Ch. 17: Selfish Pleasures
“By Monday?” Spike asked, a look of incredulity on his face. He had stopped in the middle of a bit of his hot dog, a quick bite after their trip to the museum. Sitting on the rock with the sun in his face, his eyes squinting at her, he waited for her explanation.
Buffy sighed. “You heard right. I have to be out by Monday. Tomorrow.” She would have hid her face in misery if her hands weren’t full of a sauerkraut-laden half-eaten weiner. She settled for another sigh and a pout. “And everyone I’ve talked to has politely refused to let me crash. I just don’t know.”
Swallowing the last of his snack and wiping his hands, he carefully looked at her and said, “You haven’t asked me.”
Buffy studiously adjusted her hot dog so that it didn’t fall on her lap—and successfully avoided eye contact with his sharp blue eyes. “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to bother you about it. You’ve been here for as short a time as I have, and I didn’t want to disrupt whatever routines you’d just established, and...”
“Buffy, you need a place, and I have space. You should crash at my flat. I mean, I even rhyme.” He smiled a little, trying to suppress the sexually frustrated and currently groaning voice in his head, the one that could guess what his life might become like if she actually came to live with him. He clamped down those feelings and merely thought of the possibility of seeing her all the time.
Buffy hesitated. It made complete sense to take him up on his offer. He had a great place, certainly with enough room for her. He lived nearby, so her commute would be the same. In fact, they could probably go to work together. They got along wonderfully, and he was offering. Why the hesitation?
Because she would explode, of course. The sexual tension had already caused her to catalog innumerable fantasies of their couplings even before she’d run into him here in New York . How much more could she take if they were living in the same apartment? But the little devil on her side coaxed her with innocent images of the lovely loft, the wonderful bookshelves, the roomy place, convincing her that rooming with Spike would be purely platonic and that his place was the perfect solution to her problem. The angel, completely aware of all the sexual tension and danger in living with him, was neatly tied up and thrown into the corner of her mind.
“Spike, if you don’t mind having me around, I’d be incredibly grateful to you for letting me stay with you.” The devil in her mind did a little jig, and the angel rolled her eyes and sighed.
His face lit up at her words, and Spike touched her shoulder gently in reassurance. “I love having you around, and it would be no problem at all to have you stay with me. I can help you move in your stuff today, if you want.”
“You are definitely too good to be true.” She faltered a little under his steady gaze and soft touch; she couldn’t keep looking into those eyes and not fall into their depths, and the addition of his gentle caress on her shoulder was a little more than she could handle. But she savored his warmth and felt a little lacking when he finally took his hand away.
--
After much lifting and toting and walking and sweating, Buffy collapsed onto a chair in the kitchen, gulping down water. Moving was such a hassle, even when she hadn’t moved nearly as much as Spike had. She licked a drop of water running down the side of the glass as she watched him carry the last box into the apartment. Slightly glistening with sweat and muscles tensed under his shirt, Spike exuded a masculinity that made Buffy ache with desire.
Spike wiped his brow quickly and then sighed. "I wish I could help you unpack all this—no really, I do," he said, grinning at her look of disbelief. "Unfortunately, I'm supposed to meet a co-worker tonight to finish the copy for this column we're working on together. He's expecting me at 8." He chugged some water. "I'm not even going to have time to shower, but I don't care much—he's not going to care." Finishing the bottle, he stretched a little and then headed for the door. "You have the key and my cell, and I'll try to get back tonight before too late so we can finish pounding out the details. I'm sorry I have to run—I'll see you in a few hours?"
Buffy nodded and waved, too tired for much else. "Yeah, I may not be awake when you get back, but we'll figure something out. Have a good meeting." She waved goodbye, and he was gone. Slouching into her chair, she closed her eyes and thought about the bare minimum she could do to be okay for work the next day. Finally bracing herself for a few moments of unpacking, she heaved herself out of the chair and then headed upstairs.
--
"There." She looked at the two boxes she'd unpacked—the few items that were necessary to make her feel at home, and the clothes she'd actually hung up in the closet—and grinned. The bed was still pretty messy, but it was livable. She got out her toiletries and made her way down to the bathroom to make a place for herself. Humming along to her music, she smiled. The new place was better than she could have hoped, and Spike was better than she could have hoped. Heading back to the—her loft, she plopped onto her bed. Her eyes closed on their own accord, and suddenly her mind was filled with images of Spike—his sweaty body all flexed and muscle-y, his blue eyes staring at her intensely, his lips kissing hers.
All of a sudden, her entire being was hot with desire. It was as if her body was accustomed to becoming aroused at the thought of Spike—no doubt a result of all those fantasies that Willow had said were okay. Okay? Now she was living with him. Was she going to go around in a constant state of arousal?
It didn't matter right now, though, because right now he was on her mind and right now her body was aching and right now there was no one else in the apartment...
Her right hand slid down her body, and her left hand slowly slid over her breasts. No one was in the apartment, so no one was going to hear her breathing heavily or see the covers shifting from her movement. The reassurance was necessary—there was something naughty about touching herself here, at Spike's apartment, even if it were now partially her apartment.
