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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you to Willow Trees!
Buffy waited for the knock. She sat on the bed with her bare feet flat on the red carpeting, staring straight ahead.

It had been easy when he was sitting there and she could see the way he pursed his lips, look into his too-blue eyes. His gaze made her feel equally exposed and protected, as though he'd already seen her without any of her clothes and wouldn't tell a soul about the flaws he'd found.

He had those nice, long fingers, too. She'd always been big on hands and his stroked her imagination in all kinds of pleasant, naughty ways. Buffy had been mesmerized since the first handshake and now she was going to find out if they would feel as good as she'd hoped.

Buffy tried to concentrate on the way his forearms looked when he’d roll up his dress shirt and the fluttery sensation she felt in her chest when their eyes met so that the rest of her life didn't have a chance to nudge its nose into her thoughts. She deserved this after everything she'd been through Buffy rationalized. It didn't have to mean that she loved Riley any less.

Oh God.
Riley.

The knock on the door shook her back to the moment.
Buffy answered it, careful not to open the door more than a crack. Mr. Pratt, Spike, was on the other side, smiling nervously at her. He angled his way in through the narrow space she held for him. She closed the door by leaning flat against it.

Spike had to catch his breath. Buffy was completely naked. Not a stitch on, not even wearing her gold necklace, just perfect skin, perfect everything. She had fine, blonde hair between her legs and a few stray wisps sparkling up to her belly button. He'd never been with a natural blonde, Spike thought, or any other kind of blonde. What a stupid thing to think when she was this naked and walking toward him.

Spike tugged his t-shirt off.

"It's alright, yeah?" he asked. Fucking stupid, stupid.

"Sure, I mean, it would make sex a little easier," she said with a laugh.

He undid his belt and then slid his pants down his legs, regretting instantly that he didn't think to untie his boots first. Spike hopped over to the bed and sat down on the navy spread. He peeled his jeans back and then unlaced the boots.

"You don't wear underwear?" she asked.

She Geisha-walked over to the bed and sat about two feet away from him.

"Only when I have a kilt on," he said.

"Was that a joke or do you really own a kilt, because that's kind of hot," she said.

Spike plucked his right boot from his foot, tugged his white sock off then set to work on the other leg.

"No, I do own a kilt, bought it for a friend's wedding. Haven't worn it since," he said.

Mercifully, the other boot came off.

"I thought you were English," Buffy said.

"I am, but I've Scottish friends," he said.

They sat awkwardly, naked on a papery coverlet that smelled of disinfectant. Buffy pressed the flat of her hands into the bed and clenched her knees together. Spike rested his elbows on his parted thighs and studied his empty hands. Not how he wanted this evening to begin. He wondered if she liked the way he looked or if she was disappointed. She was probably wondering the same thing. He sat up straight and faced her.

"You're gorgeous, love," he said, daring the initial touch. He grazed her cheek with his knuckles.

She smiled genuinely and Buffy inched closer.

"So are you," she said.

Spike moved toward her.

As first kisses went, it wasn't bad. They didn't knock noses or miss each others' lips, but Buffy's eyes did fly open and she started back when he slid his tongue in her mouth. It only lasted a second, though, before she relaxed and let him explore. He ran his hands lightly over her arms, as though he were trying to warm them, unfreeze them. His touch gave her goosebumps.

"Cold? We could get under the covers," he said.

"O.K."

Buffy scrambled underneath the covers. Spike joined her.
They resumed kissing and beneath the protection of the sheets she began to unfurl against him. Her legs fell open, and he pressed his body against hers. The flaxen curls between her legs were damp against his stomach. Despite her hesitation she did want this, he thought, and knowing that made him even more eager. He kissed from her mouth down her throat to her breasts.

After months of solitary speculation, he finally knew what her breasts looked like. The nipples were darker than in his imagination. He'd pictured a Maxfield Parrish nymph with rose petal tips. The reality was more the color of a coffee stain. It didn't matter, they were still unbearably sweet, and his ideal was amended.

She arched into him as he sucked on her nipples. Buffy hugged Spike's head and started to grind against his waist, making breathy sounds that she seemed intent on stifling. He moved up to kiss her lips again.

Buffy's hand stroked his chest. Then she broke their kiss and her mouth followed the path her hands had taken, she was lapping at his nipples and then licking up his sternum, biting into his neck. She touched his cock, encircling it with her fingers lightly as though she were trying to feel her way through the dark. It drove him crazy and he let out a growl. Buffy giggled.

"Do you, should we do it now?"

"Can I taste you first, love? Buffy?" Spike asked.

Confusion tightened her eyes.

"What?"

He put his hand between her legs.

"Can I taste you here?"

Understanding made her green eyes widen. She nodded yes.
Spike stole under the covers, leaving wet pecks across her tight, flat stomach. He buried his face between her legs, sucking her clit into his mouth. Buffy couldn't keep the soft "Oh" from escaping her lips. He slid a finger inside her rhythmically, making her buck against his hand.

