Buffy had tried. And Buffy had failed. She still looked a little…bulge-y.
Which is why the only guy that hadn’t eyeballed her crotch and backed slowly away was three sheets to the wind.
Not that he was Prince Charming. But that suited Buffy just fine for this little experiment.
“And then she left me for that slimy git! Can you believe it??” He leaned closer in whiny outrage, wafting the aroma of cheap whiskey her way.
“It’s a mystery to me how she let you go,” she replied dryly.
Completely oblivious to her sarcasm, Spike—as His Courtliness called himself—waved his glass to the bartender for another. “Yeah! Bloody bitch. Don’t know why I should be surprised. Women always fuck you, one way or the other. Fuck you in the wallet, fuck you in the head…might as well just fuck you in the arse and get it over with.”
At this point he was, more or less, muttering to himself (or maybe the top of the bar), but Buffy seized onto the segue with gusto.
“Surely not all fucking is of the bad.”
Drunken blue eyes slanted her direction and focused on her properly for the first time in half an hour. She watched realization, appraisal and interest roll with delayed reflex across his face, and then he smiled in a broad way that made her stomach flutter.
Prince Charming wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes.
It also made her grin, because he clearly believed he was getting the drop on her, instead of the other way around.
“Mmm. No. ‘Bad’ is not really the word I’d use to describe how I fuck.”
Buffy regarded him with exaggerated skepticism. “I dunno if I believe you.”
“Could give you a demonstration if you like.” He somehow managed to stretch and preen simultaneously.
His leer was truly almost charming.
“That’s so generous of you.”
“Generous. That’s me, luv.”
Buffy laughed, leaning in close enough to kiss. “That’s good. Because I’m looking for a real giver.”
His eyes grew blurry, and just as his weight tilted forward to close the distance, Buffy pulled away.
She slapped some cash onto the bar for his tab, and they weaved their way out the door.
Buffy sure as hell didn’t want to bring this sketchball back to her apartment, but she was kind of at a loss for what to do with him.
Or, more accurately, where to do it.
In the end, Spike’s lack of coordination decided the location for them. She could only get him as far as the alley, so they stumbled a little further, out of view of the street, and Buffy shoved him up against the wall.
Spike’s eyes rounded and then rolled back when she dropped his pants and grabbed his dick.
“Ohh, fuck yeah,” he laughed. “Couldn’t wait to get a piece, could you, sweetheart? Want that cock inside….”
“You could say that….”
He cursed and nearly tripped over his own jeans when she spun him to face the wall, but Buffy was stronger than she looked, and she kept him from face-planting at the last minute. Still reeling drunkenly, he didn’t register what was going on until her slick finger was probing his ass
His shoulder jerked, face twisting to look at her over his shoulder. “What the f—aaghhhhhh!”
As her finger slid inside, he froze and shuddered, teeth grasping his bottom lip. She withdrew and thrust again, feeling a thrill as he cried out and pushed back against her hand.
His fingers scrabbled against the brick when a second slim finger joined the first.
“Christ!”
And then a third, to approach the thickness of the dildo still concealed under her skirt. She reached around his hip to grasp his cock and he shouted throatily, eyes half-mast as he leaned heavily against the wall. His hips rocked between her hands, round ass pushing back at her wantonly, and Buffy had a passing brush of conscience about how this man might react if he weren’t completely trashed.
But that ass. She had a hard time feeling guilty when confronted with that ass.
By the time she managed to free the dildo from her skirt and panties (which were unfortunately of the granny variety…what, you think that thing was going to fit in bikini briefs?), Spike was staring blearily over his shoulder with a look that vacillated between shock, confusion, and something akin to horror.
“You…you’re… You’re too little to be a man.”
“These days, anybody can be a man for $59.95.”
His face relaxed visibly. “So it’s—”
“Phthalate-free, non-porous silicone.”
“Oh.” He stared at it. “Well. In that case….” His forehead wrinkled as though he didn’t know what the hell to do in ‘this case’ and he wobbled dizzily. He turned back to the wall, which…Buffy chose to take as consent.
There was more resistance than she expected as she pressed inside. Spike bit his lip on a desperate sound and shuddered when her hips lodged against his.
She looked down between them and was not disappointed at the visual. Her hips rocked in fascination, and Spike’s moan sent a thrill to her toes.
He arched back as the slick cock withdrew, and the more rapid reentry sent him jarring forward toward the wall. “Oh, fuck.”
“Good?” She smiled and ran her hands under his shirt, feeling the muscles of his back flex as she stroked into him again.
He groaned and nodded, collapsing further against the wall on the next thrust, followed rapidly by the next. His forehead rested woozily on his arm, and she could see that his knuckles were bleeding, scraped raw against the brick.
His mouth was open, eyes closed and face drawn with lust as she scraped her nails down his belly. His head bowed further, muscles tensing when he began pushing back in counterpoint.
And when her hands teased so close to his cock without so much as brushing it, he swore and his whole body bucked.
Bucked again when she rotated her hips, lips brushing his ear. “Touch yourself for me.”
Her eyes were locked on the movement of his hand and she moved faster now, harder, getting off on the way he was getting off on it. The strap-on rubbed against her clit as she picked up the pace.
They were panting, moaning, swearing, and Buffy could hear laughter and conversation from the closing-time crowd. They weren’t that far away. Close enough to hear, if they wanted. And wouldn’t they get a shock if they came looking. She imagined how they must look…her skirt bunched at her waist, hips pistoning forward, fucking him, and Spike taking it with his pants around his ankles.
When she came, the sound from her mouth was guttural, and she fucked him harder. It was near-violent by the time Spike shouted and splattered the wall.
He didn’t look at her afterwards.
He pulled his jeans back over his hips and wiped his hand against the wall with a grimace, and he even turned to lean gingerly against the wall, but his eyes didn’t lift and meet hers. Instead, he pulled out a pack of smokes and busied himself with the nicotine ritual.
Buffy stood in front of him, apparently invisible and suddenly very awkward about what they had just done. What she had just done to him. What do you say to someone after something like that?
‘Thanks for giving me your ass cherry. Boy, that was kinky, wasn’t it? Been fun, gotta go, see you around.’
And the longer he avoided looking at her, the more antsy she became. What if he hadn’t actually liked it? Or wanted it? Oh god, what if he hadn’t actually wanted it. What did that say about her?
He looked sort of post-coital boneless, but what if he was actually horrified and waiting for her to leave? She should leave.
She was halfway to the mouth of the alley when he spoke. “Oi, where do you think you’re going?”
He had sobered up a little, apparently, and his eyes were sharp when she turned back.
“Home?”
He dropped his cigarette, ground it out and started towards her…a little bowlegged. She didn’t feel much better when he winced and muttered.
“Do you always go around buggering strange men in the arse and then walking off without so much as a thanks-for-the-shag. Bit rude, that.”
The rebuke struck a cord and made her irritable. “Do you always roll over and ignore the other person after sex?”
“Only if it’s a bint that comes at me in a dark alley with a dildo. Need a bit of time to collect myself whenever that happens, yeah.”
She blushed, pissed off that he could see it on her face here, closer to the street. She looked away.
“So, were you planning on leaving me here, shamed and alone, or are you gonna take me home and make a dishonest man out of me.”
He stepped closer, tongue curling as he stroked her cock through her skirt.
“And maybe this time, I can drive, eh?”