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Ch. 13: Approaching Normalcy

Eventually, Buffy got used to the bustling pace of New York City, with people flying by in their heels and suits, talking to cell phones more than people. She got used to living with Cordy in her apartment, with skeezy guys leaving messages under the pretense of job offers and no one leaving messages for her except for the occasional call from Dawn. And she got used to seeing Spike every day--his picture, that is. Her editor had been incredibly impressed with her beach photo shoot of Spike. Buffy had been tempted to leave it out, in her desire to bury those days in the bottom trunk of her brain's basement, but the shots had been too good to leave out--and it would have made her portfolio unacceptably short. So when her editor had asked for copies of certain photos, she complied. This gift, however, soon became the wall montage of her editor's office. Five prints of Spike's body and soulful eyes and sexy grin--all in a row--greeted her every time she walked into the office. But even that became a daily routine, and she barely noticed him anymore. Barely.

Buffy looked up at the clock--9:25 pm. This past week she'd been working crazy hours due to the unexpected firing of the assistant copy editor, among others. She didn't know the reasons or the story behind it; what she did know was that, as the newbie and as the English minor, she was stuck doing double duty. Though the work wasn't difficult and she was getting paid extra, she couldn't deny the soreness in her neck from being in front of the computer for hours, nor could she deny the soreness in her butt from sitting in the same chair for hours. Just one more article to proofread and submit, and then she'd be done.

Blinking hard to refocus her eyes on the screen, she returned to the writing. This article was highlighting some of the massage parlors in the area, which ones were worthy splurges, which ones were good deals, and which ones were not worth noticing. She groaned, wishing she could experience a massage that would work out all the kinks in her neck.

Her proofreading began earnestly enough, with Buffy's inner grammar Nazi kicking in to add the necessary comma and semicolon, but her thoughts began to take a different bent when she reached the second paragraph. Lately, now that she'd been starting to develop a routine that was almost comfortable, she'd been finding herself thinking about Spike. Perhaps it was just time, that enough months had elapsed that she could think about him without too much pain. Perhaps it was those photos in her boss's office, finally wearing down her defenses and affecting her the way she knew they would eventually. Regardless of the cause, her thoughts wandered to that part of her brain once more, recalling more about him than she wanted to admit.

Buffy remembered the day she'd taken pictures of him in the water. They'd kissed and touched and moaned and sighed in each other's arms, the water lapping around them. Then they'd returned to the sandy shore, and the sun drank up the water from their skin. She'd sat on the blanket, gathering her things, and he'd sat behind her. His hands had skittered over her shoulders and arms and neck, adding warmth to the heat of the sun. His warm fingers had gently kneaded her skin, rubbing and softening her tense muscles.

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, convincing herself that it was merely to rest her eyes from the glare of the computer screen. A few moments later, her memories merged with fantasies and sucked her in.

Her shoulders began to sag under his ministrations, her head lolling forward as her body yielded to his every touch. She felt him direct her towards the blanket, and she easily submitted, crawling onto her stomach. He continued his massage down her body, working the flesh of her lower back and above her ass. She moaned softly when he began to kiss her skin with each stroke of his hand. Their bathing suits somehow disappeared, and she could feel his strong thighs around her, pressing her tight. His hands stroked the sides of her breasts, and her pussy ached as his body slowly slid down hers. His fingers touched her sex, jolting her with burning electricity. Even as he touched and kissed and licked, his massage never stopped, creating contrasting sensations of loosened sinews and tightened muscles. And finally she felt his cock, rubbing against her ass deliciously. She spread her legs apart, wanting to feel his head against her wetness.

"Spike," she breathed, arching her hips to let him in.

"Buffy," he moaned, pressing his cock forward to graze her buzzing clit.

"Now," she cried out, pushing herself against his flesh.

"Buffy?" A hand shook her, breaking her dream and leaving her unsatisfied. "Buffy, wake up."

Squeezing her eyes and her pussy, Buffy looked up slowly to see Knox, the layout editor. "Oh, hey there."

"You okay? You fell asleep at the screen. I thought I was the only one who did that," he said lightly. "You should get out of here. It's getting kind of late."

"Yeah, but I just have to finish this one last article," she explained, stifling a yawn.

"Understandable. Do you have a lot left?" he asked peeking at her screen.

