Title: Show, Don’t Tell (2/5)
Setting: Post-NFA, early 2006
Word Count: 5,000/25,500
Summary: Anya wants to know why she never sees Spike’s bite marks on Buffy’s neck. Buffy wants to know why Spike never asked her to do anything of the sort.
The best place to bring up such an intimate topic, Buffy had decided, was in bed. Unfortunately, the bedroom had plenty of distractions that made it quite easy to delay what would inevitably be a delicate and awkward conversation. Spike lips. Spike tongue. Spike fingers. Spike junior. Even her textbooks became miraculously more appealing at a certain hour of the night. It took a week for the nagging feeling inside that made her feel off-balance and easily irritated, like she was hiding something, to overcome her hesitation.
“I have a question.” As she spoke she traced a finger idly down his chest, which gleamed faintly with sweat.
“Mmm?” His eyes were half-closed with sleepy satisfaction, and he shifted his head only a fraction. Of course, her head was nestled on his shoulder, so any way he looked at her would be cross-eyed. It had occurred to Buffy that the afterglow was perhaps not the best time for a serious heart-to-heart, but she had wanted to get all the other distractions out of the way- or, rather, temporarily sated.
With no little reluctance she scooted off him and turned onto her side, propping her elbow on the pillow and cupping her head in her hand. He mirrored her body language, finally looking curious.
“What is it?”
Though her instinct was to look away, Buffy steeled herself and met his gaze; she wanted to see every millisecond of his reaction.
“Do you ever want to bite me when we’re having sex?”
Later, it occurred to Buffy that she probably couldn’t have stunned him more if she had suggested having a threesome with Drusilla.
For a good five seconds his astonishment and disbelief were as evident as the nose on his face. Then his expression smoothed into one of neutrality.
Before that, though, mixed in with the shock and confusion, was a definite millisecond of lust. It came and went so swiftly that if she hadn’t known Spike inside and out, she might have missed it.
Buffy might have believed him if she hadn’t been watching him like a hawk. He sounded so sure. The idea that he could get away with lying to her disturbed her more than the idea that he would- at least in this matter.
He opened his mouth but seemed to change his mind halfway through about what to say. “Why are you asking this?”
Buffy had expected a question along those lines, but it didn’t make her any more articulate. “Because Anya asked why…she brought some stuff to my attention. About vampires and- and sex. She said that Angel bites Cordelia, so then I talked to Cordy-”
“You talked to Cordelia about-” He fish-mouthed, apparently unable to finish a thought about Angel’s sex life. It would have been comical under any other circumstances.
Instead, Buffy felt her temper flare. “Well, you’ve never talked to me about it.” She sat up, and the sheet slithered down her. It was a mark of how agitated Spike was that his eyes only drifted to her breasts for a second before returning to her face. Even so, Buffy snatched her discarded shirt from the floor and put it on as she spoke. It was much easier to be coherent when clothed.
“I needed to know if it was true. I felt like an idiot when Anya brought it up. Believe me, drilling Cordy about her and Angel’s sex life was never on my list of fun things to do with my time, but it’s not like there’s a support group. Human Women Who Date Vampires Anonymous, ask us how. Cordelia’s the only one who can relate- turns out she’s an expert.” She couldn’t keep from sounding bitter at that last.
Spike sat up, too, the sheet pooling in his lap. “Needed to know if what was true?”
Buffy took a deep breath, aborting the rant she hadn’t even known she harbored. “If it’s normal for vampires to bite their partners during sex.”
Spike stared at her a long moment before his gaze drifted away. “I wouldn’t call it normal.”
Buffy’s heart sank, though she couldn’t have said exactly why. It wasn’t just for the obvious reason, though; otherwise there wouldn’t be a feeling of hurt welling inside her. “But you do it sometimes.”
His eyes shot back to her. “I don’t.”
“I mean ‘you’ as in vampires. Not you ‘you.’” She bit back the Obviously.
Spike still looked disgruntled. His gaze swept the room and his fingers drummed the comforter before he said, “You could have asked me about it being normal.”
