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CHAPTER 29 -- Rehearsal

“They will be here, Anya!” Buffy insisted for the fortieth time, arranging a tall bouquet of flowers that sat in the aisle of the church. The big day was tomorrow afternoon and Anya insisted on running off an unending list of last minutes items to Buffy, triple checking that they would all be in place come one o’clock the next day.

“What is up with you?” Willow asked, her and Tara walking up to the two blonde girls. They were all dressed in their wedding-rehearsal finest, each of their outfits having been OK’d by Anya.

Buffy ceased playing with the tulips, “What?” she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her glossed lips.

Willow let go her own grin, “This laissez faire attitude. You’ve been different these past couple weeks.”

“It’s all the orgasms Spike’s been giving her,” Anya answered haughtily.

Willow and Tara’s eyes widened, “What!? What orgasms? Spike’s giving you orgasms? Spill!” The redhead insisted.

“I . . . But . . .” Buffy took a few steps back, not sure when exactly the conversation had took this embarrassing turn.

“You know she HAS been acting weird the past couple weeks since the bachelorette party,” Tara teased.

“Oh, have you tried the Screamer 2004?” Anya inquired. “It always gives me the sort of orgasmic glow you’ve got going.”

Buffy continued to back up until she hit into something hard. Breathing in the familiar and comforting scent, she relaxed against it.

“These birds picking on you, luv?” Strong arms wound themselves around her.

“Yeah, and they’re nosey too,” Buffy pouted.

“Come on,” he tugged her away from the rest of the bridal party. “I haven’t seen you all day,” he said, nuzzling and kissing her neck.

Buffy sighed in contentment. The last few weeks had past in relaxed bliss. Even the strains of the wedding plans hadn’t put a damper on her spirit. Spike’s daily visits and the mini-vacations he stole her away for didn’t allow her to be stressed. She let her mind wander back to a couple days prior:

“Hey, you haven’t seen my new place yet!” They were in Spike’s car, coming back from lunch. “Lemme show it to you.”

Buffy’s stomach knotted in both nervousness and excitement at the prospect of being utterly and completely alone with him, with no chance of annoying sisters and nosey mothers interrupting. The number of make-out sessions that had been cut short were countless. But if Spike had been upset, he’d never shown his disappointment.

He pulled into the driveway of a posh condo situated on the top of a hill.

“Wow,” she gasped, looking around his spacious room upon entrance. It was a vast wood floor that covered the living room, dining room, and kitchen. An inviting leather couch sat in the middle of the room. A large glass wall loomed in front of her, allowing for a breathtaking view of Sunnydale below. A hallway branching off of the living room led to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

“Come on, you gotta see the place,” he took her hand, giving her a grand tour, at one point having to physically carry her out of the bathroom when she spied the bathtub big enough for five people. The last stop on the tour was his bedroom.

Dramatic in design, the main point of the room was the four poster bed, a deep mahogany that complimented the deep reds and blacks that colored the space.

“Spike, this place is gorgeous,” she sighed, running her fingers over the satin bedspread.

“Glad you like it. Figured we can use it as our little getaway. Come over Thursday and I’ll cook you dinner.”

Buffy turned to face him and nodded enthusiastically. Spike made his way towards her, but broke away abruptly.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I got you a housewarming gift,” he rushed off to the closet.

Buffy laughed, “Shouldn’t I be getting you something? You’re the one with the house.” She slid onto the bed behind her, her feet dangling off the edge.

He returned to the foot of the bed with a wide blue rectangular box in his hands. Buffy looked at him quizzically before taking the box from him and removing the lid. She gasped at what she saw. Inside were a pair of dangle chandelier earrings. They were the same pair she had specified as the set she most wished to wear at her dream wedding and had been leant to her for the Today’s Bride magazine shoot.

“When I was cleaning out my office I found those in wardrobe. I couldn’t imagine them finding anyone else they looked more beautiful on.”

“They’re lovely. Thank you,” She awarded him with a bright smile and an adoring kiss.

He gazed down at her, contemplating his words before speaking, “I love you, Buffy,” he spoke quietly. His face held his uncertainty, not sure whether he was going to be hugged or hit for his admission. But his features also showed the hopelessness of his situation. His heart burned for her whether he chose to admit it or not.

Her bight green orbs held his, “I love you, too,” she replied with a soft smile.

More elated with her answer than anything in the world, Spike quickly leaned down and captured her lips with his. Crawling onto his bed with her, they sprawled out next to each other. His hand rested on her hip.

“Do you really love me?” he asked in awe.

“Want me to show you how much?”

Spike nodded, “Yeah,” his voice lowering.

He almost choked when Buffy got up on her knees before him, crossing her arms at the hem of her shirt, bringing it over her head and throwing it into a far corner. She slid back down next to him. When he didn’t make a move towards her, uncertainty flashed across her eyes. She had applauded herself for her smooth undressing, but hadn’t a clue on where to go from there.