Buffy cracked her neck and straightened her posture. "No, just two more paragraphs. I'll be done in no time."

Knox put down his bag and said, "Do you want me to wait for you? I could walk you to the subway or wherever you're going."

"No, don't worry about it. Go on home. I'll turn the lights out and everything."

"Are you sure?" he asked, still holding the strap of his bag.

"Positive. I'll see you tomorrow morning." She pushed him slightly, as if to get him moving, and smiled brightly. When he finally left, she rubbed her temples and emitted a long sigh. Quickly whizzing through the text, she saved, closed, and left the building.

***

"Okay, guys, this is the last day of deadline week. Yes, I know some of you might be thinking that it's been deadline month, with the loss of some people, but this is the real crunch time. I truly appreciate the extra work some of you have been putting in, and you will be compensated according to..."

Anya's voice began to fade out as Buffy studied the photos of Spike on her wall behind Anya's desk. That one, when he'd come out of the water and walked towards the shore--that one was the precursor to the one she'd omitted from the collection, the one where he'd looked at her with such unadulterated lust that she became wet just thinking about it. That look of hunger and passion and lust, deepened by love and pleasure and delight--it'd been a while since she'd seen that look on anyone, if anyone at all captured it the way he did. It made her blood sing through her veins, her heart beat erratically with cravings, and it made her want to sink her teeth into him. She wanted to kiss him till he was breathless, touch him till he moaned with that sexy low voice of his, rub her body against those hard muscles, ride him till he was--

"Buffy? Meeting's over. I know you've been working some late nights, but that doesn't excuse you from listening to my inspirational speech," Anya stated bluntly. "Now go do your work."

Flustered by being caught in the midst of a very wet scenario, Buffy quickly grabbed her things and went back to her cubicle.

"Oh, god," she whimpered, trying to erase the images from her mind.

"What's wrong?"

Buffy looked up to see Willow, the co-worker at the next desk, peeking over the cubicle walls. "Nothing, nothing. Just having some difficulty concentrating." She smiled and tried to gather herself together.

"Late night again? I think I'm going to be here late tonight as well, so at least we'll have company. Maybe we can grab a drink or something afterwards. Might give us something to look forward to after this hell week," Willow suggested with a smile.

"Yeah, that might be nice. Who knows? Maybe we'll finish early," Buffy added. She and Willow had been slowly becoming friends, both being new to the city. The redhead was fun to hang out with and seemed to be free of all the biting New York wit that seemed to be wearing her down.

"Unlikely, but it's a nice thought. Back to the salt mines," Willow grumbled, disappearing from view.

Buffy hoped that having real company would keep her from daydreaming too much. Directing her attention back to her work, she tried to forget the sexy Spike scenes.

Hours passed, the sun set, and still Buffy was working. Magazine work demanded completion, and Buffy was struggling to stay on top of things.

On top of things...the innocent phrase that normally drove her to perfection was currently driving her crazy. Buffy on top of Spike, Spike on top of Buffy, both on top of a blanket on a beach, on top of a car hood at night, on top of the kitchen counter...

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Focus, she commanded herself, again trying to squeeze the thoughts out of her mind. Two more proofs and then we can go have a drink. With that motivation in mind, she threw herself back into her work, determined to come out on top.

On top. Oh, fuck...

***

"Well, at least we can say we finished our part. We'll probably get more next week, but tonight, right now, we're done. So here's to finishing," Willow declared, raising her martini.

"Here's to finishing," Buffy agreed. They clinked glasses and then drank with the satisfaction that they'd done a good job.

"So, you seem more distracted these days. Anything going on?" Willow asked, playing with her olive.

"No, yes, I don't know. Is it something going on? In reality? No," Buffy confided, snacking on peanuts. "It's just an old fling, someone I haven't thought about in a while." That sounded innocuous enough.

Willow nodded in understanding. "The job certainly takes up time, doesn't it? I can't remember the last time I had a date, and it certainly wasn't someone I met here in the city." She finished up her martini and signaled to the bartender for another one.

"Yeah, this was someone back in California. Actually, you've probably seen him, the one posted up in Anya's office?" Buffy shrugged as she downed her drink and then asked for another.

"That was your man? I thought he was just a model," Willow commented, the awe apparent on her face.

