The streets were dark when Tara pulled her car up behind Spike’s Desoto parked in front of his house. Well, ‘parked’ wasn’t exactly the optimum word to describe its position. More like, ‘crashed into the mailbox, one tire up on the curb, headlights still on, obviously displeased driver.’
“Ouch,” Tara commented, eyeing the black car warily. “You sure you want to do this right now Buffy? Maybe he needs some time to cool off?”
“There’s no way I’m being avoido gal tonight,” Buffy said by means of reply. “It’s my stupid conclusion jumping brain that got him that way, so I’m going to make this better.”
“Way to go Buffy!” Willow quietly cheered, looking back towards her friend from the passenger seat and giving her an encouraging smile. “Now get in there and get it fixed!”
The blonde quickly gathered her things, took a steely breath, reached for the door handle—and promptly chickened out. “I can’t!” she moaned. “What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if he hates me forever?” Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. “What if I get fired? What am I going to do for food?”
“Relax,” Tara said soothingly, joining her girlfriend in looking back at the nervous girl in her car. “Willow and I will pick you up whenever you call us—we’re doing a study night tonight, so we’re free whenever.”
“And don’t even start worrying about food, Buffy,” Willow chimed in. “I mean, what are friends for, when they don’t supply daily rations of yogurt and fruit? Which is pretty much all you eat anyway?”
“Blegh,” Buffy answered, smiling back at her friends. “You guys are the best. Okay, I’m doing this.” She reached out once more for the door handle, and, squeezing her eyes shut, pulled it. “I’ll call you guys later, and thanks again!” she said, stepping out of the car and shutting the door. Taking another deep breath, she turned her eyes towards Spike’s house and slowly began to walk towards the entrance.
“Okay, Buffy, you can do this,” she said to herself, as she passed through the gate and moved closer to the looming front door. “Third time you’ve been here, shouldn’t the nerve thing be going away? Third time’s charming, or whatever?”
Finally, her feet brought her before the large wooden surface, and with a tentative hand, she reached out and knocked.
She hardly remembered to breathe in the moments that passed in silence, until she heard the familiar steps behind the door, and it swung open. Spike looked at her in unmasked surprise for a moment, until his expression hardened. “What do you want?” His voice was angry, but she could see the underlying hurt in his red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes.
“Okay, I deserve that,” she answered sheepishly, giving him an apologetic smile. “Can I come in?”
“I don’t bloody care,” he replied, but he stepped away and left the door open for her to follow him through.
“I wanted to talk.” He made no sign of hearing her, only moved through the hallway into the room they’d been in earlier that day. Most of the fallen objects had been picked up, but Dru’s portrait was still lying haphazardly on the floor. “About what you told me—”
“Listen, if you’re here to berate me further, I don’t want to hear any of it,” Spike snapped, setting himself down upon the couch and sprawling out. It was at that moment that Buffy saw something lying on the coffee table, next to a bottle of Jack Daniels—a drawing.
Her breath caught in her throat as she drank in the image, the messily drawn sketch that had obviously been done on a whim. The lines were uneven and almost crude, but it was undeniable who was in the picture, the elusive figure that was so close, but almost holding herself away.
Her.
As soon as Spike saw where her gaze had turned, he jumped to his feet and snatched the notebook up, breaking Buffy out of her unintentional reverie with a pointed glare. “I didn’t come here to fight,” she weakly started, but at Spike’s derisive laugh, her words were cut short.
“Don’t give me that rot,” he said, dropping the notebook as he accusingly pointed his finger at her. There was a gleaming madness in his eyes, an unrestrained passion that had Buffy’s heart pounding even as she slowly backed towards the wall. “First we have a fun li’l game of show ‘n tell, and get all friendly,” he growled, taking a step towards her, “and then you go and bring up this, this thing, whatever it is, that’s between us.” Another step. “This bleedin’ spell you’ve got on me, that won’t let me think of anything else when you’re around.” A laugh. “And when you’re not around, it’s worse! And I swear, Summers, I’m at the brink here, and I can’t take anymore of this game you’re playing—”
“It’s not a game!” Buffy exclaimed, her voice gaining strength even as her back pressed against the hard surface of the wall. “Spike I’m not toying with you, I’m trying to—”
“To what?” He was right in front of her now, and his blue eyes were hard with temper as his hand shot out and landed right next to her face on the wall. “Say, it, Buffy, tell me exactly what you want from me!”
The sound of her name rolling from his lips caused her to take a sharp breath, her skin flushed with the desire that his pure, unadulterated emotion instilled in her. As the blazing blue fire from his eyes finally ignited the inferno inside, she knew the time for words was past.
