There was no way to tell how much time has passed, how long they’d been kissing, standing against her front door, Spike’s arms crushing Buffy to his chest, her hands awkwardly resting on his shoulders, her own fear keeping her from moving them as she wanted to.
Spike would have none of that, though, and took one of her hands, pressed it to his chest, then slid it down his torso to rest at his belt buckle. When she didn’t take the hint, he pulled away from her swollen, overworked lips.
“Slayer…” Spike scolded teasingly, as his devil’s lips moved from her mouth to her cheek, to her ear, to her throat. And that’s when she balked.
“Wait, stop!” Buffy pushed him away again, heart pounding from lust, with a healthy side order of fear and nerves, fear from having an evil soulless vampire next to her jugular. All her experience and training and reading, well, the reading she was supposed to have done, told her that an evil vampire by her neck was definitely, definitely not okay.
“Haven’t we already moved past that nonsense, kitten?” Spike murmured, hips gyrating against hers in a rhythmic, circular, insanity-inducing way. He breathed in deeply, drunk on the strong scent of her arousal. He pressed his knee between her thighs and almost groaned aloud at the heat he felt there. Right then he decided there was nothing that could stop him from burying himself in her sweet, nearly virginal pussy. He wanted her, and he would have her.
“I…I can’t…” Buffy gasped as feathery light kisses crept up her shoulder to her throat again.
Spike moved to her mouth and, suddenly bit her lip, roughly, but not quite hard enough to draw blood, then stole her breath with another demanding kiss, sucking the air out of her into his own useless lungs. “Yes, you can, and you will,” he growled once he pulled away. He kissed her throat gently, laved it with his tongue, his ministrations a promise that she needn’t fear him being there. He moved to her ear, voice low, demanding and laced with lust, “Now invite me in.”
“Invite…no!”
“Is that your favorite word?”
“No,” she whimpered, as his hands grasped her hips to pull her harder against his pelvis, and dipped under her pajamas to caress her ass. “No…”
“Well, then stop me, Slayer,” Spike just laughed at her. Her taste on his lips, the smell of her want, and he was back to his former self, the self before the wheelchair and Dru’s traitorous dalliances. He was on top of the world with a Slayer in his arms, a Slayer melting at his touch, but trying to resist it. Which just wasn’t allowed.
“I…my mom. Is in there,” Buffy protested feebly.
“Is she now…” he mused, fingers dancing up and down her side, tracing light patterns, playing with the edge of her tank top. “Does she sleep soundly?”
She was distracted for a moment by the dance of his fingers, drowning just a little bit in the blue of his eyes. He pinched her side, lightly, repeated his question, and she stuttered, “Um…yes? Sort of.” It was practically a lie. Her mom slept like the dead, actually. Well, not Spike’s kind of dead. The real dead.
“Well. We’ll be very, very quiet, quiet as little mice, and she falls under the category of the truce. Won’t touch her. How’s that, pet?” When she didn’t say anything, he said smoothly, “Come on, kitten. Stop thinking so bloody much, you’re taking all the fun out of this.”
Buffy suddenly snapped back into herself, still suffering from waves of lust but far more furious at the condescending tone in Spike’s voice. She pushed him away again. “Shut up. I hate you.” She moved to punch him directly in her favorite vampire target, the nose, but her slightly drunken self was slow enough that Spike dodged, and her fist landed on his temple.
“No you don’t. And, ow!” He rubbed his head gingerly, eyes shooting daggers at her. “That wasn’t nice, Slayer. You should make it up to me.” He raked his eyes over her body lasciviously, not remotely deterred by her apparent rejection of him.
“You’re a pig, Spike. Go away.”
“Oink, baby. And, not a bloody chance.” The vampire moved to kiss her again, but found himself thrown back a few feet, teetering on the edge of the porch steps. “What’s your problem?” He spat, then suggestively dragged one hand down his torso, and spread his palm against the hardness in his pants. “I know you want it.”
Without him touching her in his infuriatingly distracting way, Buffy had the faculties to smirk, “It? Doesn’t look all that impressive from where I’m standing.”
His eyes flashed yellow for a moment, his demon raging inside him at the girl’s insult, the man inside him feeling hurt and confused. “Oh, I’ll show you how impressive I am, Slayer,” he snarled, choosing to respond with anger as opposed to the offense he felt, lunging for her again.
But before Spike could reach her, Buffy snaked one arm behind her back, opened the door, and stepped behind the mystical, invisible obstacle keeping the stupid sexy vampire away from her.
“Ha.” She smirked happily, enjoying the astonishment in his gaze.
