Buffy has an interesting allergy.
Categories: Porn w/o Plot fics Characters:
Adult Language, Sexual Situations
Allerigc, 1/1 by Panta_Rei
This fic is for Suzee, because Buffy's condition was all her idea. *g*
It was a phrase that she uttered all too often, but somehow Buffy couldn’t bring herself to care. Because Spike was a stupid vampire, and her current problem was all his fault.
The night had started out well enough—studying with Willow, patrolling, and then heading back to the dorm with Riley for hot monkey sex. But just when things were starting to get fun, Riley made the unpleasant discovery that someone had stolen his condoms.
The kicker was, he’d left a bottle of black nail polish in its place.
Buffy had immediately jumped off Riley, yanking her clothes on and babbling apologies. Riley had looked thoroughly befuddled.
“What’s the matter, Buffy? Aren’t you on the pill?”
And Buffy had run.
Now she was in the cemetery, kicking at tombstones because there weren’t even any demons to hit. Not that she got off on violence, or anything. She just needed some physical activity, that’s all.
“Any vamp in particular, or just all of ‘em?”
Buffy whirled around, furious. There stood the bleached menace currently making her life miserable. “You,” she said in venomous fury.
And he just stood there smirking. Smirking! “Me.”
“I am going to kill you!”
Spike had never seen a Slayer really lose it. They weren’t human enough to lose it, in his experience. But when Buffy Summers declared her intent to off him, it was obvious that she’d really lost it.
She came at him like a hurricane, hair wild, teeth bared, hands like claws. They went down in a tangled heap of limbs.
“Slayer!” he yelled, yelping when she tore at his skin with his nails. “’m sorry, alright?! They wouldn’t let me buy any at the store!”
“Why not?” she said furiously, aiming a kick at his balls that he just barely avoided. “And why do you need them, anyway? It’s not like you can get someone pregnant!”
“Yeah, but—would you stop it?” Her little fists were pounding on him with the force of a sledgehammer, and every time he tried to grab her wrists and stop her, the Goddamn chip sent a warning twinge of pain through his skull.
Maybe he looked more pathetic than he thought or maybe the berserker rage was fading, but her blows ceased. Unfortunately, she stayed were she was, pinning him down. Her knee dug into his kidney.
“You had better have a really good excuse,” she said in a low, scary voice, glaring at him.
“There’s—there’s a girl, a’right?” Spike ran a hand over hair that was already slicked back, frustrated. “She didn’t know I was a vamp, so she wanted protection.”
It was such a stupid, Spike answer that Buffy laughed. “Oh my God. Could you be a bigger sap?”
“Listen, just ‘cause I happen to want to get laid—“
“Want? All you want is to hurt some innocent girl.” Buffy’s regarded him with disgust. “And you ruined my relationship with Riley to do it!”
Buffy realized her mistake a second before Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Ruined? The berk was that fixated on your cunny that he ended it with you the second you told ‘im no?”
The punch she dealt him made him fly over the tall crypt in front of them. “It had nothing to do with him!” she spat. “I just—“
Wait. No. This was Spike. Bad evil Spike. She clamped her lips shut, determined not to say anything else—even when he popped back to his feet and not-so-effectively loomed over her.
“What, he wanted you to diddle yourself while he watched?” Spike’s eyes flickered up and down her form. “Can hardly blame the bloke, really.”
“Spike, if you don’t shut up, I swear to God I’ll—“
“You’ll what? Burst into tears? Think you’re already half there, pet.”
The words should’ve been cruel, and maybe Buffy was deluding herself by thinking they weren’t—but she thought she caught sympathy in his voice.
The second she heard it, she of course scoffed. “Why do you even care? You can overthrow an emotionally distraught Slayer more easily. I guess your little plan worked out to your advantage after all.”
“Would you stop being such a bloody prima donna?” he snapped. “I was just asking, since you look like you’re about to bawl. Next time I won’t bother.”
He probably meant to storm off majestically—or at least sinisterly—but Buffy halted that plan by turning around and stalking away.
Oh, no you don’t, she thought furiously. “Why should I wait?” she yelled over her shoulder. “You’re just going to stand there and mock me and—ow!”
He had just hit her over the head with the box of condoms.
And now he was running at her and wow, he looked mad. Buffy stood stock still, frozen with what she was pretty sure was an idiotic, wide-eyed look on her face, completely unable to move a muscle.
Until he hurried past her, still running top speed. She whirled around just in time to see him tackle a huge green demon whose claws glinted in the pale streetlight.