Buffy decided to take the higher road and not point out that he might have lied, the same way he had denied his desire. Instead, she said self-consciously, very aware of how he would interpret her words, “I wanted Cordelia’s opinion on it. How it felt. Why she did it.”
Sure enough, Spike stilled. His face was frustratingly void of expression as he looked at her.
“Cordelia said that Angel was jealous that you bit her,” said Buffy when it became clear that he wouldn’t speak. “And I’m guessing that you don’t like the fact that other vampires have bitten me while you never have.”
Spike’s eyebrow arched. “It doesn’t exactly fill me with good cheer.” His gaze fastened on her neck. Buffy tried to discern lust in his features, but his brow was furrowed and his lips were tight; mostly, he looked as frustrated as she felt.
He met her eyes again. “I know it’s not my business who’s bitten you, though.”
A few years ago she would have felt smug to hear such a self-deprecating answer. Now it just intensified her odd feeling of sadness.
“But you are jealous.”
He sighed. “Yeah. Some.” He smiled ruefully and for a second looked like himself. “A lot.”
“So in an ideal world you would- you would bite me.”
Again he seemed stung. “In an ideal world we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
What was that supposed to mean? In his ideal world was she so in tune with his kinks that he bit her from the start?
Or in his ideal world was he not a vampire at all?
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
She scooted closer and reached for the hand that was clenched on his knee, suddenly needing to touch him. Tenderly she asked, “Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”
Spike didn’t turn over his hand to clasp hers as he usually did. “It didn’t seem important.
“But-” But you’re a vampire, she wanted to say. How is it not important?
Spike pulled his hand away and ran it through his already mussed hair. He didn’t look at her.
Buffy didn’t understand how the conversation had turned out this way, why he was upset. She was tired of mixed signals and weird passive aggression though.
“Do you want to bite me?”
“I don’t think we should,” he said woodenly.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Spike hesitated. Finally, something like nervousness crept across his face, a vulnerability that she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Are you asking or offering?”
Buffy hesitated too, even though there was really only one answer. Why else would she be dragging this out?
There was no echo in their bedroom, but the word hung between them anyway, magnified by Spike’s silence. Buffy resisted the urge to hold her breath. She didn’t want this to be a big deal. That defeated the slowly crystallizing point.
“You would really let me bite you?” Spike’s voice had grown hoarse.
Buffy shivered and hoped he didn’t see it. “Yes.”
“Wh-” He cut himself off.
Buffy didn’t volunteer an answer, not the least of which because she didn’t really have one yet.
The seconds felt more like minutes as they ticked by. She kept waiting for a reaction from Spike that made sense. Excitement, awe, anticipation- hell, plain old gratitude. And- well-
Buffy wasn’t proud of it, but she had half-expected to see that look he gave her sometimes after a particularly world-shattering coupling or when she surprised him, the look that bypassed adoration and resembled reverence.
She catalogued a little amazement, maybe some awe- definitely lingering confusion; but they were all glimpses of emotions seen only when his carefully blank veneer cracked. It occurred to her suddenly why his reaction- or lack thereof- was so disheartening. She hadn’t seen this controlled mask since the first year after his soul, when he hadn’t trusted her with his emotions. When he finally spoke she was almost surprised.
“Can I think about it?”
Definitely not the reaction she had expected.
“Of course,” she said, and felt it necessary to add, “We wouldn’t have done it tonight anyway.”
“Thank you, love.”
When Buffy nodded automatically he caught her hand, finally interlacing their fingers. His eyes had softened, and a familiar light kindled in them, reminding her of slow-burning blue flames. Relief swept through her.
“I mean it, Buffy. Thank you.”
She nodded again and leaned forward to kiss him.
Biting his shoulder to muffle her screams had become reflex in England with Dawn in the flat, and it was a habit she still indulged even with Dawn at UCLA and a house entirely their own.
