Part 5b: The Most Dangerous Game
As Buffy deposited their half-full wineglasses on top of one of the bedside tables, Spike moved over to what looked like a small old Victrola sitting on an end table. Flipping up the ‘turntable’ part of it, he revealed the console for the satellite radio and scrolled through the digital selection until he found something that fit the mood of the evening.
Buffy clicked the latch on the French doors as they started to rattle softly in the wind, and she realized that the storm sky had become so bright, even without the lightening, that it illuminated the entire section of the suite from the windows to the bed with no problem. She watched the lightening arc in brilliant bolts across the sky above the ocean for a minute, lost in thought until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She spun around to face Spike, and suddenly found herself folded gently against him as he started to move to the sweet, sultry voice emanating from the stereo.
“Another living room…”
She sighed, looping her arms around his waist and letting her head fall against his chest.
“With their eyes all over me…”
He tightened his arms protectively, pulling her closer to him as they swayed to the music. He let his eyes drift shut for just a moment, memorizing the smell and feel of her.
“We could get in trouble,
but I love the way you look at me…”
She lifted her head to look up at him, and he plucked the chopsticks out of her hair, causing a blonde waterfall to swirl down around the arm he had wrapped around her shoulders. With uncharacteristic carelessness, he tossed them to the side, neither of them heeding as they clattered unnoticed across the table and to the floor.
“Another stereo
waiting for permission…”
Buffy started to unbutton his crisp shirt slowly, carefully dropping a chaste kiss on each inch of his chest as it was revealed until he was moving against her in nothing but a pair of crisp black slacks.
They continued dancing, neither of them particularly wanting to rush the gentle exposure they had started.
“Started playing Cadillac Walk
would it shut me up and get me to listen…”
With the hand not wrapped around Buffy’s small waist, he tugged slowly at the crimson knot on the halter top of Buffy’s dress until the fabric slowly gave. He eased his grip on her just enough to step back and watch the blood-red fabric slither down over her curves as gravity pulled it to the floor, the knot no longer anchoring it.
“And I, I think maybe we were lovers in a former life…”
He drank her in for a moment, struck by the fact that every time he saw this woman naked and vulnerable before him felt like a revelation. Every. Single. Time.
She softly looked back at him, not covering herself as she kept moving to the lyrics. Another flash of lightening outside the windows illuminated her from behind, only serving to make her burn brighter before his eyes.
“You could be my gateway,
I could be your therapy…”
He was awestruck by how beautiful she was. How strong she was. How vulnerable she was. How perfect she was. And how—not fucking his—she was.
“I could be your trouble,
I can feel it all over me…”
It was Buffy that pulled him close again, as they slid slowly over to the bed.
“Another night, another living room…”
She undid his trousers with a deft flick of her wrist, a hidden talent, and his pants pooled around his ankles.
“Another hand is slowly thumbing through his impressive collection,
Call it curiosity, what's he gonna play for me now?”
They tumbled gracelessly back onto the king-size bed, and Buffy propped herself up on one elbow, leaning over Spike as she lowered her lips to his for their first kiss since the evening had started.
Their lips moved softly over each other with the newness of a first kiss, but the confidence of familiarity. And it was a first kiss, even though it was nothing like their actual first kiss. The first day had been about raw hunger, raw need, and pure pleasure. This was something different, something deeper and more dangerous.
“Another beer, another bar, another difficult choice,”
They kissed slowly for what felt like hours, reintroducing themselves as thunder rumbled outside, unheard by them.
Buffy pulled back slightly, motioning for Spike to slide all the way up on the bed, which he did willingly. He arranged his pale, muscular limbs easily, propping his head up on one of the overstuffed pillows so he could continue to watch her.
“He threw his coat over my shoulders and he lowered his voice…”
She smiled gently at him, feathering one hand lightly over his naked form as she slid over to his side.
“and said I didn't mean to scare you,
I only want to keep you warm…”
With one fluid move, she retrieved one of the wineglasses from the bed table and turned to face him, easily sliding a tanned thigh over his hips so she was astride his waist, effectively pinning him to the bed.
He gazed up at her in awe as she leaned down to give him a chaste kiss, contrasting sweetly with their nudity.
She took a small mouthful of merlot, returning the glass to the table before settling herself fully atop him. He watched her curiously.
She looked him dead in the eye and pushed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, causing the deep red wine to cascade out of the corners of her mouth, streaking down across her skin.
It was the most deeply erotic thing he had ever seen, and Spike watched her, transfixed for a moment as his eyes followed the crimson rivulets the merlot was leaving as it ran down over her lips, down the slender column of her neck and over her collarbones. It was only when it reached her hard nipples and started to drip onto his chest that he was able to galvanize himself into action.
“And I, I think maybe we were lovers in a former life…”
He swooped forwards, surging up under her to capture the nipple between his lips, gently savoring the rich, sweet tones of the merlot as he lapped it from her skin, and then he used his tongue to retrace the path of the wine upwards, carefully cleaning every drop of it from her skin.
She let out a throaty moan and captured his head in her hands, drawing him close to her as he continued to lave her sensitive flesh until she pulled away from him, sitting back on his hips. He stole a couple last laps of her warm skin before acquiescing and reclining back to the pillows.
He could feel her pressing soft and moist against the skin of his stomach, and it filled him with a slow fire as she undulated against him.