Buffy tried to jump into the fight, but when she did a leather-clad arm darted out and threw her out of the fray. She landed on the ground with a hard thump, staring with wide-eyed fury at the vampire who’d thrown her so inconsiderately.
Spike was making quick work of the demon, which wasn’t surprising; what was surprising was that she enjoyed watching it. He moved with the kind of grace that she envied, the kind of grace Faith had bragged about so much. They both loved to fight, and it showed. Her moves were always more jerky, less natural.
It wasn’t until the demon was dead and he turned to her, a shallow cut on his temple rapidly closing, that she realized she’d also been getting turned on.
And the problem never happened with Angel, the voice that Buffy was pretty sure was the Devil in disguise whispered. Maybe it’ll never happen with a vampire.
Spike smirked at her. “Havin’ naughty thoughts, Slayer?”
On the other hand, he was an enormous jerk and definitely not worth her time.
Buffy turned on her heel adamantly and started to walk away.
Of course, he just had to run after her. “What?” she snapped irritably.
“You want me,” he said, and she could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “You wanna get your hands all over my tight little bod.”
She stopped dead at that, staring at him in disgust. “If I wanted to before, I really don’t now.”
“Aha! You wanted to!” Spike grins in triumph; it’s one of the dumbest things she’s ever seen. “I knew you cared ‘bout me.”
“You’re sick and twisted if you think that counts as caring,” Buffy said flatly.
“But you wanna spill all your little secrets,” Spike said, darting his tongue out crudely. “You want to tell me exactly why you won’t ride Captain Cardboard bareback.”
“Actually, I really don’t.” She tried again to push past him, but to no avail; he sidestepped her so that she ended up running flat into his body. “Stop it!”
“C’mon, Summers,” he said, and now he was driving her crazy, because he just looked so Goddamned eager. “How’d I ruin your relationship? You catch a nasty disease from that Parker fellow?”
And something in her, that little bit of tolerance that she always held back no matter what, snapped. “You are such a rotten, self-centered bastard!” she hissed angrily, reaching out to push him backwards. Caught by surprise, he stumbled back. “Standing there all arrogant, trying to tell me you know what my problems are!”
She expected him to sneer, or at least crack a dirty joke. Instead he just cocked his head at her. “Something’s wrong,” he said quietly, “An’ you don’t want him to know.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Buffy cocked her fist. “And think really carefully before you shoot off your mouth again.”
“Your head just ‘bout exploded when I mentioned disease,” he said, and Buffy decided right then that Spike had either been bitten by the psychic bug or was being even more evil than usual. The fact that he sounded nice was just part of his nefarious plan.
“Get real, Spike,” she said irritably. “My head didn’t do anything.”
“It’s a bleeding metaphor.” Despite the cursing, he still looked perfectly calm. Buffy felt her own anger slowly draining away. Dammit.
“Yeah, well, it’s not a good one. I’ve seen heads explode.” No, the sad confession-ey tone was not good. Neither was the fact that when she sat down on a tomb and he sat next to her she didn’t push him off or bash his head open with a statue.
No, this was not good at all.
“Must’ve been hard,” he said quietly.
And God, did she hope he said something stupid, because then she could kick his—
“Growin’ up like that, seeing that sort of thing ever since you were a kid.”
Buffy deflated in an instant. Willow had told her one time that she ought to have a plaque with “world’s biggest bitch” on it, and okay, it could be true. But she couldn’t be a bitch when he acted like this. Dammit.
“I was fifteen,” she said quietly, staring at the ground.
“Bit older than the nibblet, then.”
“Yeah. It’s hard to remember a time when I didn’t know about them.”
There was a pause as Buffy stared at the ground, debating inwardly. Finally, she confessed quietly, “I have an allergy, okay?”
“An allergy?” Spike sounded confused. Well, good; that made the two of them.
“Yeah. I’m—allergic to, uh…” She was really starting to hate this whole blushing thing.
“Spit it out, Summers.”
The order was so causal, so bossy, that it pissed her off. “I’m allergic to semen, okay?!” She yelled.
Spike looked like someone had hit him over the head with a brick. He opened his mouth to respond when—
Two blonde heads whipped around to stare at the dirty vampire standing a few feet away.
“The Slayer’s allergic to come?” he said, sounding absolutely delighted.
Spike leapt off the tombstone, but Buffy was one step ahead of him. Her stake was out and in the vampire’s chest before he had a chance to blink.
Dusting her hands off, she turned back to Spike. “So, um…”
He was on her so quickly that by the time her brain registered that he was touching her, his lips were on hers.
And God help her, she was responding.
