“What I came back for… that’s easy, Slayer,” Spike murmured, kissing her sweetly. “You.”
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/290521.html