“Not funny, woman,” he placed both hands on the unseen wall keeping him out, finally realizing maybe force wasn’t the way to worm himself into this girl’s pants. Spike softened his tone to a purr, began to seductively stroke the doorframe, and tried a new tactic. “Please, baby? Let me in? I just want to make you feel good.”
“I feel fine without you, thanks.”
“Liar. I can smell how much you need to come.” He curled his tongue suggestively.
A devilish thought entered her mind, one that went against her virginal purity. Because, you know what, hey, not a virgin anymore. Says Madonna. “I do, you’re right. Maybe I’ll just go take care of that myself.”
Stunned beyond belief, Spike hardly registered when Buffy stripped off his duster and threw it at his head, then shut the door in his face. After a few seconds, he roared, “Bloody hell!”
Wincing at the loud noise, Buffy glanced at the ceiling, praying to the Powers That Be that the stupid idiot undead hadn’t woken her mother. She scurried up the stairs and lingered at the master bedroom door. Good, her mother’s familiar slight wheeze was audible. Not awake.
Listening carefully, she tried not to be disappointed when she heard no signs of Spike rampaging outside, demanding to be let into her room and between her legs. She tiptoed into her room, shut the door behind her and leaned against it with a sigh.
Then jumped a foot in the air when an insistent tap at her window made her head snap to the left. Spike was on her roof, clearly furious.
“Open the window or I start yelling and waking dear old mum,” his muffled voice came from the other side of the glass.
Reluctantly, against her better judgment, against any judgment at all, really, she moved to the window and slid it open. “Can I help you?” she asked politely.
“Real cute, Slayer,” he sighed. “You didn’t start without me, did you? Not that I’d mind watching you slide those fingers into that delectable wet little quim---“
“Ew! God, Spike, graphic much?” Buffy shuddered. In disgust. Not because of the image he painted. Guh.
“It’s all your fault, pet. You put those lovely images in my mind when you so rudely locked me out of your house.”
“Didn’t lock you out, just didn’t invite you in! Jerk.”
Spike smirked at her, being uncharacteristically patient, and pulling out his flask to take a shot. Seeing her eyes follow the metal container, he thought quickly and remarked casually, “Too bad you can’t handle your liquor. Got a few shots left, at least.”
“I handle my liquor fine!” Buffy snapped, refusing to take the insult. She reached out with Slayer speed and grabbed the flask, thinking she was quick enough that Spike didn’t even register it had happened.
Oh, he’d registered it alright. Mission accomplished. “What, you’re going to drink it all? Good luck with that,” Spike snorted derisively.
Defiantly, Buffy raised the flask and, after making a preemptively disgusted face, chugged down some of the bourbon. “Oh, that is foul,” she whined, shaking the flask gently and wincing at the sound of plenty of remaining liquid.
“Should loosen you up a bit, though,” he grinned, now seeming perfectly content perched on her roof.
“I’m perfectly loose,” she spat.
“Actually, you’re tight as a virgin. Or, almost a virgin.” An angry glare later, and Buffy was taking another deep gulp of his flask. He felt oddly guilty again, and said “Sorry, pet. My mouth sometimes runs ahead of my brain.”
“Really? Never would have guessed that,” Buffy mumbled, far less incensed than he expected her to be.
“You know, you’re better off without the tosser,” Spike offered kindly, now missing the flask Buffy was making short work of. “I mean, really. He’s all…moody and superior. With bad hair.”
“Says the Billy Idol wannabe! I like his hair.”
“I’ll have you know that thieving bloke stole his look from me, thank you very much. Can I have the bourbon?”
“No.”
“Well, is there any more liquor in this house you could fetch? I’m feeling parched.”
“Deal with it. And Angel’s not moody.” The second the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was a total lie, but tried to save face. “He’s…deep.”
Spike practically giggled, something Buffy found almost adorable, and said, “Yeah. Deep as a well, that one. He’s just weighted down with the redemption and the soul and all that rot.”
“Or, he was,” Buffy sighed sadly, drinking down the last of the alcohol and making another face.
“Now, now, don’t get all pouty. It could be worse. For instance, you could have been with a woman for a hundred years and done damn near everything to make her happy, then she up and starts shagging her precious sire in your bed.”
“Raging slut.”
“Hey! Drusilla is not a...alright, she’s a slut, but she’s my slut.”
“Oh, because it’s so nice to have a slut of your own.”
Abruptly, seeing the girl swaying a bit on her feet, Spike asked, “How’re you feeling?”
“Fine. Good. None of your business.” Buffy sat heavily on the ground, the alcohol hitting her like a brick wall, warming her skin and making her limbs tingle. And other things, definitely still tingling.