His lips were dry and cool, not a bit like Angel’s for all that the temperature was the same. Angel had always kissed her carefully, like she might break; Spike dove right in without the slightest regard for her maybe being fragile. His tongue slipped into her mouth as he reached out and pulled her hip against his own, holding her snugly.
When they finally broke apart, her head was swimming. She was dimly aware of the fact that she was clutching his arms, gasping, and that his smile looked like he was about to burst out laughing at her—but most of her attention was focused on the erection that was snug against her hip.
Vampire semen was safe.
And with that thought she attacked him, yanking him even closer, grinding their hips together and gripping his face fiercely. When she kissed him again she felt his lips curve against her own in a smile—she just kissed him harder, her lips crushing his. With anyone else it would’ve been disgustingly messy; actually, it would already have been stopped, because Buffy was grabbing him hard enough to crush a mortal. But he responded by backing her up against a mausoleum and slipping a hand under her top.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” she said playfully.
He froze. “Uh.”
Forget this, Buffy thought, and in a completely and totally bizarre show of courage, slid her hand down into his jeans to cup his ass. “What I meant was,” she said quietly, “keep going.”
When his hand touched her stomach she forgot to breathe. When it moved up to her breasts, she almost exploded.
“Please,” she said, and it was that twisted little whisper-moan that she knew he’d like. The begging of a victim.
Cloth whispered, rubbing together, as they pushed each other’s shirts up; hands traveled over skin, and they both gasped. She couldn’t believe this was happening—his thumbs brushing over her nipples, making her squirm against the cold stone—her fingers wrapping around his bicep, her lips finding his neck. It would’ve felt unreal except for the definite bruises that were forming on her skin.
Well, that and the fact that certain parts of her were melting.
“You wanna take this somewhere a bit more comfortable?” Spike murmured, hand sliding up from her breast to her collarbone.
She snorted. “What, your crypt? Because I’ve always wanted to have sex on a coffin.”
The eyebrow quirk was really too much. She kissed him again, stroking her tongue with his. “No, idiot. I don’t want to have sex on a coffin. But if that’s all you have, then bring it.”
Spike laughed. “Got something a bit better, pet.” He runs his hands down her back till he comes to her ass, scooping her up off the ground. “C’mon.”
“Spike—hey! I can walk!” And okay, it was a little sexy to be carried off like she didn’t weigh a thing, with her crotch getting real friendly with her partner’s erection—except that this was Spike, and it was a graveyard, and if he tripped then she’d fall and break her back.
Which to Buffy was a definite concern. “Spike! Let me go!”
“So you can run away?” He snorted. “Not likely, Goldilocks. I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t move.”
Buffy turned bright, bright red. Spike took one whiff of the air and laughed.
“So, you like dirty talk? Why doesn’t that surprise me.” And it was said in such a low, purring tone that there was no way it could be a question. “You wanna hear more?”
She actually whimpered. God, this was sad.
“’m gonna lay you down and take off those boots…then your pants…an’ you shirt. Then I’ll lick you head to toe.”
“But—underwear—“ Sad? No, it wasn’t sad. It was downright embarrassing.
He chuckled into her ear. “You think I can’t make you come with your skivvies on?”
“Of course not,” Buffy scoffed. Parker’d had trouble with them off. “I just—nngh!” He’d licked her neck.
Now he was smirking at her, not even breaking his stride. “Yes, luv?”
“Nothing,” she grumbled. “If I don’t come at least twice, you are so very very dead it’s not even funny.”
“Oh, now you’re gonna be a dominatrix?” He laughed when she slapped him. “Can get you a pair of leather boots, if that’s the kind ‘f thing that does it for you.”
“Shut up,” she grumbled. “You’re killing the mood.”
“Make me,” he challenged.
So she kissed him again—hard and long. It occurred to her right before the world melted away that if she just wanted to fuck him a bit, or a lot, that she really shouldn’t be sucking face with him so much.
But then he bit her lower lip and started yanking at her pants, and she really didn’t care.
She reached behind herself, pushing futilely at the door. “In,” she managed to gasp, squeezing his hips with her legs.
His hand left her ass and pushed hard on the stone slab—then they were inside, and he was carrying her over to what looked like a manhole in the ground.
“Get in,” he said, pulling the trapdoor up.
“Get. In,” he bit off, just barely growling, and something on the back of Buffy’s neck prickled.
Still, she wasn’t going down in the dark and creepy without a fight. “But I—“
Without another word, he picked her up and dropped her down the hole.