His chest was mere inches away from hers, and both were pounding with emotion—passion, fury, lust… And without thinking, Buffy reached out and wrapped her arms around Spike’s neck, pulling him flush against her and finally pressing her lips against his.
The second their skin touched, the need took over. His hands firmly grasped her shoulders, pressing her between the wall and his chest as their lips moved together. Barely holding back a moan, Buffy pulled him even closer and flicked her tongue against his lips. In response, Spike roughly slid his hands down her arms and pushed his tongue inside her mouth, groaning at the sweet taste.
Then he roughly pulled away, staring down at her again as her chest heaved with much-needed breath. “If you start this, I’m not going to be able to stop,” he said, his voice husky with barely-restrained passion.
“Don’t stop,” she said, surprised by the raw need in her voice. Seconds later, he was on her again, his hands grasping her hips possessively and pulling her into his denim-clad erection. “Oh!” she gasped, her head lolling back at the feel of his hardness pressing against her. “Spike, I—”
“Tell me what you want, kitten,” he said again, but this time it was not a demand. “I’ll give you whatever you need, sweet, but you have to tell me.” Stilling his grinding, he dipped his head down and placed a gentle kiss on the skin of her cheek, whispering, “Tell me what you need.”
“What I need…” There was no way she was going to be able to answer that with his hot breath tickling her ear, his hands sliding delectably on the skin of her waist, and down to her thighs, slowly, slowly… “Oh, god, Spike, I need you inside of me!”
With a feral growl, his ministrations resumed, nipping at the lobe of her ear before placing wet, open-mouthed kisses on her neck while sliding his hands up her hips and under the cloth of her shirt. “You feel so good,” he groaned against her skin, when her own hands slid down the front of his chest, raking her nails against his skin. “I just want to throw you right there on the ground, have my wicked way with you.” He paused a moment, and she could feel him smile against her skin. “As a matter of fact, love, that sounds right perfect.”
“What—?” she started to ask, but her words were cut off as his lips pressed against hers again, nipping at them roughly as he suddenly pulled her away from the support of the way, the two of them crashing to the floor for the second time that day, their kiss continuing as they sunk onto the ground. He lay beneath her, his hardness pressing into her center as she straddled him, swiveling her hips teasingly as she licked and sucked at his bottom lip.
Suddenly, his hands were under her shirt and palming her breasts roughly, causing a mewl to release from her throat as she sat up, her head thrown back and eyes shut in bliss. Then the contact abruptly halted, and her eyes snapped open. “What’s your probl—”
“Take your clothes off,” he gasped, staring at her with lust-darkened eyes. “I need to see you again.”
At his words and bare, desirous tone, Buffy felt a rush of moisture flood her already soaked thong. She quickly pulled her shirt over her head, grinning at the groan that Spike let out at the sight of her lace-covered breasts. Leaving that particular garment on, she shakily stood and slipped off her sandals, then slowly slid her jeans off and bared her lingerie-clad self to the hushed and still man sitting on the floor before her.
His silence unnerved her. Thinking back on her not so pleasant experience with Angel and the fiasco with Parker, anxiety began to surface in the insecure young woman’s mind. “Spike?” she said tentatively, when a moment passed and he still had yet to say anything.
The peroxide blonde slowly rose to his knees. Reaching out to take her hand, he gently pulled her until she was standing before him, and wrapped his arms around her bare waist, pressing her breasts against his cheek as he held her in a tender embrace. “You’re perfect,” he murmured against her skin, one hand lazily tracing circles on her skin. “And you’re going to enjoy all of this, just like I’m going to enjoy every second with a delectable treat such as yourself.”
His words touched her more than she could let on, and before she could think of a way to tell him just how meaningful his praise was, a hand had snaked upwards and undone the clasp on her bra. Within seconds, the scrap of lace was removed and Spike’s hands were covering her bare breasts, gently squeezing the mounds as he placed kisses along the skin of her stomach.
The pleasure was immense, intense. He’d barely touched her, and she was already panting and moaning like the worst of romance novel heroines. Yes, Buffy had been with other people, but no one had ever made her feel like this. This elusive combination of pleasure and torture, like she was hot and cold at the same time, completely filled with emotion but aching with the loss of something that she couldn’t identify.
A hint of what that something came when he pulled her forward roughly and his mouth latched onto her pink nipple. He gently began to kiss and lick at the hardened flesh; at the same time, a curious left hand snaked downwards and between the junction of her thighs, pushing the lace of her thong aside and sliding one long finger inside of her wet heat.
