He was standing in front of the car that had driven her home that day. Or one that looked just like it, anyway.
“Everything okay?” He asked as he opened the door for her.
“Yeah. He just thinks he’s my dad as well as my step-brother.”
“He’s in love with you.” Spike said, casual as you please, and helped her in.
“What?” Buffy asked sharply, but wasn’t answered by Spike.
“Hello, Ms. Summers.” A familiar clipped English accent called back from the front.
“Oh. Hello, Bruce.” She replied.
“How have you been?”
“Very well, thanks. Yourself?”
“Quite well. Ms. Summers. Quite well.”
“Good.”
“Goodbye, Bruce.” Spike interjected in a playful sing-song and pushed a button. Buffy saw Bruce grin in the rearview mirror just before a partition slid up, cutting off access to the front seat. Buffy turned to Spike.
“What do you mean, he’s in love with me?”
“Blind man could see it, pet.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Step-brother, as you’re so fond of pointing out.”
“Still- no—no way.”
“Sure, all right.”
“Ugh, you know what? Less talky, more kissing.”
“I like your style, pet.”
The night was more-or-less a sweeter repeat of their previous encounter—without the convenience store stop-off. No, Spike had sent out to Costco for the biggest bloody package of condoms they had, considering the last time they’d run out of the twelve pack he’d originally bought, and he’d had to call down to room service for more.
Also, they’d waited ‘patiently’ (read: while making out like horny teenagers) in the lobby after Spike sent Bruce up to check on the hallway situation. It was early yet, and who knew what shenanigans his band mates and their whores were up to. Consequently, the hallway was, once again, eerily quiet when Buffy and Spike exited the elevator. It erupted into noisy chaos approximately ten minutes after Spike’s hotel door shut behind them.
“What are they doing?” Buffy stopped what she was doing to ask.
“God only knows. Less talky. More stroking.” He said with a boyish grin, and she had to stifle a giggle as her hand restarted its slow, squeezing movements.
She pushed him down on the bed this time once they were both quite naked. She broke the kiss they were engaged in to open the drawer on the bedside table. The top drawer was literally full of condoms. She laughed.
“Ambitious, are we?” She asked with a raised eyebrow of her own.
“No. Realistic. Remember last time?”
“Every day.” They exchanged a surprisingly tender smile. She opened the bottom drawer and found what she was looking for, along with several other eyebrow-raising curios.
“Do you trust me?” She asked, devilish twinkle in her eye, holding the silk scarves in the air.
“Yeah. Don’t see why not.” He replied with a smirk.
“Hands up, then.”
She didn’t just torture him with her mouth—she worshiped him. She’d spent the last week hardly believing how incredibly attractive, no, beautiful really, his physical body was. Not to mention what he could do with it. He looked a lot like a Greek statue come to life to her, just way more well endowed.
She kissed and sucked and licked every muscular contour in triplicate, from his wrists down to his ankles. She briefly considered giving the same attention to his feet, which were just as attractive as the rest of him—adorable, even, the way his toes curled and twitched when she suckled or nipped a sensitive area just right—but she decided to hold off until some post-shower point in the future.
She paid special attention to his inner thighs as she started her slow movement back up his body, letting her warm breath waft over his balls, traced her fingers ever-so-lightly up his throbbing, straight-up-in-the-air appendage. When he groaned, she hazarded a glance up at his face. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back, and he was biting his lip. Hard. She just knew his toes were curled. Yep, one backwards glance confirmed.
His eyes opened when she looked back at his face, and their eyes met. She smiled mischievously and suckled a spot on his inner thigh, achingly close, even let the very tip of her tongue graze against one ball as she moved her head to his other thigh and gave it the same treatment, ceremoniously avoiding the prodigious centerpiece between his legs.
“Come on…” He moaned in a strained, husky voice as she twirled her tongue on the skin of his inner thigh for good measure.
“Say ‘Please.’” She said with a playful pout, and looking back, he would probably say that was how he fell in love with her, really: looking down his torso at the impish light dancing in her eyes, the coy smirk that would have looked perfectly at home in the pages of Playboy, the girlish giggle that came out of her throat when he did say it, plainly if not huskily, “Please.” The impish light that danced faster as she licked the underside of his cock, from base to tip, followed quickly by the look of rapture that came over her face as her eyes rolled back and she sucked the tip into her mouth.
He really couldn’t tell who enjoyed it more—her or him. Insistent moans tore from her throat as she sucked in her cheeks, pressed her tongue against his length, and tried her damndest to relax her throat enough to take him all in. She couldn’t of course; he sincerely doubted anybody could, but her determination felt almost as good as the blow job itself. She finally brought one hand up to cover the distance her mouth couldn’t and stroked him in perfect synchronicity with the movements of her mouth.
He moaned and thrashed and bucked his hips and quickly discovered that Buffy, too, knew a thing or two about knots, for try as he might he could not get out of his silken restraints. He also couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
When his moans turned to groans and growls, her eyes fluttered open and quickly locked with his. He bit his lip and thrust his hips and fucked her mouth with abandon. She kept up, tonguing the sensitive hole on his tip with every up sweep, sucking in her cheeks on every down sweep and moaning louder and louder, sending extremely pleasant vibrations through his cock as he was suddenly inspired to thrust into her mouth harder.
“Fuck, baby, gonna…” He struggled to say, after several incredible minutes.
“Uh-huh.” She moaned in response and his eyes rolled back. And then her tongue was… doing something… against his shaft. Undulating or… something.
“Fuuuccck.” He groaned, long and low as he came, spurting fairly violently against the back of her throat. She swallowed expertly and crawled up his body.
She crossed her arms on his chest and rested her chin on them.