She shook those thoughts from her head and went back to Spike, his body and his heat and his sexy walk. There he was, pouring water over his head and letting it run down his sculpted body. He'd take off his shirt, not wanting it to get too wet, and then give her a smoldering look before throwing the t-shirt down.
Her fingers began rubbing against her wetness, slick just the images of his body. Her hips began to thrust lightly against her hand, wanting to feel the friction. She dipped into her pussy and slid over her clit, moaning lightly at the glorious sensations swirling around her.
Her left hand gently glided over her breast, cupping its softness and squeezing her nipple to hardness. She bit her lip as both hands worked its erogenous zone. Her breathing became more labored, her moans a little louder as she relentlessly pressed against her sex, rubbing and pleasuring with each hand.
--
Spike tried to enter the apartment quietly, in case Buffy had fallen asleep in the loft. He smiled a little at the idea of her being asleep in his—their—apartment. He didn't hear anything at first. Softly closing the door, he moved into the apartment and tried to hear if she was sleeping. And then he heard a moan, and another.
His jaw clenched in anger—not that it was justified, but she'd only been there a few hours or so. How could she already have brought someone over?
And then he heard another moan. Eventually he realized that she was the only one moaning. His cock began hardening with the thought that she might be touching herself. Only a few hours in the apartment, and she was touching herself? Either it had been a long day needful of release or she was in as much sexual agony as he was. Could it be?
Her moans began getting louder, faster, and his hand crept to touch his own aching needs.
--
She was close—her body was tensing, tightening, climbing up that slope of pleasure. She imagined his blue eyes, his hard body that day he'd been her model, strutting and posing before her. She envisioned the way he would look down and then glance up at her with that intense stare, cocking his eyebrow and opening his lips partly, and—
"Uuunnnnnnnnggg," she burst out, her body arching with delight. She pressed her fingers against her shuddering clit, relishing the way it throbbed against her, and then collapsed onto the bed.
--
Hearing her moment of climax, Spike almost came himself. He bit his lip and quickly made his way to his room. Ripping off his t-shirt and dropping his pants, he plopped onto the bed, cock in hand. He could see her so clearly, her golden hair shining in the sun, her body stretched out on the sand all for his pleasure. He remembered scooping her into his arms, running into the ocean. His lips were on her, his hands caressing her nipples and cupping her ass, feeling her sex against his own.
His cock was already so hard, glistening with his own cum, thrusting into his hand with fervor.
He felt his tongue on hers, his body pressed against hers, hard against soft, rubbing against her clit and then pushing into her—
"Ggguuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh," he spit out, holding his spurting cock tightly, imagining it to be her velvet pussy instead of his cold hand. He came on himself, chest messy with desire. He continued to breathe heavily, reeling from the strength of his orgasm.
--
Buffy paused outside his slightly open door, her eyes wide with shock as she heard his passionate outcry. When had he gotten home? Had he heard her own cries of passion? Was he thinking about her? Her pussy pulsed at the thought, and she quickly walked to the shower.
Throwing off her robe, she stepped under the hot spray and replayed the sounds in her head. His voice was so sexy, so drenched in intense desire. The very intonations of his voice made her hot. Letting the burning water cascade down her body, she couldn't help but caress herself, imagining his voice caressing her, his tongue touching her, his hands holding her. She threw her head back and lost herself in the sensations.
--
Spike slowly emerged from the haze of self-created delights. He berated himself for succumbing so quickly. "Can't be doing this all the time or I'll go blind. She's gonna be living here, for chrissake. Get a hold of yourself," he thought to himself. Blinking into the darkness, he reached for a t-shirt to wipe himself off and then pulled on his jeans, letting them hang on his narrow hips. He stretched a little, waking with each movement, and headed for the shower.
--
Buffy stared at herself in the mirror. "You have to stop this. Your orgasm-to-hour ratio is out of control. You can't masturbate every time you see him or think of him. Your hands are going to be disgustingly hairy if that keeps up. You have to control yourself and get used to the way he looks and sounds. Get used to it and move on." She took a deep breath and hoped that the pep talk to herself worked. Wrapping a towel tightly around her body she stepped out into the hall.
They stared at each other, neither fully believing what they saw.
Spike saw damp hair falling against soft skin, flushed with warmth and lightly kissed with water rivulets running down her body; a towel barely covering breasts just perfectly shaped for his hands; a mouth slightly open with lips perfect for kissing; shapely legs that glistened with moisture; eyes that stared up with an innocence just waiting to be corrupted.
Buffy saw a rock hard chest of smooth pale skin; abs that called out to her fingers to touch every swell; those lovely muscles stretching down into his jeans pointing to a valley of delight; a slight trail of hair that ran from his navel that she longed to scratch; biceps that slightly bulged as his fingers stopped in his hair; eyes that made her shiver; cheeks that molded to her hand.
It took them a few moments to register the image; it also took a few moments to look away, embarrassed for staring to openly. Spike mumbled a quick hello, hands immediately reaching for pockets to hide his growing reaction. Buffy nodded silently and tightened her grip on the towel so that she could rush back up to the loft and hide the wetness blossoming between her legs.
It was going to be a long night.
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