“Oh, Spike!” Buffy moaned wantonly, throwing her head back in pleasure. When he slipped the digit out she began to protest, but her words fell short as a thumb hooked beneath the side of her thong, dragging the material down the smooth expanse of her legs until she was completely bared. His lips abandoned her breast with a tender kiss, and he moved back until he could gaze upon her folds, one finger gently reaching up to part her lips as he breathed in the scent of her arousal.
“You’re perfect,” he said again, leaning forward to place a kiss on her skin right above her clit, before abruptly standing. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her back into the hallway. “Don’t want to do this wrong,” he sheepishly explained at the questioning and not-unnerved look he was receiving from the blonde. They moved up the staircase quickly and down another, darker hall, until Spike opened a door and led her into a huge, beautiful bedroom.
Nearly all of the western wall was windows, and as she stared at the moon-lit ocean outside, all of Buffy’s concerns and worries began to dissolve. She wanted this, more than she could remember wanting anything in a long time—and there could be nothing wrong with all of the beauty Spike was showing her.
Suddenly, Buffy realized that Spike was leading her to the bed, which she hadn’t even noticed until moments before. But damn, was that bed huge—was there a size larger than king?—and covered in dark silk sheets. Not wanting to think of the earlier purposes the bed had served, she slipped onto the mattress, leaning her head gently against the pillow as Spike pulled his black t-shirt off and undid the belt on his jeans. It was hard to keep from drooling, when his washboard abs and chiseled chest (God, did I just use “washboard” and “chiseled” in reference to man flesh?) glowed in the light of the moon—but her restraint nearly failed her when he pulled off his jeans and his cock popped out.
Can they get that big?! she frantically wondered, thinking back on the other three examples of the male anatomy that she’d eyed. They hadn’t exactly been the same as one another, she decided, but none compared to the huge length that she eyed hungrily as Spike climbed on the bed next to her.
Without thinking, Buffy reached out and wrapped her hand around the base, giggling when he let out an involuntary gasp. Wide-eyed as she felt it harden even more under her touch, a wolfish grin appeared on her face as she slowly began to pump her hand up and down.
“Oh, Buffy, just like that,” he gasped, his hips thrusting upwards with her strokes. “Feels so good!”
The grin didn’t disappear, and neither did his babbling, when Buffy crawled on her knees in between his legs and bent down. Pulling his cock to her mouth, she gently wrapped her lips around the head and swirled her tongue over the slit.
In a blink, she was on her back, and Spike was settled in between her legs, thrusting two fingers into her tight channel and wrapping his lips around her clit. A moan immediately turned into a wild yell as he began to lick and kiss at her pussy, his fingers curling up inside of her and massaging that spot inside that made her legs weak. Riley had done this for her before, but neither had enjoyed it much and it was a rare occurrence—but as Spike’s tongue replaced is fingers and he began to massage her clit, she could not believe what she was missing out on.
“You taste so good, pet,” he said, as he kissed her thigh and gently nipped at the flesh. “Could stay down here all day, I could.”
Buffy’s reply was a mere “gahhh,” his mouth moving back onto her clit and his finger stretching her as he massaged her inside. She could feel it building, the fire growing inside of her, her pulse racing, and all she wanted to do was throw herself over the edge.
“Spike!” she gasped a moment later. “I need you inside me now, please!”
In a second, he moved up her body, grabbing a condom from his desk drawer and quickly putting it on before he positioned himself at her entrance and thrust his cock into her heat. They were both still for a second, Buffy staring into Spike’s eyes and entranced by the emotion she saw—there was lust, of course, and the animalistic sort of passion that had captivated him earlier that evening; but the predominant and altogether surprising feeling she saw was utter, inexplicable awe.
“Buffy,” he murmured, dipping his head down to taste her lips. Slowly, he drew his shaft out and began to thrust it in, her hips lifting to meet his in time. The feeling was incredible. She was being stretched so pleasantly full, and she could feel the head of his cock hitting her in just the right way.
“Oh, yes! Yes!” she moaned, closing her eyes when he kissed her again, and again, and again, his cock pushing into her harder and harder and his fingers rubbing at her clit, and his lips whispering nasty words against hers—and it all felt so good, and she was building up inside, and everything was just so unreal and unbelievable, and she knew at the moment that she began to yell his name that she was honestly, really, truly falling for him, and that she couldn’t let this stop after tonight, and when he shouted her name as they came, she knew that she had found someone that fit just right into that gaping hole inside of her, that she could let to be a part of her, and maybe, one day…