“Great blow job or greatest blow job?” She asked, all traces of her previous shyness gone.
“Greatest. By far.” He replied with a twinkle in his eye. She grinned wide even as her cheeks turned red, and reached up to untie him.
By the time she’d finished, he was thoroughly turned on again, after staring up at her bronzed, naked, perfectly proportioned body. He gripped her sides and sucked the nipple of one breast that had been dangling tantalizingly over his face into his mouth, even as one hand fumbled at the top drawer of the bedside table and she heard a now-familiar crinkle.
She squealed as he rolled her over on to her back and giggled as he tore the small package he now held open with his teeth. Once it was all rolled in place, he quickly sought her entrance with his hard-again cock.
Despite the fact that she was soaking wet, he met an invisible membrane of resistance when he thrust into her. She cried out, and it was not a pleasant, nor a pleased sound.
“Shit! Shit, I’m sorry…”
“No, no… it’s okay, just…”
“Yeah.” He pulled out slowly, but not all the way, and pushed back in gently, sweetly, and with sublime slowness. She sighed and mewed and clutched at him, pushing her hips up against his, determined to work through the tightness.
Soon, though, she was grunting and thrusting with her hips, screaming ‘Yes! Yes! Okay! Yeah! Now! Now! Now!” His rumbling chuckle rolled over her as he thrust, hard and powerfully, and her head rocked back as she constricted and was coming already.
“Fuck—you- you come so easy, baby.” He panted.
“I really don’t. It’s just- it’s just you. God, don’t stop!” She panted back.
“Not for the world, baby.” He breathed, and didn’t stop, for a very long time.
He rolled over onto his back after another explosive orgasm on his part and at least four long, continuous ones on hers. A not-so-awkward-anymore silence washed over them.
“Mind if I smoke, pet?” He asked after his breathing had slowed.
“You smoke?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh—no, I don’t mind.”
She actually snuggled up to him after he’d lit up and exhaled his first lungful. He smiled at the ceiling and snaked his free arm under her.
“So… you’re like a rock star or something.” His smile dissipated.
“Or something.” He said, more gruffly than necessary.
“Huh.”
“Don’t… don’t act all smug and nonchalant about it. I hate that more than when girls are obsessed with it.”
“I’m not… smug.” She said defensively, tilting her head up to look at him. “I don’t care. I didn’t know before, you know, last time… why should anything be different now?” He stared up at the ceiling, running this through his head, analyzing her tone of voice, trying to determine her motivations for bringing it up in the first place. It was a defense mechanism, really.
“You’ve got a point there.” He said at last.
“I mean—your music’s all right, but… it’s not really my thing, anyway.”
He laughed. “Is that so?”
“Though, a friend of mine, who’s totally in love with you, apparently, held me hostage and made me listen to all your albums and then all your influences, so he might have ruined it for me.”
“So we’re already at the telling our friends stage, are we?” He tried to keep his tone light, but even he winced at how bitterly it actually came out.
“Friend. I told one friend. My best friend, who, under normal circumstances is very trustworthy—and I didn’t tell her so that I could brag or whatever—I mean, yeah, okay, I did, but not because of who you are, but more because it was the best sex ever and Xander’s not great with the girl talk—and, anyway, your name didn’t even come up until the end.”
His brow furrowed. “Ah. And then she took you hostage?”
“No. She went all flippy-outy and called her boyfriend over and told him and then he took me hostage.”
“Her boyfriend is in love with me.” He said it flatly and not really as a question, trying desperately keep up with, not to even mention process the stream-of-consciousness manner in which this girl talked.
“Yeah.” She said, her tone of voice saying, cheerfully: “You caught up! Good for you!” “Oh, but he’s not gay or anything, but he would be, if you asked him to be, apparently.”
“I’ll… keep that in mind.”
“Oh, but first you have to provide Heidi Klum as a distraction for his girlfriend.”
“That’s a tall order. I’d better get right on that.” He said with a laugh, extinguished his cigarette, and turned back towards her.
“You better not!”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll stop doing this.” She said mischievously, sliding her hand down his torso and gliding one light finger up his fast-hardening length.
“You wouldn’t!” He gasped in mock shock.
“I would.”
“Like you even could stop. You’re bloody insatiable, pet.” He mumbled as he nibbled at her earlobe.
“You’re one to talk, Mr. Permanent Hard-on.” She scoffed, squeezing his nearly fully hard length.
“Your fault. I was fine before you started in with your- your hands, Devil Woman.” As if to emphasize his point, she gently squeezed the tip through her fist, causing a fairly adorable gurgling noise to bubble up out of his throat. So he retaliated by moving one of his hands between them and began slowly circling her clit in strokes as light and languid as she was currently treating him to.
“I’m not the devil here—you’re the devil. I was a perfectly good girl before you and your lips—I never went home with strangers or anything.” Her hand went down and back up.
“And I never took strange girls home before you rubbed your evil little hands in my hair then yelled at me for very politely asking you to stop. Devil woman.” The soft pad of his thumb found its mark.
“That’s your idea of polite?” She grazed a thumb over his tip.
“You should see me when I’m being rude.” He dipped a finger inside.
“You never answered my question, you know.” She slid her palm back down to his base.
“What’s that?” A second finger joined the first. Her free hand slid up and entwined itself in his hair.
“Why’s—ahhh—why’s your hair so soft, if you bleach it?”
His fingers started pumping languidly. “I condition.” He said huskily as he kissed her at last.
“Mmmm.” She replied as he leaned her over onto her back and fumbled once again with the infamous top drawer. A crinkle and a rip later and he was thrusting inside of her yet again, hard and deep, his mouth latched onto hers, swallowing her moans with every gentle lash of his tongue against hers.
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