She landed neatly—it really wasn’t that far a drop, and even panting and disheveled she still had pretty decent reflexes. She jumped out of the way when Spike came sailing down.
“I sincerely hope you don’t think you’re getting away with this,” she informed him, “Because—hey!”
He clapped a hand over her eyes firmly. “Close your eyes.”
“I can’t when you have your hand mashed all over them,” she retorted. His hand immediately loosened, enough for her to close her eyes.
“Now cover them with your hands,” he ordered softly. Buffy obeyed, placing one hand over each eye. And it was stupid, really—the fact that she was obeying.
Unless you considered the fact that obeying meant she’d get to boink Spike till they both passed out, in which case it made a lot of sense.
She heard shuffling and then a muffled scraping noise. “S-spike?” she asked, nervousness making itself known in her voice.
“Yes, kitten?” It was completely unfair how amused he sounded.
“What are you doing?”
She could almost see him smirking. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“If this involves chains, Spike, I swear to God…”
“No chains, promise.” He walked back over to where she stood uncertainly. Resting a hand on her lower back, he guided her forward, patient with the tiny baby steps she was definitely not going to stop taking.
She stopped when her knees bumped something soft. “No way. You have a bed?”
“Try not to sound so surprised,” he advised dryly. “I like civilization, y’know, same as any person.”
As they tumbled onto the bed, Spike’s body cushioning hers, she didn’t even have the heart to needle him about not really being a person.
“Alright, then,” he said quietly when she sat astride him. “Open your eyes.”
She opened them slowly, cautiously, uncertain about what she’d be greeted with. The tableau before her makes her gasp.
Spike was stretched out under her, shirtless, wearing a look that somehow managed to be smug and anxious at the same time. The bed was probably the most normal thing that she’d ever seen—it was made with a single dark blue blanket and crisp white cotton sheets.
What made her breath catch was that the entire room was bathed in candlelight.
It was gorgeous, soft light, and just the barest scent of vanilla was making its way around the room. Buffy narrowed her eyes. “You planned this.”
He shrugged completely unrepentantly. “Maybe a little.” His hands traveled up to her shirt, pulling the straps down her shoulder. “C’mon, luv, don’t be mad.”
She relaxed against him. “I’m not mad, stupid. Just kinda surprised.”
“That’s good, then.” Almost idly, he slid her shirt down around her waist. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
She didn’t recognize the whimper that escaped her lips. “Spike…”
“Shh. Please, sweet, just let me do this.” He sat up, cradling her in his lap and kissing her shoulder softly. His arms wrapped around her securely, unhooking her bra; she held out her arms obediently and let him slip the garment off. Her shirt went over her head and onto the floor. She didn’t even have a chance to shiver before his mouth was on hers, his hands crushing her to him. The cool air had made his skin even colder than usual, and her nipples tightened against his chest.
He groaned, lips moving downwards. “Jesus Christ, you’re so…”
“Spike?” she gasped, grinding herself down into his erection.
“Yeah?” The word, spoken against her neck, made her shudder.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
And with that she shoved his head down. Spike’s entire body vibrated with chuckles as he caught on to her meaning, laving a nipple with her tongue and tweaking the other one with her hand. Maybe vampires really were supernaturally gifted when it came to sex, because Parker had done the same thing—but she’d never almost come from it.
Her hands were down, fumbling with his belt buckle, in an instant. “Now,” she gritted out, bucking her hips as he pulled at her pants.
“Hang on.” He set her back on the bet, standing up and pulling his jeans off. Buffy distantly noted that yeah, he was hot and he looked way better with his jeans off—but most of her was concentrating on the fact that her pants just plain wouldn’t come off.
“Stupid clothes,” she muttered, yanking at them ineffectually.
“Shouldn’t you be able to just yank ‘em off?” Spike teased. “Where’s that Slayer strength ‘ve heard so much about?”
“Shut up,” she muttered. Right. Okay. Pants had buttons.
She could handle this…
“Oh, bloody hell.” A hand flashed out, and a second later she was lying on her back and her pants were off, threads dangling.
“Spike!” Buffy pouted. “I liked those jeans.”
He gave her a grim smile. “Tough luck,” he purred. “Guess you’re gonna have to get another pair.” Gripping her hips, he eased her up the bed until she was reclining against the pillows.
“You’d better make this worth it,” she grumbled.
“Oh, I will.”
He actually had the audacity to wink before parting her thighs and descending.
“Spike!” she gasped, clenching her thighs out of habit. But he was having none of it.
“Ah-ah-ah, Slayer,” he said tauntingly. “Be a good girl and let the big bad have his fun, yeah?”
