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Author's Chapter Notes:
*nervous about this chapter* And the next, actually.
Swings and Roundabouts

Chapter Six

She had been right. After the little detour to the playground, it had only been a short five-minute walk to his hotel. And now, as they stood in the elevator—hands to themselves, because an elderly lady was riding it with them—Spike allowed himself to feel a little of the fear that he had been keeping at bay since the first kiss.

So far, he had been running purely on lust and adrenaline. The kisses had been full of heat, and oh-so-wonderful, but they had been nothing more than kisses. This, heading to his hotel room, had a purpose, an inevitable conclusion, and whilst he wanted it—oh, God, how he wanted it—he couldn’t help but feel a little nervous.

As though she could sense his apprehension, Anne slipped her hand into his and squeezed. He shot her a grateful smile. Smiling back, he thought he could sense a little nervousness in her expression, too, and that calmed him.

At floor fifteen, the old lady left the elevator, and Anne stepped a little closer to him. He slid his arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to a spot just underneath her ear, inhaling her perfume and the scent of her skin.

The ding of the lift arriving at his floor startled him. Taking a deep breath, he walked down the corridor, arm still around Anne’s waist. Hands shaking as he took the key-card from his pocket, he attempted to swipe it through the lock, but dropped it to the floor. “Fuck.”

Anne put her hand on his when he bent to pick up the card, making him meet her eyes. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He turned away, successfully opening the door, and was about to step through when she spoke again.

“Spike, come on.”

Something in the tone of her voice undid him, and, when he met her eyes, his resolve to keep his worries to himself crumbled. He sighed. “I just—this is difficult for me. First time since... you know.” He fiddled with the gold band around his ring finger.

“I get that. I’ve been there too, remember?” Anne’s hand was gentle on his, her skin dry and smooth, soothing. “We don’t have to do this. You can go in that room, and I can walk away, and we can forget all about tonight, forget everything that’s happened between us. If that’s what you want.”

Shaking his head, he spoke, words mumbled. “Don’t want that.”

“Are you sure? Cos, when we walk through that door, I want it to be just us. No ghosts. Just me and you, together because we—we have this—this… thing. A—”

Spike met her eyes. “Connection.”

“Right.” Anne nodded. “You feel it too?”

“Yeah.” He brushed his hand over her forehead and down her cheek until his thumb found her lips. “Feel like I’ve known you a thousand years.” At her blush, he shook his head, biting his lip in embarrassment. “Oh, sod it. Gone sappy. See what you’ve done to me? Turned me into a bleedin’ softie.”

A wicked grin on her face, Anne let her hand trail its way down the front of his shirt to his crotch, coming to rest on his rapidly hardening length. “That’s a shame,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “I was hoping I’d turned you into the exact opposite.”

He met her smirk with one of his own. “Minx.” The mood now shifted from its earlier melancholy, he pulled her into his arms and through into his hotel room, slamming the door shut behind them.

Pressing her up against the wall, he covered her body with his, and kissed her. Anne ran her hands down the backs of his arms, linking their fingers together when she reached his. The room was silent; the only sound their breathing and the whispers of skin on skin.

Spike stepped away slightly and led her towards the bed, pushing all other thoughts out of his mind, choosing to concentrate on the here and now. They stood at the foot of the bed, a hairsbreadth away from each other, though they were no longer touching.

Spike reached out a shaking hand, stroking long fingers down Anne’s arm and onto the soft material of her t-shirt. He slid his fingers under the cloth, following the curve of her waist with his fingertips. In a rush of sudden movement, he pushed her shirt up and off, dropping it to the floor. Eyes darting, trying to take in every inch of her, he was startled when she did the same to him, and his shirt ended up next to hers on the carpet.

The evening had been one surreal moment after the next; meeting Anne in the cemetery: taking a walk with her, eating fries and buffalo wings, the singing, the dancing—bizarre, all of it—but this, Spike thought, as he drew her onto the bed, this is real.

***

Spike woke slowly, the sudden, terrible thought entering his mind that Anne would have left sometime in the night. Blinking himself awake, he let out a breath of relief when he saw her nestled into his side, golden skin seeming to almost glow in the late morning sunlight.