As the last tremors shook her body Buffy turned the bite into a wet, sucking kiss before letting her head thump to the living room floor. A shudder wracked Spike, and he slumped on top of her, momentarily turning into dead weight. It was a familiar, comfortable weight, though, and Buffy knew he would shift soon. She threaded her fingers through his curling hair while his cheek rested against her collarbone, and wondered if Willow had ever realized the answer to her question of why Buffy and Spike had covered their pretty hardwood floor with carpets.
When Spike rolled slightly so that he was still inside her but could brace his weight on his side, Buffy raised her head to glance around the living room. The couch pillows were on the floor, but the coffee table was still standing. They were getting better at minimizing casualties. The furniture had all lasted seven months so far.
Buffy made a small noise of approval as without warning Spike rolled them over so she rested on top. They kissed languidly. Buffy knew she should take advantage of his refractory period to get off and divest both of them of their jeans. The percentage of time that they got all their clothes off from the get-go was about the same as the rate they made it to the bedroom, and she didn’t want to ride him with her Levi’s still bunched around her ankles. His lips were just so kissable though…
She felt him harden inside her and was debating whether to flip them back over and save the straddling for later when Spike broke their kiss and whispered, “Buffy.”
“Oh good, you know my name,” she quipped. “I was afraid this would be a one-night stand.”
He smiled, and she loved that the sight still made her spine tingle.
It was his turn to thread his fingers in her hair. “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about.”
Buffy froze, instantly aware of what conversation he was referring to. His fingertips grazed her scalp, and she wanted to lean into his hand and close her eyes. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder. She was glad suddenly that he bore all her weight and they weren’t face to face, in case hers momentarily showed something she didn’t want him to see.
“Okay,” she said.
His other hand slid under her shirt from her hip to the small of her back. “Are you still willing…is the offer still good?”
“Yes.” Though her stomach jolted, she didn’t hesitate. It had been almost a week since their initial conversation, and she’d been starting to wonder, based on his lukewarm reaction, if he was going to ‘forget’ the matter.
Spike sucked in a breath. “Then I’d like to. If you’re- if you’re sure.”
He sounded so nervous that Buffy lifted her head and kissed him again. She knew he could feel her heart rate increasing and hoped her smile was reassuring enough.
“I’m sure. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” he echoed.
Buffy made a mental note to eat spinach the next day and Google what other foods had iron. She sat up and slowly eased off of him, drawing a low, unabashed whimper from Spike.
“Think you’re doing it wrong, love,” he murmured.
Buffy smiled wryly as she discarded her jeans and yanked his all the way off as well. She flung their socks aside next.
“Sure about that?” she asked as she pulled her shirt over her head with one hand and undid her bra strap with the other.
Spike licked his lips. “I could stand corrected.”
Buffy lowered herself gently back down, sheathing him. She let out a soft sigh as he filled her.
“Corrected,” he gasped as his eyes rolled back.
Before settling into a rhythm Buffy tugged his shirt up. Spike obliged by shimmying his upper body, and soon he was as naked as she was. As she shifted her weight back, Buffy smoothed her hands up his chest. Her fingertips brushed the faint red lines on his shoulder that marked her bite. Even when he wasn’t protected by a shirt the only blood she ever drew was with her nails and always by accident. Her worst tooth marks resembled hickeys more than anything else.
Even so, each time she innocently tried to muffle her cries was she unintentionally eliciting- and forcing him to repress- the urge to bite her in a much different way?
As the appointed evening wore on Buffy regretted having squashed the impulse to go to the Magic Box after class and tell Anya of their plans. She wanted someone to know what they were doing- not because she felt the need for approbation or wanted to be talked out of it; she wanted encouragement and maybe a little unnecessary but obligatory worry- and she really wanted someone to be waiting with bated breath the next day to ask how it turned out.
It hadn’t felt right to talk to Willow, though, who would doubtlessly fulfill all those ‘wants’ but would also wonder why she hadn’t been confided in earlier. The idea of talking to Xander about it actually made Buffy giggle inside. If Dawn were in town Buffy might have confided in her, though even that could be weird since she and Spike were so close; in any case, it wasn’t a conversation Buffy was willing to have over the phone. Besides, no matter how supportive her friends were they would all, even her sister, be shocked, and Buffy wasn’t in the mood to answer a million questions or listen to their well-intentioned musings when she had already made up her mind.