Inexplicably at that moment he thought of Emily Dickinson--yes, he'd had one or two stress-induced sex dreams about Emily Dickinson, but that was in college when he was working on his thesis and it probably had nothing to do with anything. One of them followed a long night of imbibing absinthe, so it meant even less.

No, what he thought about was a theory that the repeated image of a crumb in her poetry was a reference to the clitoris.

He was feasting on the crumb, this was all he would ever have with Buffy. This perfect second was made of fragile stuff, it would shatter at the close of the hotel room door. It didn't matter, this was all he wanted, Spike told himself, to make her scream while he fucked her with his mouth and his fingers.

He found the spot inside her that short-circuited Buffy's brain. She was chanting his name along with other strings of intelligible vowel-like sounds. Buffy kicked off the blanket, her limbs jerking and then clutching him so tightly, the muscles inside her body clinging, wringing pleasure from him. Spike sucked her slowly, riding out the pulses that surged through her, savoring the taste. Then he withdrew, and prowled up her body to meet her face. Spike wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Did you cum, kitten?" he asked.

"You're like Jesus and ice-cream combining to make happiness," she said.

"So yeah?"

"Yeah."

He picked up the coverlet from the floor and cast it over them like a fishing net. He held her against him, craving her warmth.

"Don't you want to finish?" she asked.

"Yeah, but I'm giving you a minute, don't want to kill you," he said.

"Cocky."

"You've no idea. But you will," he said with a wicked grin.

"Would it be O.K. if I just tasted you, too, instead of the whole sex thing?" she asked.

"Did you just ask if it was alright to blow me?"

She laughed and wrinkled her nose.

"I guess so," she said.

"It's always alright, love," he said.

Buffy grinned at him and then dove under the blankets.
Her fingers breezed over his stomach and he tensed at her touch. Then she was kissing his hips and massaging his legs. She seemed to take special pleasure in the hard curve of his calves from the soft sounds she was making.
When she finally licked his cock, she did it guilessly, like she was having at a popsicle. He almost let out a chuckle, until she grabbed the base with a firm hand and took him inside her mouth. The way she was moving took his breath away, and he pulled the covers aside to watch her.
Buffy's hair was in a shiny tangle, it looked like it would crackle with static under his fingers. She was crouched between his thighs, her body bobbing up and down like a teeter totter. He smoothed the hair from her face to look at her wet, pink mouth engulfing him, her green eyes closed in concentration.

"I'm gonna...Oh my God," he whispered.

She started to moan like she was enjoying something delicious and he lost control. He finished in shimmery, white waves. He thought she'd leave to spit out his aftermath in peace, but she didn't. Buffy swallowed his cum.

She'd wanted him completely, he thought with awe as she snuggled against his chest, tucking the blanket around them.

"Was that good?" she asked.

"Perfect," he said.

He kissed her, relishing his taste in her mouth.

"I'm completely smitten with you, Buffy," Spike said, rubbing his nose against hers.

She suddenly stiffened and pulled away.

"You shouldn't," she said.

Buffy rolled out of his arms and went into the bathroom. Spike sighed and stood up, collecting his clothes. He heard the toilet flush and then heard the sink running. By the time she ducked out to grab her purse and her neatly folded clothes, Spike was fully dressed and lacing up his boots.

Their eyes met and she stilled.

"Please go before I come out. It'll be easier," she said.
He forced a smile.

"No problem, pet. It was fun," he said, his voice sounding a little higher than usual, as though it weren't really his.

"Fun?" she asked. The hurt look on her face calcified, becoming indignant. "Good, I'm glad. I had fun, too."

"Could do it again, once you recover," Spike said.

"Next week, same time?" Buffy said.

Spike nodded, a goofy smile spreading across his face as Buffy went back into the bathroom. He stood up and attempted to make his exit when she poked her head out of the door again.

"Spike, what's your middle name?"

"William. Why'd you want to know, love?"

"You were just getting frisky with my lady location. It seems like something I should know."

He smiled at her and then started to walk away, not wanting to make a big thing with goodbyes.

"Don't you want to know my middle name?" she asked. She was going for pouty, but instead sounded cautious and a little bit disappointed.

"Already do, it's Anne, like my mother. You always sign your full name when you write notes for Dawn," he said.
At the mention of Dawn's name, she ducked back into the bathroom and slammed the door.


Chapter End Notes:
The thing about Emily Dickinson is real, there's a famous scholar who posited that theory and I can't remember her name, nor do I want to look it up for fear of what I'll find.
This story will have literary references, not just because I'm still paying off those damned student loans, or because they are pretentious, though they are that, but because I think they're sexy. That's right, poetry gets me off. BWAAHAHAHAHHHAHHA!!!!!



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