In sleep, she looked so sweet. Innocent, almost. Memories of the night before told him that this wasn’t the case—far from it—but now, with her long blonde hair gathered in a silken pool, dark lashes lying against her cheek, her soft mouth forming a slight pout, Spike thought she looked like an angel.

The thought made him scoff at himself. She really had turned him into a right poofter. He wondered what would happen if he were able to stay with her, if he didn’t have responsibilities back in England. Would she want that? Or had she just been after a little cold comfort? A night in the arms of a stranger to forget all her worries.

He was roused from his thoughts when he felt the light press of lips on his shoulder. He looked to Anne to see her awake, eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Morning.” His voice was gruff, and cracked on the word. Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to speak again, but was silenced with a kiss. Anne slipped one leg across his waist, and moved until she was straddling him.

“Hi.” There was a smile in her voice as she rocked her hips forwards, sending sparks of heat through Spike’s body.

It felt like every part of him was touching every part of her, their bodies pressed so intimately together that it was difficult to tell where he ended and she began. She kissed him again, rubbing her nose against his, her eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks.

Lifting her hips, she reached between them and guided his cock to her entrance. She slid down slowly, inch by wonderful inch, until he was fully sheathed within her. They let out simultaneous sighs of relief, and Spike couldn’t help smiling at the synchronicity.

Staring at his shoulders, she slid her palms down his arms, finally lacing her fingers through his. She rocked her hips in a languorous rhythm, barely moving at all. For Spike, it was an exquisite form of torture; he wanted to move faster, to flip her over and pound into her over and over until they found sweet release. But she was in control now, and he liked the power she held over him.

Sitting up, she began to move faster, and Spike was entranced by picture she made: eyes closed in pleasure, long hair trailing down her back and tickling his legs. He reached up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She bit her lip, and let out a little moan of pleasure as she bore down on him harder, grinding against him with every thrust.

When he sensed she was close, he reached between their bodies to find her clit, and then she was gasping and crying out, her inner walls fluttering around him in release. Before she could come down from the high, Spike gave in to his urges and rolled her over so she lay beneath him, her eyes widening at the sudden movement.

He set a fast pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. He joined his hands with hers once more, and she squeezed them, her nails biting into his skin. His movements became frantic, unskilled, and their mouths met for kiss after clumsy kiss. When he came, it was with a shouted cry, his hips jerking forwards. Anne wrapped her legs around his waist, and pressed against him once, twice more, until she followed him over the edge into her second orgasm.

Spike buried his face in the crook of her neck, panting. He kissed the spot underneath her ear, tasting the saltiness of her skin. Her hands were moving against his back, leaving goose-bumps in their wake.

“Don’t move,” she said, when he started to roll off her.

“I’m not crushing you?”

“Nope.” She ceased the movements of her hands, and hugged him tightly.

He pulled out of her and rolled over anyway, bringing her with him until she was snuggled into his side once more.

They lay in silence for several minutes, each locked in their own thoughts. Spike glanced quickly at the bedside clock, hoping that time had somehow slowed down to a stop. His flight back to England was at five that evening, and it was already noon.

“You have to leave soon.” It wasn’t a question. Her words were matter-of-fact, resigned.

“I—”

“It’s okay.” She moved away from him, slipping from the bed and across the room to where a robe was hanging before he could blink. “We both knew what we were getting into.”

Spike frowned, wanting to jump up, tell her that it wasn’t okay; that what had happened between them had changed things. He knew she felt it—the connection, the heat and passion—she herself had mentioned it the night before.

He didn’t say anything. What good would it do? He lived halfway on the other side of the world. Trying to rationalise the situation made him even more frustrated, and he wondered if it might have been better had he not met her at all.

But when she paused before going into the bathroom to give him a small smile, he knew that it was stupid to even think such a thing.

He lay back in the bed, telling himself that he wouldn’t think of the fact that he had to leave in a few short hours.

For now, he would just enjoy the rest of his time with her.

Everything else could wait.

-TBC-


Chapter End Notes:
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