Anya was the only one who would understand implicitly- and she would definitely want to know all the details the next day. Something in Buffy had resisted talking to her, though. Buffy could downplay her decision to any other Scooby, but after their initial conversation Anya knew how big a deal it actually was. And Buffy couldn’t forget her patronizing attitude from a few weeks ago.
Spike’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Did you see Oksana tonight?”
Buffy looked at him. They had just dropped the girls off at the academy, and as usual he was bubbling over to compare notes.
“She was guarding herself much better,” he continued. “And Emily’s stopped pulling her punches when she comes at me.”
Buffy took it as a good sign that Spike was his usual animated self after their patrol with the slayers. If he wasn’t anxious, there was no reason for her to feel anxious. He’d been as attentive as he always was with the girls- much more so than Buffy, who had let him take the reins tonight. Usually she preferred patrolling with Spike without an entourage of overexcited-or-scared-or-cocky-or-helpless-or-some-combination-thereof slayers, but tonight she had been grateful for their presence. It was both a distraction and limited the opportunity for awkwardness.
“And Sonja was actually disappointed we didn’t run into anything,” said Buffy. “Remember how terrified she was when she first arrived?”
“Scared of her own stake,” chuckled Spike. “You watch her hold it now, and she moves like it’s a part of her. Last week we ran into a Polgara demon, and she…”
Buffy’s heart tugged at the fond, genuine smile that spread across Spike’s face as he talked about their girls. It both amused and fascinated her how fascinated he still was by slayers; their evolution and motivation absorbed him no less now that he trained them rather than hunted them. Occasionally she teased him that he better not find a replacement slayer, which always led to growls and declarations and very, very hot sex, usually in a creative new position or place.
Buffy shivered, though not from the cool early February weather. They had their creativity quota filled for the evening.
Spike talked all the way through unlocking their front door and hanging up his jacket, but after finishing a thought about Denise’s improved roundhouse kicks he fell abruptly silent, like a wind-up music box that had run out of turns before concluding its song. They stood in the foyer staring at each other, and Buffy knew he was thinking the same thing she was; here, now, was usually when the evening started.
He breathed, and Buffy knew that not once this evening had he forgotten their plans, not while coaching Oksana or encouraging Emily or even arguing which Ramones album was better with Amber.
“It’s okay,” she said, as much for herself as for him, and smiled. “Should we-?” She jerked her head toward the stairs.
“I’ll, uh, be up in a few minutes,” said Spike.
As she used the bathroom and changed Buffy tried not to dwell on what would possibly be delaying him at a time like this. When she emerged her breath caught; Spike sat on the bed, still fully dressed and with a vase of scarlet, white, and pink roses in his lap. He was as wide-eyed as she as he took in her turquoise chemise, though he had seen it many times before (it was one of her favorites; she liked to joke that it brought out the color in both their eyes). Normally Buffy didn’t waste time changing clothes if she knew her lingerie would come off again in minutes, but tonight she wanted to feel sexy.
“They’re beautiful,” she said, touching a finger to the silken petals as he sprang upright and wordlessly proffered the vase. She took a long whiff before looking at him. “Thank you.”
He nodded and cleared his throat. “These are for you for later.” Buffy’s eyes followed him as he moved to her bedside table, put the vase down, and held up a gold-wrapped box that she recognized as her favorite Belgian chocolates. A bottle of water also waited on the table.
“Or for now,” added Spike, looking self-consciously at the box in his hands.
Buffy’s heart seemed to have expanded, pushing painfully against her chest, and she had to swallow several times. Rather than do something ridiculous like cry, she said, “We’re all backward, aren’t we. You’re supposed to woo me with flowers and chocolates if I haven’t said yes already.”
He grinned as he set the box back down. “Think of it as retroactive wooing, thank you, and I love you all rolled into one.”
That was too adorable to not merit a kiss. As she moved toward him, she asked automatically, “And the water?”
His jocularity faded. “For after. And the chocolate is an energy boost. If you need it. Want it.”