“And I, I think maybe we were lovers in a former life…”
She rose up on her knees and slid his cock between her folds until he was perfectly positioned at her entrance. She made sure to hold his gaze as she began a slow, torturous descent, taking him inside her.
Spike met her gaze evenly as he tried to keep himself from shaking until he was completely buried deep within her. Her warmth and her moisture as it flowed over his bare skin was nothing compared to the enormity of the emotion of this moment, of this level of intimacy.
She smiled a half-grin at him, and as he raised an eyebrow slightly at her, she let her knees slide entirely away from his hips, forcing gravity to drop her an extra couple of millimeters onto him that he hadn’t known he was missing, deeper inside each other than they had ever been. Spike’s eyes shot open even wider, and Buffy’s mouth quirked in a slow, sensual smile.
Still holding his gaze, she rotated her hips slowly in a figure eight, swiveling her hips so that rather than withdrawing with every stroke, she was merely changing the angle while keeping him embedded deep in her core.
She rolled her head around her shoulders as a slow wash of ecstasy began to flow, and they began to move together slowly and languidly, savoring each touch, each sensation at the moment they created it in each other.
They touched and listened, smelled and tasted and watched each other, the world around them disappearing as they memorized every last bit of each other.
They moved that way for what felt like hours, flowing over each other like water, twining and untwining, ebbing and flowing, and it wasn’t until Spike felt the small tremors starting to pulse inside of Buffy that he let himself start to crest.
She felt the tingling start moving up through her thighs, and as Spike started taking shorter, deeper strokes she knew he too was ready. She eased herself forward, pressing bare breasts against his chest as she moved her lips over his, never changing the slow pace they had set.
She darted her tongue out to taste his lips briefly, and when she opened her eyes again to look in his, he realized that he had been wrong about the true color of her eyes.
While he had initially thought them to be hazel, as she stared down at him and they moved in unison, he realized that they were a bright, clear green even in the half-light of the room. They stared back at him sensually, half-closed in passion but still locked on him with something resembling… awe?
When Buffy saw the wonder with which Spike’s cobalt eyes were dancing over hers, emotion overtook her and she felt her breaking point approach, restlessly moving through her limbs as she arched her back and tightened, pulling him along with her.
She felt his warm release flood her as a series of smaller tremors continued to run through her, and he gathered her close to his chest, neither of them stopping the gentle rocking motion as they came down.
* * *
They didn’t get much sleep, drifting fitfully off for fifteen and half-hour segments of time together until they woke up again, aroused and reaching for each other with increasing frequency and desperation as an invisible clock counted out the last of their time together.
Tangled and torn bedsheets were thrown to the floor, pillows tossed aside, as any stimulation other than each other was deemed too unbearable. Both flashed back to their thoughts from the first night, too much and never enough.
Over and over they awoke, tangling limbs as Lover’s Time became real time, counted in hours and minutes instead of gasps and sighs.
Exhausted and sweated, they finally both passed out just as daylight was starting to filter into the room, the first rays of the sun dissipating the last of the clouds left from the night storm.
* * *
Buffy awoke before Spike did, and as she was lying, watching the sun dance through the room and over their entwined limbs, she realized that a previously unnoticed digital clock atop the table by the abandoned wineglasses had blinked to life.
It flashed a large read “2:00,” and as she watched it, she realized that it wasn’t 2pm, and the time was counting backwards instead of up. Counting down on the last of their time together.
She felt a wave of sadness start to wash over her just at she felt Spike start to stir beside her, and she rolled over to face him, turning her back on the insidious clock.
He smiled sleepily good morning, his smile fading slowly as he too noticed the ‘time.’
She looked away, having no words.
Spike arose and circled around to her side of the bed, taking both of her wrists in his hands and leading her into the bathroom.
They showered together for the first time since they had both arrived on The Island, but they touched each other with soft caresses meant to soothe rather than arouse.
They stood in the spacious shower pressed together, washing every trace of themselves off each other until at last the shower ran cold.
They carefully climbed out and toweled each other off with the same care and delicacy that they’d washed each other, and reluctantly left to gather their things and repack.
* * *
Spike watched as Buffy slowly secured the latches on her suitcase, her back to him.
The four days had been such a rollercoaster of emotion, first anxiety, then lust, then something more, giving way to anxiety again, and he had suddenly found himself with a profound feeling of loss.
Buffy didn’t meet Spike’s eyes, or even look in his direction as she carefully placed her luggage by the door, gathering the last of her toiletries into her purse before she finally steeled herself enough to look up at him.
She walked over to where he stood in the middle of the suite, and when she got within arm’s reach, Spike opened his mouth to try and find words.
Buffy stopped him with the mere look on her face, giving the slightest of shakes to her head, and he fell silent. Sometimes there really are no words.
She smiled gently, craning her neck up to brush her lips over his so softly that he thought he had imagined it, and then she was gone, the soft snick of the shutting door echoing loudly through the room. The only proof she’d ever been more than a figment of Spike’s imagination was the faint smell of vanilla that still lingered in the air.
To Be Concluded…
A/N: The song is Maggie Walter’s “Another Living Room.” (Listen to it here). Apologies, I’m not one for song fics usually, but this song inspired the scene so, you know, credit where credit’s due.
A/N2: Feedback makes my muse grow up big and strong… or at least write faster…
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