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Ch. 19: Passionate Storms

Buffy awoke slowly, her body warm and stiff. She first became aware of a chest beneath her face, breathing regularly. Then she felt thighs beneath her own, then a hip under her hand. Her eyes finally opened, and she saw Spike sprawled under her, his arm around her. She smiled, then pouted a little at the idea that she had fallen asleep in his arms and hadn’t even noticed. She must have been completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to have allowed such a golden opportunity to pass her by.

He was completely dead to the world, his breaths deep and even, his mouth moving every so often, as was natural in sleep. His lips were slightly pouty, calling out to be touched, caressed. Her fingers skated over them, enjoying their softness. "Just a taste," she thought to herself as her body began to slide up, closer to his face. Still, he didn't move, was completely unaware of her movements. Smiling, she leaned in to taste him, to remember the way his lips felt against hers. She savored the warmth of sleep on his body, the fullness of his mouth, the way they so easily molded to her own. Slowly, he began to respond, to kiss back and taste her as well, though still through the blanket of sleep. Her body relished the slow contact of their bodies, lazily enjoying each other. When she finally pulled away, he merely sighed contentedly and continued sleeping.

Buffy smiled, licking her lips a little, and then rose reluctantly to answer the morning bathroom call.

--

Spike awoke to the sound of water in the bathroom. He'd just had such sweet dreams filled with Buffy and her sweet kisses, and he hadn't wanted to wake up. Buffy must have just woken up; he hoped she hadn't been scared away by the unfortunate morning hardness that was pressing against his pants right now. He had been looking forward to waking up with her still in his arms, but he supposed it was enough that she had fallen asleep in his arms to begin with. He slowly stretched out the kinks from sleeping on the couch and hoped that Buffy wouldn't be weirded out by their having fallen asleep on the couch. Despite the lack of space on the couch and the limited movement caused by Buffy's body on his, he felt oddly well-rested. Swinging his legs to sit up, he rubbed away the sleep from his eyes and yawned loudly.

"Awake? You want some coffee?"

Spike looked up to see Buffy, yawning as well but also smiling at him from the kitchen. He couldn't help but smile back. "Sure thing. I'm just gonna grab a shower real quick."

Buffy watched him go and tried not to imagine what his body would look like in the shower. Breathing in deeply, she set about making coffee and deciding how to push their relationship to a new level—and not fall asleep while doing it.

--

"So, we still have another movie, and I have to return it tomorrow. You up for another one tonight? Or do you have plans?" Buffy asked innocently, trying to sound nonchalant.

Spike tilted his head towards the window and shook his head at the steady downpour. "Nah, I'm not going anywhere. Ugly day, and I don't fancy getting wet for no reason." His eyebrow quirked at his own double entendre, hoping that she wasn't offended by his unintentional play on words.

Buffy smothered a grin and took the slip as a good sign. "Cool. Maybe after dinner?"

Spike nodded. "Are you planning on eating in? I was gonna make some steak—I could make enough for the both of us if you are."

"Oh, that sounds really good. I don't want to go anywhere in this weather. I hate dull rain." She frowned at the grey sky and its unrelenting patter on the roof.

They chatted easily as Spike maneuvered around the kitchen, seasoning and marinating and tenderizing as they traded random stories about work and other trivial bits. With the addition of risotto and a salad to the steak, the meal became a veritable feast—and a much longer process. Neither seemed to mind, as they slid into what seemed like a natural cooperation in the kitchen. Spike tried not to notice the way Buffy lingered by his side, sliding against him every now and then as she volunteered her help as an assistant, gathering ingredients and stirring whenever directed to do so. Not that he minded her company—he rather relished it—but it was difficult pretending that he didn't sizzle every time she touched him, whether accidentally brushing his body or affectionately holding his arm in response to something he'd said. She seemed comfortable with the friendly contact, so he decided to reciprocate, to allow himself the small delight of placing his hand gently on her back, of playing with her hair, of touching her arm in understanding whenever an opportunity came. As long as she didn't mind, never realized how much he took pleasure in the intimacy, Spike let down some of his defenses, allowed himself to savor her nearness rather than steel himself against it for fear of enjoying it too much.

Buffy inwardly danced when she noticed the change in Spike's behavior, when he stopped shying away from her touch. She had to suppress the desire to throw herself into his arms when he began not only to soften at her caresses but to reach out to her as well. His caresses were casual, friendly, indicative of nothing but easygoing affection, and yet her body was buzzing with anticipation. It was all she could do to feign casual conversation when her mind was racing with naughty thoughts.

By the time they had sat down to eat, the rain had turned into a turbulent thunderstorm. The storm seemed to match Buffy's unsettled nerves and violent emotions that were threatening to drown her. Hot from the cooking and the simmering sexuality between them, Buffy decided that it was time to take a chance.

