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Ch. 20: A Long, Stormy Night

At first, their kisses were quick and messy, devouring each other after having fasted for so long. Teeth clashed, lips missed, tongues probed. Eventually, as they got over the newness of each other, the kisses began to slow down but deepen, to taste fully instead of quickly; in short, it became about quality and not quantity.

She was straddling him, knees grinding into the sofa, one hand running through his soft hair and the other sliding up his neck. His face was turned up to hers, drinking in all that she had to offer. One hand was anchored at her hip, the other slowly sliding up her body to brush at her breast, cup its fullness.

Buffy pulled away for a little bit, smiling at him coyly. Then she slowly, seductively stripped away her camisole, leaving her pert breasts full in his face. She leaned in to give him a luscious kiss, her lips smiling as she noted the glazed look of lustful awe in seeing her nude body. The kiss awakened him from his temporary trance, and he breathed her in through his kisses, sucking on her lower lip before launching himself at her breasts, sucking and kissing and licking until she moaned with pleasure, her head hanging back to arch herself into his wet caresses.

And then suddenly she was on her back, nestled in the corner of the couch, with Spike kneeling before her. She lost herself in the hypnotic swirls of his tongue, one hand clutching a pillow in rapture. Spike suckled her, thriving on her squeals and moans and heavy breathing, the way her body curved into his sweeping hands. He just couldn't get enough of her taste, the way her skin came to life under his lips, humming with electricity. He deftly undid her pants and moaned in delight when he saw the lace-trimmed tangas highlighting her tan legs and tight ass. And then she moaned in harmony as his lips burned into their softness.

He slipped off her panties, hands sliding over every inch of femininity, from her dimpled knees to her lean thighs to her dainty toes. He kissed all of it, cherished the feel against his hands and lips, soaked up her mewls and sighs. It was like heaven, and he wanted to make it last as long as possible.

Buffy was in heaven. There were whirling lights and intoxicating, near paralyzing waves of pleasure. His touches were thrusting her higher and higher towards that mountaintop of satisfaction. She lazily opened her eyes and saw that Spike was just as affected—his eyes were half-closed, a wisp of a smile playing on his lips, his hands magically running up and down her thighs. He looked up and caught her glance, cocked an eyebrow sensually, and then took a long lick up her pussy. She gasped loudly and her eyes closed again, body tingling from his intimacy. She moaned in bliss even as her breaths came more quickly.

God, she tasted good. Spike's hand reached up to play with her nipple in time with his licking of her wetness. She was erotically spread out before him, legs splayed, head thrown back, arms raised. She was completely naked for him, and he was still clad—tightly clad—in his jeans and t-shirt. Continuing to move his mouth against her sex, he reached down to undo his pants and let himself breathe a little.

Hearing the sound of his pants being undone, Buffy got the energy to pull of his shirt before thrusting her hands into his hair and pushing him against her again. Spike hummed in approval, and the buzzing raced through her body. God, her voice was going to be hoarse by the time he finished. She shrieked again as she felt Spike add a finger inside of her as he played with her clit. Buffy tried not to pull his hair, but she had to hold onto something as he rode her with his tongue. Faster, harder, wetter, tighter—

Her body tensed up and she shot through the air in ecstasy, screaming, "Spike!" as her clit throbbed with velvety pleasure. When she finally let go, her body felt limp, exhausted, sweaty. And yet when she felt Spike slither up her body, she found the energy to wrap her legs around him, reach for his lovely face and kiss him senseless.

She was so incredibly hot, and Spike loved the way her body tightened before it released itself onto his face, the way her face screwed up with desire and then throatily called out his name. It was almost enough to make him cum. Almost. But now, body against body, heat against heat, and heart against heart, he was starting to lose control. Buffy reached out and kissed him once again, pressed her body against his, and then finally, at last, he entered her.

They were one.

One undulating, gasping, consuming entity. One element that began slowly, stoking the flame, and became hotter and hotter, burning into each other, quickening with slaps of flesh echoing through the apartment. It was a symphony of noises, of sighs and grunts and moans and smacks that were getting louder with every passing moment.

"Buffy, oh god, you're so, Buffy—" Spike babbled as he thrust into her hotness over and over again.

"Yes, oh yes, don't stop, ever, Spike—" Buffy murmured into his ear, nibbling on it in between phrases.

Climbing, scaling, rising, they held onto each other until twin howls of ecstasy penetrated the haze of lovemaking. Hearts beating wildly, Spike and Buffy slowly met each other's eyes and leaned in for a chaste kiss before collapsing again, succumbing to the pheromone-induced exhaustion. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

--

It was the thunder that woke them up. Lightning flashing, the storm was still going on strong outside, and the electricity was still out.

Spike blinked, trying to make sense of his awkward position on the couch, but he slowly grinned as he noted the girl breathing evenly beneath him. Another roar of thunder, and Buffy was awake, though not completely aware.

Kissing her gently, Spike suggested, "You want to get into bed?"

Stretching her limbs, she nodded sleepily. "Yeah, let's go up to my bed."

Spike eased her up, his cock still inside of her. He felt Buffy's arms slide around his neck, her legs slide around his hips. She seemed to slip back into sleep. Spike, however, was now awake. With each step, Spike felt himself getting hard again, but he wasn't sure if she could feel it.

Buffy could feel it. Every movement pushed his cock against her in that delicious way, and all she wanted was for him to fuck her hard against something, anything. When he began to climb the stairs, she couldn't take it anymore—she couldn't hold back a moan, couldn't stop herself from pressing her breasts against his chest, couldn't resist licking his neck and biting his earlobe.

"Buffy," Spike breathed, holding her tight. "Do you—"

"Yes, fuck yes," she interrupted, flexing herself around his hard shaft.

Without another word, he pushed her against the wall, one leg lifted on the higher stair, and drove into her. Buffy gasped at his ferocity, thrilled by the way he hungered for her, his hand threaded in her own, clasped above her flushed face. He sucked at her neck, slapped against her clit, grunted into their kisses. Such wild abandonment only made her wetter, and she clung to him desperately.

The wall rattled with the strength of their lovemaking, and the storm continued to rage, lightning revealing slick bodies fucking against the wall. Buffy's voice moaned with desire, and Spike groaned in response. This time was quicker, harder, their movements jerky with careless impatience. It was too much, and Buffy quickly threw herself into an intense orgasm, her chest heaving and her pussy pulsing with passion. Spike felt her vibrations and knew he was close. Plunging into her for one last time, Spike found his release and cried out huskily.

Buffy was completely drained, and her body could barely hold itself against Spike's—though the exhaustion was welcome. Spike breathed in deeply and kissed her before cradling her in his arms like a baby. Buffy lay bonelessly in his arms as he finished climbing the stairs. Throwing back the covers, he slid her into their warmth and then joined her. For the third time that weekend, they fell asleep in each other's arms.





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