"Well, he was a model, but he was sort of a boyfriend, but then there was extreme baggage, and then there was badness, and then I left. I never saw him after that," Buffy finished, a note of sadness in her voice.

"Was it that bad? You seem like you really liked him, just from the sound of your voice," Willow noted.

"I did." She sighed, popping more nuts in her mouth. "I did, but I couldn't deal with this thing in his past. I couldn't, and then I went home, and then my mom died, and now I'm here." Her summary neatly compacted her emotions into digest form, and it only made her sadder.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was it sudden? Your mom's death, I mean."

"Yeah, it was. I mean, I knew she was going to die, so we were able to have a goodbye, but it was still hard." She sipped her drink slowly. "But I'm not trying to be a downer. We're celebrating!" she exclaimed, a little too brightly.

"Yes, we are. Let's leave the past behind us and trudge on to the future." They clinked again,

Willow paused thoughtfully, considering where the conversation should head. She decided to go with the less personal hottie road rather than the more personal mother road. Swallowing more of her drink, she asked, "So why the long face? He may be a fling of the past, which is fine, but that doesn’t mean he can't go into your spank bank, so to speak."

Buffy shrugged, playing with her maraschino cherry. "True, I suppose. I guess I'm not used to being so plagued by fantasies."

"Well, when's the last time you got some?"

Buffy gave Willow a look, grabbed the cherry with her tongue, and then took a quick shot of her drink.

"That long?" Willow concluded, grinning at her antics. "Well, maybe you're just suppressing your emotions too much. Don't make him out to be taboo; imagine every single possible position whenever you feel like it. If you don't treat him as off-limits, maybe you won't fantasize about him so much, you know? Sometimes we just like the unattainable."

"You know, that makes a lot of sense. I totally beat myself up whenever I think about him. Maybe that's why I think about him so much." In her slightly inebriated state of mind, Willow's logic made perfect sense.

"Great! So we've figured out the solution to your problem: think of this hottie whenever you touch yourself. Now, how about my problem? I don't even have a guy to fantasize about. What are we going to do about that?" Willow cried out, the alcohol starting to make her voice high-pitched and whiny.

Buffy laughed as Willow began listing all the items on her Willow-friendly list for eligible men. It was close to sunrise when they finally said their goodnights, pleasantly drunk and surprisingly satisfied with their lives.

***

Staying faithful to Willow's advice, Buffy stopped quelling the tendency to imagine Spike pleasuring her; in fact, she capitalized on the memories she did have and made them more, keeping her as satisfied as being alone could be. With the end of the weekend drawing near, Buffy was attempting to release the inevitable Sunday night tension before the work week. Currently she was replaying fantasy #12: on the bike.

He leans back on his bike sexily, clad in leather and his pimp necklace--can't forget the necklace. The sun is beating down on him, making his hair glint with diamonds. Diamonds are a girl's best friend, she think as she draws near to him, her short miniskirt swinging in the wind. There's this look on his face, this 'I want to eat you up and lick my fingers when you scream' face, this 'you'll never want to let go of this ride, baby' face. He doesn't have to say a word; he just looks, and she gets wet. She bites her lip, almost knocked over by her arousal, and stands before him, waiting. He slowly unzips his pants to reveal his fascinating cock, hard with desire for her. For her. He continues to watch her, his gaze unclothing her, and she finds herself completely nude, the sun her only garment. There's a sense of excitement, her naked body and his clothed one, save for the glistening cock beckoning her. He lifts her up, his strength making her shiver, and then her mind explodes. He eases her down, her insides burning with every inch, until he's completely sheathed and pressing against her most intimate parts. She throws her hair back as he devours her breasts, sucking and lightly biting and making her animalistic ferocity emerge. She roars as he pounds into her pussy, breasts bouncing and body writhing. So hard, so tight, so wild--she clenches his leather while he snarls into her neck, her skin red with love bites and lust scratches, some self-inflicted. She's so close, her cunt tightening around his cock, when he reaches forward and guns the engine, ripping vibrations through her sweaty body. She howls with wanton pleasure, and he growls with orgasmic ecstasy. He strengthens his grip on her body, flesh against leather, until she falls.

Buffy's clit throbbed in post-orgasmic bliss, and she stretched out lazily, letting the sensations race over her tired body. She purred deliciously and then fell asleep, resting in preparation for the busy week.





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