Buffy halted with her hands starting to slide up his chest, the kiss forgotten. She tried not to sound nervous. “You think I’ll need it?” How much blood did vampires usually drink during sex? Of course, it wouldn’t matter if two vampires drank from each other because then there would be an even exchange and…okay, weird things to not think about now.
“No,” said Spike quickly. He paused. “Maybe. Most people want food or sugar after losing even a little blood.” He looked uncomfortable, and Buffy was very aware of her hands clasping the sides of his stomach in a thoroughly non-erotic, just as uncomfortable way.
“I dunno what to expect,” he admitted. “I’ve never done this with a human before. I mean-”
His face darkened, and he looked away. Numbness slid over Buffy, and she had to fight not to drop her hands. She could follow his truncated thoughts all too easily.
He had never concurrently made love and bitten a human before. He had probably concurrently had sex and bitten a human lots of times.
Think about the roses. Think about the chocolate.
Buffy sat on the bed and took a deep breath. In hindsight, she would gladly have exchanged a bit of awkwardness with Anya for a ‘good luck’ and the prospect of a curious text message and winking emoticon in the morning.
She tried to go for humor again. “I’m sure the mechanics are the same. What exactly…”
She should have screwed her courage to the stick and asked Cordelia for more details. Or whatever that saying was.
“Identical mechanics,” Spike assured her, sitting too. “Except I bite you.”
Buffy’s spine prickled. Except I bite you. It was far past the time to feel shy, but Spike’s bluntness made her want to cringe.
He was going to bite her. A vampire was going to bite her.
No, Spike was going to bite her. Not the same thing at all.
“All right,” she said when she realized Spike was studying her.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said.
She sincerely wanted to congratulate him on hiding 90% of his disappointment, but she knew it would only come out snarky.
“No, we do.”
Spike’s eyebrows rose. “No, we don’t.”
“Fine, I want to.”
“But if you want to stop at any point-”
“I know. I’ll say so.”
Spike didn’t persist, but she could see his lingering uncertainty and chagrin. She would have to take matters into her own hands.
Buffy turned and pulled his shirt from his jeans. “Identical mechanics means you’re wearing too many clothes.”
After his shirt was off she kissed him, and her hands went to his flies. He was hard already and shuddered when she stroked him. Buffy waited for a surge of heat- his uninhibited responses to her touch turned her on almost as much as his touch in return- but it didn’t come.
She released him so he could get rid of the rest of his clothes, and then he was laying her down and trailing kisses from her cleavage to her collarbone. Next he would reach her neck…
He paused. Her stomach turned over. No, he had to keep a steady course, or she wouldn’t make it.
“Where do you want me to do it?” He brushed his index finger tentatively against her old scars.
“There,” she said, without having to consider. “On the other ones.” She didn’t want new scars.
If he was disappointed that he didn’t get unmarked territory, as it were, he didn’t show it. He bent his head and resumed where he had left off.
Instead of her stomach turning right side up again, her insides felt strange, like she kept starting the descent on a roller coaster only to be jerked back to the apex before her stomach could properly fall.
His hand slid under her chemise, and he cupped her breast.
Like the butterflies in her had forgotten how to fly.
His lips reached hers. It took Buffy a second to remember to kiss him back. And shouldn’t she be making a noise of approval about now?
Mechanics was all too apt a word.
As one hand tweaked her nipple the other hiked up her chemise. She hadn’t worn any underwear.
After a moment Spike stilled. “Buffy…”
He pulled back to look at her. Buffy wanted to squirm under his gaze, but any movement just made it more raw. More obvious that she wasn’t…
He removed his knuckle. Then she squirmed, feeling not quite empty but not full either.
Spike bit his lip and didn’t say anything.
Buffy felt a blush creep up her face. She had never been insufficiently…well, wet. What was wrong with her? Spike was doing everything right, touching her in all the normal ways.
“Maybe we shouldn’t-” he began.
“No!” She hurriedly propped herself up on her elbows. “I just…am in the mood for something else tonight.” She traced his lips with one finger, hoping he would get it.