“Well, you look good,” he leered, peering down at her from behind the infernal barrier, still suffering from an insanely hard dick and an infuriatingly bruised ego from her rejection. “All mussed hair and flushed skin. Makes a bloke want to---“
“Shut up, Spike.”
“What?” He asked innocently. “I was going to offer to play chess.”
“If by chess you mean…something sexy.”
“Very witty, Slayer.”
After a brief moment of quiet, Buffy blurted out, “Okay, and no.”
“No…what?”
“You and your stupid skank of a girlfriend? So not worse than me and Angel. We’re like…tragedy. And you’re comedy,” Buffy nodded proudly at her assessment, moved to take another drink from the flask, and frowned sadly when she remembered it was empty. “I mean, it’s not like you guys really loved each other. You don’t even have souls.”
Bloody stupid fucking Slayer. “You don’t know anything,” Spike growled, dangerously close to vamping out, body suddenly tense with anger. “You don’t need a soul to love someone. In fact, without one, I’d wager you can love a hell of a lot more deeply since you’re not all wrapped up in right and wrong and morals, and you know what, Slayer? I love Dru with every sodding bone in my body. She is my black goddess, my salvation, my—“
“I’m sorry!” Buffy whispered, painfully sincere, seeing in the flash of Spike’s eyes the pain she didn’t think anyone else was feeling. Could feel. Her soft words cut through his tirade instantly, and he snapped his mouth shut. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to make you…mad. Or sad.”
He shrugged, her sweet apology robbing him of his righteous indignation. “It’s okay. I’m sorry your ex is a pillock.”
“Well, I’m sorry your girlfriend is a great big ho.”
“Excellent. Now that we’ve cleared that up, can I come in?” His simmering rage over Drusilla’s infidelities certainly did nothing to bring down his boiling desire. In fact, it probably just contributed to it. Love and hate and rage and sex? All one and the same, especially when you had a hot little morsel sitting on the ground, just waiting for a ravishing.
“Now, really, why would I do that?” Buffy shrugged. “You seem perfectly comfortable outside.”
“Well, I’m not. The bed looks much better. You, me, the mattress, some dirty little nasties, what do you say Slayer?”
“I say, shut up.”
“Invite me in, then make me.” He wiggled his tongue.
Buffy sat on the floor, legs crossed, alcohol coursing through her veins, desire and his gorgeous accent distracting her. She bit her lip nervously, her mind battling with her heart battling with her body and why, oh why, did she drink that disgusting bourbon? She couldn’t seem to focus long enough to convince herself that soulless demon in her bed equaled bad. Not with the way he was looking at her. The way he’d touched her. The way they were having a…conversation, a conversation that made her forget he was an evil soulless thing. He was just…a guy. A hot guy.
Annoyed with her silence, he ordered, “Invite. Me. In. Now.”
She wanted to. And he could tell she wanted to, but clearly, demanding things of the Slayer was not the way to go, as her eyes hardened and she hissed, “Don’t tell me what to do! You’re not the boss of me. I’m the boss of me. And…go away.”
“Not a chance. Kitten,” he sighed, the man inside of him finally gaining the confidence to speak to her honestly, without any more games. “I think it’s pretty clear that I want you. I’m not out to hurt you or…hell, I don’t know, ruin your precious reputation or whatever plot you think I’ve got cooked up. I’m just…here. And I don’t understand it anymore than you do, so don’t ask me what the fuck is going on, but there’s something going on with us, yeah? And we’re both hurting, and…this’ll help. It will. So, please, baby?” Spike stared her directly, intensely, eyes naked, devoid of artifice or manipulation.
She stood slowly, her own expression unreadable, and steadied herself with one hand on the windowsill. “We’re kind of a sad pair, aren’t we?” she sighed after a minute.
“Yes, love. We are.”
She was quiet again. “Come in,” she finally whispered, the words almost pulled out of her by his eyes.
He had to have thrall. Really.
Spike refused to give her a second to change her mind once the words were out of her mouth. He clambered through the window like a man on a mission, devoid of his usual cat-like grace in his hurry to get to her. He pulled Buffy into his arms as if the minutes of separation had been hours, kissed her once, and tossed her on the bed. Then, he was pressing himself on top of her, the evidence of how much we wanted her situated right between her thighs.
“You taste so sweet, you dirty little vixen,” Spike murmured as he licked a path from her chest to her ear, lingering a bit at her throat, where, despite her insistence to the contrary, he knew she wanted him. “Did you have fun teasing your Spike? I should really punish you, but I can think of far more interesting things to do.” Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she had to say was swallowed by another fierce kiss from the vampire.