Glaring, she relaxed. “Shut up. No one’s ever...um.”
It was completely unfair that he should have that kind of glee light up his eyes. “No one’s ever eaten you out before? What the hell were you getting up to at that school of yours?”
It was lucky she was so short—it made it easier for her to reach down and smack his head. “Just shut up and do it,” she ordered.
He waggled his tongue at her. “You already told me to shut up.”
“Your point?” she asked testily.
“Not gonna happen.” And oh God, how had she not noticed that he’d placed his lips against her—private places? Because he had, and it was doing things to her, and if she needed any more assurance that he was evil then here it fucking well was.
“Just what, kitten?” When she didn’t answer, he swept his tongue up across her, grabbing her hips and holding them to the bed when she gasped and thrust upwards.
“Shh,” he said, and the air blowing across her made her buck again and let out some weird strangled sound that she was never going to admit to making later on. “Just lemme do this, luv.”
And he did.
It was incredible, like flying with the stars and a ton of other overblown metaphors that basically meant amazing. She was making noises that she would absolutely never admit to later, and Spike was just coasting right along, laughing into her when his tongue made her keen and her legs thrashed from his fingers tickling her.
“Spike…” And she was most certainly not growling. She was just impatient, was all.
He finally let up, sliding up her body. “Open your legs, pet.”
She obeyed, grabbing his head and kissing him as he did. “I didn’t come yet,” she reminded him breathily.
“You will,” he promised, and suddenly she felt him nudging at her entrance.
Buffy gasped, over-sensitized, hands scrabbling over his muscles. “Spike—“
He bowed his head and reached down between them, fondling her clit, just as he thrust into her roughly. Just like that, she was coming, clamping down on him as her world fragmented. OhmyGOD--
When she came back down he was staring at her, somehow managing to look smug even though it was obviously taking a hell of a lot of effort to stay still. “Told you I’d make you come, didn’t I?”
She glared at him and nudged her hips up, deliberately tightening her muscles and making him groan. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
So they did, Spike thrusting so roughly that she was shoved back against the bed, Buffy all but snarling as she thrust back. There was nothing intimate about the coupling, nothing soft—yet their eyes stayed locked, neither daring to break the connection.
After awhile the soft breathing gave way to harsher grunts and gasps. Buffy felt that thing building in her stomach again, something that had never been there when she and Riley had sex. And it was so weird, being connected to someone without that layer of plastic between them. She’d been…bare…with Angel, but somehow it hadn’t been the same, and—
“No.” His voice was low, rough; really, it was a wonder he could speak at all. “You’re not with him. You’re not with any of them.”
She shut her eyes, then, and turned her head; but he stopped, muscles locking in place.
“No,” she whispered, not moving. The darkness behind her lids was too comforting to even think about giving up.
“Godfuckingdammit, Buffy, open your eyes.”
He had no right, absolutely no right, to call her by name. Not right now, when he was quivering with the effort to hold still, deep inside her, his chest pressed to hers. But he did, saying it again softly as he reached with one hand and turned her chin till she faced him.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered softly.
She did, slowly, to find him watching her intently. That part of her brain that was so good at denial stubbornly ignored the expression there.
“You’re here,” he reminded her. His voice was raspy—the voice of an alcoholic or the survivor of a fire.
“I know,” she began, but he cut her off.
“You’re here,” he repeated, punctuating the words with a quick, sharp thrust of his hips. “Don’t you dare try to pretend you’re not.”
She wasn’t expecting the words to hurt, but somehow they did. “Spike…”
“It’s alright,” he said softly, and then started moving again—more slowly this time, the tenderness of his movements almost making her cry. He should have been angry; that would’ve made this easier. “We’re fine, Buffy. This is fine.”
She wanted to believe it like she wanted to keep breathing. “Just keep going,” she whispered, searching his eyes for the reassurance she needed.
He gave a short, brusque nod and obeyed.
It was simultaneously harder and sweeter—not rough and fast, but slow and bruising. Buffy clung to him, the sensation rolling through her growing stronger and stronger, simultaneously gentler and a thousand times more intense than she’d felt before.
To her shame she started whimpering, clinging to him. Spike kissed her ear, her shoulder, and finally her lips, holding her close as her orgasm washed over her. He followed almost right away, chanting her name brokenly.
They lay together for a moment, panting brokenly, before Spike rolled to the side. “So,” he said, smirk evident. “You’re not feelin’ any ill effects, are you? No itching? Hives, maybe?”
She smacked him weakly. “Shut up.”
Spike’s laughter echoed around the crypt.
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