Spike broke out from his mist of desire. “Say stop and we stop,” he managed to say. His hand slipped to the waistband of her jeans, diving in and sliding around just enough to feel the silky material of her panties. His fingers turned back to the button of her pants. When he leaned in and kissed her, she crossed her hands behind his head and rolled onto her back, pulling him on top of her. Encouraged, he pushed down the zipper of her jeans and she help wiggled out of them.

Clad in nothing but her purple lace underwear, she tugged at his t-shirt until he got the hint and whipped it off. Spike slowed his decent of her body. If he went too fast, he was liable to loose the ounce of control he was so desperately holding on to and scare her. What they were about to do was new to her. And God help him he was going to make this last.

Keeping his eyes on her, he lowered his lips to her breast, wetly licking her nipple thorough the material of her bra. When she arched into him he attached his mouth and sucked strongly. Her head fell back under a cascade of blonde and one of her hands played with the hair on the nape of his neck, the other caressed up and down his bare back, scratching him with her nails.

He slid down the sheets to her stomach, not spending much time there as he continued down her body. Hooking his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, he slowly drew them off her. She moved to bring her legs closed, but he stopped her, looking into her eyes and massaging her thighs until she relaxed under his touch and opened herself to him.

With one long stroke, he applied his tongue to her sex. Keeping his licks on the surface, he alternated fast and slow, hitting her clit with each upward motion. Her head thrashed from side to side, and he backed off, settling her down. Her eyes crossed when he stabbed his tongue past her opening and deep into her core. Her hands twisted into the bed sheets above her head.

She moaned and pleaded for release and he didn’t stop his tongue’s onslaught until her body arched elegantly off the bed. When she slid bonelessly back down, panting, he continued to lap her clean.

He slid back up her body, leaving wet kisses as he went. “Good?” he asked, the grin on his face already knowing the answer.

“The best,” she sighed in contentment. But her glow quickly faded as his own uncomfortable situation became blaringly obvious, the tightness in his jeans rubbing against her thigh. She stumbled over her next words. “Spike, I want to . . .” she broke off, blushing. Unable to verbalize what she wanted, she looked into his eyes and reached down between them, unzipping his pants and reaching inside, wrapping her fingers around his erection and squeezing gently.

At her first touch, he slammed his eyes closed, “God, Buffy,” he breathed. Regardless of the number of times he had run this particular fantasy through his head, nothing, absolutely and posi-fucking-tively nothing beat the real thing -- being with her, here. When he refocused on her face, she moved her hand, swiping her thumb across the tip, scooping up his pre-cum. She lifted her finger to her lips, placing it in her mouth, she sucked on it.

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” he exhaled, his eyes never leaving the finger disappearing past her lips.

She giggled in response, “Being friends with Anya, you pick up a little thing or two.”

He looked at her hungrily, “Remind me to thank Anya,” he noted as she rolled him onto his back, admiring the way his tight muscles arched and stretched. She moved to crawl down his body but he caught her, sliding a hand into her hair and bringing her to his mouth and kissing her deeply.

When he let her go, she smiled at the awe written across his face. He watched as she moved down, her golden tresses tickling his hips. He fought the urge to buck. He tried to watch her devour him, God knows his did. But the first lick up the underside of his dick and he was almost undone. He threw his head back, throwing a forearm over his eyes, mentally reciting the roster of Manchester United . . . Anything to keep him from cumming. He had made it all the way to the full-back before he knew the end of this exquisite torture was inevitable.

Spike sank his fingers into the sheets, trying to ground himself and not thrust into her mouth. He satisfied himself with gently winding his hand in her hair.

“Buffy, I’m going to cum,” he rasped, impressed with his ability to form a coherent thought. How was he expected to think? She was swirling her tongue around the head of his penis, tracing a candy cane pattern, and pumping the length of it with her hand.

When he came, it was hard, and he let his hips lose contact with the bed as she took him deep, swallowing powerfully and rhythmically. He was fairly certain he had stopped breathing for a couple minutes.

She reappeared at the head of the bed, “Good?” she repeated his earlier question with much more uncertainty.

“The best,” he replied with the utmost confidence, kissing the lingering taste of their mixed fluids from her lips.

That afternoon they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace.

Coming out of her daze, Buffy blushed a little at the memory coming to her in a church. Spike must have sensed her change because he sent a cocky grin her way, attacking her neck and collarbone with even more vigor.

“Hey! What did I say about sex in the church!? Unless it’s me, nobody is going to having orgasms in the house of God!” Anya hollered, stomping down the aisle towards the couple.

“At least someone’s getting some action,” Xander grumbled, unhappy with the no-sex-until-the-honeymoon-so-it-will-be-extra-special stipulation from his soon-to-be bride.

The bossy blonde turned on him, “Xander, get your best man away from my maid of honor before they take each other in one of the pews! I need him up front and in line pronto!”

Spike pulled back from Buffy, smiling and placing a chaste kiss on her lips before letting himself be yanked away by Xander and dragged down the aisle to take his place by the alter. Buffy herself was pulled away seconds later to join Willow, Tara, Dawn, and Anya in the back of the church, all in line and ready to practice their march down the aisle.

“Honestly,” Anya sighed, straightening her skirt and taking her place last in line, “Does no one have a sense of decency anymore?”

TBC





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