Each touch of tongues drove her wild, each purr into her lips made her shiver, each caress of his hands made her ache. When they parted, she let out an unintentional moan, surprised at how vocal she was being, surprised at the reactions Spike was causing her to have.
“Now, now, kitten,” Her visitor cautioned, listening intently for any sounds of stirring from the elder Summers’ room. When he heard none, he continued in a whisper. “Have to keep it down, yet? Don’t want mommy dearest knowing what you’re up to. Although, seems like she’s a right heavy sleeper. Which will come in handy when I’m making you scream.”
“I don’t scream,” she insisted firmly.
“Oh, you will.” Spike returned to his worship of her lips, hands roaming over her breasts, through her hair, and across her flushed cheeks. He grabbed one leg, wrapped it around his waist, and made obvious what he wanted to do to her by slowly thrusting his hips against hers.
And suddenly, unbidden memories of her recent night with Angel assaulted her.
Angel hadn’t panted like Spike was panting now, he hadn’t murmured how good she was going to feel as he fisted her tank top and tore it away, he hadn’t let out low, throaty moans as she’d dug her nails into his shoulders, and scraped down his arms.
But he’d told her he loved her, he’d kissed her gently, he’d asked constantly if she was okay, if she was sure. He’d thrust against her, just like this. He’d held her like she would break, like she---
Spike sensed instantly the moment Buffy’s mind drifted away from the present, left him behind, and frowned his annoyance into the breast he was currently kissing.
“Don’t think about him,” he growled around her nipple, interrupting her thoughts, before biting it lightly and eliciting a high pitched squeak. He raised his head, and looked at her flushed, nervous, excited face. “Think about me. Think about how I’m making you feel.” He slid one hand down her pants to play with the edges of her panties, then dipped one finger in to find her wet and wanting him. “How does that feel, Slayer?” He grinned as she began to mewl.
“Umm...good…” Buffy sighed, all thoughts of Angel pushed away as Spike’s fingers stopped their slow stroking of her sex and moved to yank her pants and underwear off, leaving her bare and naked to his gaze.
Spike had always been appreciative of her cute little body, showing it off as she did in those tight tops and tiny skirts. But he wasn’t prepared for the perfection that laid before him, tanned and toned, her chest rising and falling with the force of her lustful pants. He let out a shuddering breath, drank in the sight of the goddess spread out on her bed waiting for him, and began to unbuckle his jeans.
He was looking at her as if she was lunch, and it really shouldn’t have made her shiver as much as it did. A wave of self-consciousness crashed over her, and she moved to cover her body with a pillow, but lightning quick Spike snatched it out of her hands and tossed it across the room.
“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t cover yourself up, kitten. You’re…” His voice trailed off as he got distracted by the light dusting of hair between her legs.
“I’m what?” Buffy asked challengingly, eyes widening as Spike abandoned his belt and moved to pull off his t-shirt, revealing a perfectly sculpted torso that she suddenly had the perverse urge to bite and lick.
A laundry list of over done adjectives popped into Spike’s lust addled brain, none of which he thought described what the Slayer was. He went for simple. “Bloody beautiful.”
Well. That was certainly not a phrase she’d ever dreamed Spike would use to describe her. But any further musings on the absolute insanity of her current situation were cut short as Spike returned to his pants, and pushed them down his hips to reveal…well, he didn’t wear underwear, that was her first thought.
Second thought? No way that was going to fit in…there.
Buffy let out some sort of noise that was probably supposed to be a word, but for the unlife of him Spike had no idea what it was supposed to be. He grinned, that cocky grin of his, proud of the reaction he’d brought out of the girl before him.
“Like what you see, Slayer?” He teased.
“I…shut up...and you…stupid…” she babbled as he knelt on the bed and slowly crawled up her body until he was hovering over her, resting on his hands and feet, his flesh not even touching hers.
The smile shifted from cocky to…affectionate? Yes, affectionate, as he lowered himself down and kissed her softly on the lips. Then softly on the cheek, then the neck, then her chest, then he slid back down until he was facing her pussy, and he started to pry her legs apart.
“No!” Buffy blurted out, slamming her thighs back together again, then slamming her hand over her mouth when she realized how loud she’d been.
“And we’re back to that bloody word,” He growled good-naturedly, hands forcing her knees to separate again. “Don’t worry, Mum’s still asleep, can hear her breathing. Now come on, baby, let me make you feel good.”
“I…I haven’t…done…” she stammered, heart thudding wildly in her chest.