"God, cooking makes me hot." She slid off her sweater, her arms crossing sexily and pressing her breasts together. She swung her hair out when she finally disentangled herself from the wool. She knew her actions were totally cliché, completely unoriginal, but the look on Spike's face when she glanced up through her lashes made it worth it. The camisole she had thrown on after her shower was velvet trimmed with lace—she had matching tangas on underneath her jeans, but he had yet to discover those. "Everything looks amazing." She briefly glanced at him while taking a first bite into the steak.

Spike swallowed and busied himself with pouring wine into their glasses. He glanced over at Buffy, who was licking her lips after taking a bite of her steak. His brain still had her supple breasts on pause, the image persisting, tormenting him. He could have sworn she were flirting with him, intentionally torturing him, but he convinced himself that it was his own wishful thinking perverting her actions. Licking his lips, Spike shook the image away and cut himself a slice of meat.

The wine was making her hot. Spike's lips were making her hot. Everything seemed to be making her hot. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her beating heat, imagined the rain cooling her oversensitive body. She felt stupid trying to act seductive and coy with him, especially after they'd been so comfortable in each other's presence, but her body was screaming at her to take action, to jump the sexy guy in front of her. She concentrated on eating quickly, wanting to quicken their movement towards the couch.

Eventually they finished, and Buffy volunteered to put the dishes away. "Go ahead and set up the movie. I'll be there in a sec." She shooed him away and started clearing the table with briskness.

"Wow, the storm is really picking up," Spike commented, pausing on his way to the TV as lightning flashed across the sky. "I hope you're not scared of thunderstorms."

"Me?" Buffy responded as she wrapped up the leftovers. "No, I love thunderstorms. Something about the violence and passion of the thunder and lightning—they've never scared me."

Spike looked up at her, wondering at the implication of her words, but she seemed engrossed in putting saran wrap on the risotto. Inwardly shrugging, and sadly dismissing the thought of holding her tight during a frightening storm, he put in the movie and settled onto the couch.

"Popcorn? Beer?" Buffy called out as she finished up.

"No, I'm stuffed. Just come on and sit," he answered, patting the seat next to him.

Smiling, she wiped her hands on the towel and then made her way towards the couch. "I hope this movie is good. I've heard it's pretty intense." Plopping down next to him, she settled into the sofa as the movie began.

Images of young, lustful boys danced across the screen, their road trip engaging the pair on the couch. Buffy could feel herself getting hot again, not only from the movie but from the warmth of the man sitting next to her.

Spike tried not to let the movie get to him, but he understood the strength of lust, of pure desire as depicted in the movie, and he willed his cock to stay put, especially with Buffy so near.

"Hey, could you pause it? I gotta pee real quick," Buffy whispered, moving up. She needed to splash some water on her face and alleviate the throbbing down there—she hadn't planned on acting on anything till the movie was over, and she wasn't sure she was going to make it. Quickly scampering to the bathroom, she left Spike staring at a couple kissing passionately.

Throwing the remote onto the coffeetable, he propped up his legs and breathed deeply. The rain outside was howling, thundering, and he understood the "violence and passion" that Buffy had mentioned earlier—all too well. He tried to shift a little, lessening the pressure in his jeans, and waited for Buffy to return. The faster this movie ended, the better off he'd be.

"Okay, unpause it," Buffy said as she came out of the bathroom. "I want to—"

She was interrupted by a huge clap of thunder; almost immediately the lights went out. Completely drenched in darkness, Buffy froze, not wanting to bump into anything.

"Well, I guess that ends the movie," Spike commented dryly. He tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice, the sudden change in atmosphere making his senses go crazy. "You okay?"

Buffy slowly made her way over to the couch. "Yeah, I'm—" Tripping on the area rug, she ended up on top of Spike, her hand on his thigh and her head colliding with stomach.

Spike froze as she picked herself up, her hand unable to avoid the large thrust of his cock, which had only stiffened further at her touch.

"I'm definitely fine," she murmured into his neck as she picked herself up. Buffy couldn't resist kissing his neck lightly—the dark had given her courage, and she could not stave off her desires any longer, especially when she realized that he was just as affected as she was. His skin was so sweet, and she found her lips making their way up his jaw.

Spike closed his eyes and held his breath, in wonderment over the feel of her lips on his body. Her touch was so gentle it was almost like a dream—but there was no mistaking the way her hand kept sliding up his thigh, coming closer to his cock with each caress.

Buffy finally reached his lips, and she feasted on their softness.

As much as he wanted it, wanted her, he had to know what was going on in her mind, what was driving this change in her actions. "Buffy, what—"

"Shhh," she whispered, putting her fingers on his lips. "No, don't speak. Last time you spoke, things got fucked up. This time, let's just not talk, okay?"

His heart burst with pleasure, with the acknowledgement that there might be a "this time." He pulled her tightly to him, her legs straddling his, and kissed her thoroughly.

Buffy smiled in between kisses and murmured, "I'm glad you agree."





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