He did; after hesitating he slid down her body. She couldn’t keep from noting that he didn’t look particularly enthusiastic.
She arched her hips at the familiar glide of his tongue. Oh yes, this was better. She could feel the heat now. Much better with Spike down there, his fangs nowhere near-
She wasn’t thinking like that.
Except she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help thinking about those other humans he had bitten during…how even if the sex was consensual, it would have ended in death.
His head popped up so fast she felt a rush of air in its wake. He looked so painfully desperate to please her.
“Come here,” she whispered.
He obeyed, and when he was stretched over her she kissed him. He made no movement to go further, and she found herself reaching down and fumbling blindly, with unusual clumsiness, to slide him home. He let out a little gasp at her tightness. For a moment they were still against each other, and Buffy felt the butterflies, as though this were any other night, as though the anticipation alone would make her see stars-
He began thrusting, gently at first and then with a gradually increasing rhythm. Buffy wrapped her legs around him and cupped his head with both hands, drawing him closer. He kissed her fiercely, and then his lips were roaming again, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck- on any other night it would have been perfectly normal-
Buffy felt her heart begin to race. When would he-? Cordelia had said Angel usually bit her during orgasm.
Honestly, Buffy didn’t anticipate that happening anytime soon.
How did Cordy do it?
Better to just…just get it over with.
Conveniently, he was already kissing her neck. She pressed the back of his head and whispered, “Do it.”
He slowed. For a moment nothing happened, and she could feel his indecision as though it were her own. Then she heard the soft grinding noise of his face changing. She swallowed. Did she want to ask to see his face? She couldn’t feel the fingers cradling his head anymore.
How lucid would Spike be once he started drinking her? Angel had been out of his mind. But then, he’d already been out of his mind.
Spike wouldn’t lose control. And even if he did (he wouldn’t) she could stop him. She was the Slayer.
The Slayer who was about to let a vampire bite her for pleasure.
His fangs pierced her.
When the haze of panic faded several long seconds later, she jerked upright and stared across the room in horror.
Spike lay against the far wall near the door, a look of stunned disbelief on his very human face. She saw his shock grow as he scrambled to sit up, ungainly now in his nakedness.
Buffy couldn’t help it; she felt for the puncture holes on her neck. They were jagged because she had kicked him off, ripped him out of her-
She fought the sudden need to vomit.
Oh god, she had kicked him across the room.
She hadn’t done that since- since-
But this time he hadn’t. And she had-
Buffy cupped a hand over her mouth and removed it just as quickly; her fingertips were stained with blood.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry- are you all right?”
She launched herself off the bed, but he lurched to his feet and stepped away as she neared. His gaze skittered away from hers.
She reached toward him.
Buffy froze, her hand still outstretched. She withdrew it as it started trembling. Her heart pounded so fast it hurt, but the rest of her felt like a statue, her feet frozen to the ground.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to- it was an accident-”
“I’m fine,” he repeated.
Something horribly like a sob welled in her throat as they stood there and he still didn’t look at her. He made no move toward her. She was afraid of what he’d do if she moved toward him.
He stirred. “I…I’m gonna go.”
Panic far stronger than what she’d felt before filled her. “Go where?”
“Down…downstairs.” He moved sideways, away from her, and pulled on his jeans.
“To do what?”
He paused, and she saw the daze in his eyes. “I…I’m gonna…have a drink.”
He was out of the room before she finished the word.
Buffy didn’t know how long she stared at the spot where he had stood, but her legs were shaking when she turned back to the bed. She collapsed on it, noting dully that her groin ached.
Well, that was what happened when you kicked off your lover.
She drank from the bottle and then poured some water onto a tissue to wipe her neck and fingers. Several times she stood and crossed to the door, determined to go downstairs and make him accept her apology, make him understand that it was all an accident.
She always returned to the bed. She was afraid he wouldn’t look at her.
By the time he returned two hours later, sliding wordlessly under the covers and turning on his side away from her, she had eaten three quarters of her box of chocolates.
Her stomach hurt the rest of the night.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/459070.html