A spark of excitement lit up Spike’s blue gaze. “Really? Well, then you’re missing out, Slayer. And I won’t take one of those infernal ‘nos’ as an answer. Come on, pet. Let me show you.”
She was silent, so Spike gently ran his hands up her thighs, finishing revealing his prize to him, and let loose a sigh of appreciation at the sight.
“Buffy.”
He snapped his head up to look at her curiously. “What?”
“Buffy. Not Slayer….Buffy,” she insisted, raising herself up on her elbows.
Spike froze for a moment. To call her Buffy would be to cross a line he hadn’t even realized he’d drawn, it would take this strange affair from an experiment to something more. It would rock the foundation of how he saw her, how he understood her, how he knew her. To use her name would be to admit something.
“Buffy,” he said slowly, carefully, before lowering his head to lick her from bottom to top, eliciting a soft, surprised and satisfied cry as she fell back to the pillows.
His first taste of Buffy Summers and he couldn’t imagine how he’d survived so long with out it. Spike purred into her pussy, perfectly content, proud of the pleas he heard from above him.
“You’re beautiful here, too,” he sighed, before reaching up to stroke her gently with one finger. “Taste so good…”
His tongue darted out, lightly tapping her clit, then running up and down her folds, seeking every bit of that delicious moisture. Buffy raised her hips, seeking more contact, more pressure, and he chuckled, a chuckle that turned into a moaning of her name, her name, not her title, as he slid a finger inside of her and discovered how tight, how hot, how perfect she was.
He growled. And then he devoured her, tongue and fingers and even teeth all working at her pussy until she had to put her hand over her mouth again to keep from screaming.
The things he was doing with his tongue had to be illegal. He sucked her clit into his mouth, two fingers curving to reach some spot inside her she didn’t even know she had, then he switched, fingers on her button, tongue diving inside her, mouth and hands working in tandem to make her feel as if she was going to die from pleasure.
She was feeling something so unfamiliar, something so intense, that she almost felt like sobbing. Every limb was tingling, her muscles were tensing, her skin was on fire.
Then he stopped.
“Spike…please…” she gasped through her fingers, raising her hips up to his face. She opened her eyes, and looked down at him.
He was smirking at her.
“Spike!” Buffy insisted desperately. “Please?”
“Just like hearing you beg.” He obediently returned to his task.
“Stupid jerk,” she spat. But within seconds, she’d exploded, something inside her broke, fireworks, whatever you want to call it. She choked on her scream, mindful of the fact that they were definitely not alone in the house, and satisfied the need to release the tension that comes from unbearable pleasure by digging her fingers into Spike’s hair and holding him tightly to her pussy. Not that he was trying to escape.
He continued sucking her gently through her orgasm, continued as she came down, then quickly, with the addition of a third finger in her cunt and renewed attention paid to her clit, brought her off again with hardly a warning, groaning in time with her.
Spike couldn’t remember a time when he’d been this turned on, this hard, as he reluctantly abandoned her delicious sex and instantly moved to kiss her still gasping mouth.
“This will kill me. You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered when their lips parted, voice rough and harsh with desire.
“You’re already dead,” she reminded him teasingly, voice shaking just a bit. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed the taste of herself on his lips, but that thought faded as she was suddenly very aware of what was to come.
“Good point,” he grinned, shifting a bit, “When I’m inside that hot little quim of yours,” he poised his cock at the entrance to her sex. “I’m gonna burn.”
With the head of his penis lightly grazing her, with a flashback to her first time just nights early, the enormity about what she was going to do---what they were going to do---hit her full force, full stop. This wasn’t a possibility anymore, it was a reality, a reality that terrified her.
As their eyes met, the games, the playfulness, the domination lost their allure. The scent of fear, usually so delicious, replaced the intoxicating ambrosia of her arousal, and he suddenly realized she was probably reliving her night with the great poof.
Spike didn’t want her like that. He wanted her right there with him, grabbing him with those gorgeous legs, moaning his name. He wanted to show her how good he could make her feel.
“Relax, love,” he brushed her hair out of her face, surprised at this sudden rush of tenderness he felt. “Not going to hurt you, I promised, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” she whispered. One gentle touch from him and her nerves were almost totally soothed, a soft kiss on her forehead and she was almost totally relaxed. It was insane. “Yes…” she said again.
Thrall. It seriously had to be thrall.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave their comments on the first part of this fic, I really appreciate the feedback! It's so much fun to write, but definitely slow-going to work with this pretty new style for me. Thanks so, so much to Shadowsbabe for her invaluable advice on this chapter. Couldn't have done it without you!
Chapter End Notes:
I trade virtual hugs for reviews. Here's one in advance. *hug*