One moment, the London house stood empty—dust motes silently floating in the beams of sunlight streaming through its treated skylights—the next, Spike was standing in the entry hall with Joy snoring softly into his shoulder. Buffy arrived a split second later, walking through the same inter-dimensional portal and onto the thick carpet.
“Good to be home,” Spike sighed, brushing a light kiss across Buffy’s forehead. “I’ll take the widget up to her bed. Be back in a jiff.”
Setting Joy’s backpack onto the floor, Buffy wandered around the living room, appreciating the familiar scene until drawn by a seemingly-magnetic force to the kitchen. She was standing in front of the open refrigerator when Spike returned from tucking in Joy.
“What is it about looking in the fridge whenever I come home from a trip?” she asked, not really expecting a reply.
“Dunno,” Spike said, “but you always did it back in Sunnydale too. At least these days there’s something inside besides dried-up old pizza and spoiled milk.”
Buffy’s brow knit together briefly, but her face quickly resolved into a wistful expression as she gazed into the well-stocked refrigerator. “Yeah, I guess my house-keeping has improved since then.”
Stifling a guffaw, Spike reached over Buffy to open the freezer door. “What’s improved is the Council’s appreciation of everything you and the other slayers do,” he said, snagging a bag of blood. “Nowadays, as long as we tell them what we need, they make sure we have it. Should’a been that way all along.”
Ignoring Spike, Buffy selected a container of yogurt. Closing the refrigerator, she took a teaspoon from the drawer. She’d just scooped up a perfectly proportioned mouthful of fruit and yogurt when she turned to see Spike, in full game face, ripping into the bag of blood. “Ewww,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I hate it when you do that!”
Spike rolled his eyes but did not pause, finishing off the pint with one last deep pull. “Bloody hell, Buffy,” he finally responded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “After all the blood and gore you’ve seen I’d have thought you could tolerate my having a bit of tiffin without going all prissy on me.”
Buffy shrugged as she took another spoonful of yogurt. “Yeah,” she said, looking thoughtful as she licked her lips, “you’d think I’d have gotten used to it by now. But did you ever think maybe it’s a good thing you going all fangy has never gotten routine?”
Spike looked at Buffy, mildly surprised at her observation. “No question about it, sweet one,” he purred. “Because if I recall correctly, when I’m not putting you off your yogurt, you find my fangs right sexy. Isn’t that so?”
Buffy polished off the last spoonful of yogurt as Spike snaked his arms around her from behind, pulling her body against his. She sighed contentedly and pressed her backside into his groin. “Yeah, you got me there, big guy,” she admitted. “But even without your game face—or an enchanted bungalow—you’ve never had to work very hard to keep me interested.”
Spike groaned softly. “What?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“You said ‘hard’,” he whimpered.
“Upstairs?”
“Yes, right now.” Wasting no time, Spike picked Buffy up and strode toward the stairs, only to stop abruptly when he noticed she was waving something around in the air. After a quick detour to deposit her empty yogurt carton and spoon on the kitchen counter, he resumed his rapid ascent—taking two stairs at a time—until they reached the upstairs landing.
“Should we check on Joy?” Buffy asked as they approached her door.
“No need,” Spike said. “She takes after her mother. I can hear her sawing logs from here. The widget is deep in dreamland.”
“Are you sure?” Buffy whispered. “I have a feeling this is going to be loud. I don’t want her to wake up.”
“I’m sure,” Spike said, turning to place Buffy’s shoulders against the wall. He wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned in to press his erection into her crotch. “You’re right about the loud part. But you don’t have to worry. The sound-proofing keeps her from hearing us but I can still hear her, just in case.” He nuzzled her neck, delivering a tried-and-true nip to the flesh just below her ear. Buffy squirmed.
“So what’s the hold up?” she panted urgently. “Let’s go!”
Spike scooped Buffy into his arms again and carried her down the hallway and through their bedroom door in the space of a heartbeat. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have stopped until they were on the bed and naked. But he had carefully planned this moment and restraint was required to ensure the appropriate, appreciative response.
“Why are we stopping? Less stopping, please!” Buffy demanded.
“Not until you see what I’ve done,” Spike replied.
Buffy was not to be deterred. Demonstrating her superior strength, she flipped out of Spike’s arms, threw him unceremoniously on the bed, and leaped after him.
She landed over him on all fours, pinning his shoulders to the bed. “What part of ‘now’ do you not understand?” she asked. Spike thought about protesting, but the sight of her eyes smoldering with lust like a she-cat in heat was too much for him.
“Forget it,” he breathed, vamping out so he could save time by slicing through Buffy’s jeans and top. In seconds, the offending garments fell away from her body like so much confetti along with the tattered remains of her bra and panties. Spike admired his handy work for one full second. Then, grabbing a hipbone in each hand, he brought Buffy’s pussy to his mouth. She gasped as he began to probe her vulva with his rough tongue. He couldn’t help grinning into her hot flesh, but no matter how much he enjoyed listening to her screams, he didn’t want to leave her tender tissues abraded and raw. Melting back to his human face, and smoother tongue, he proceeded to suck and lick with abandon. Buffy’s appreciation did not seem to suffer as she writhed against his vigorous ministrations, breathlessly crying out with pleasure.
Spike settled in for a regular siege on Buffy’s cunt. He’d always prided himself on his skill with his tongue and liked to keep his reputation current. He wouldn’t be ready to relinquish his post between Buffy’s legs until satisfied she’d hit 8 or 9 on the Richter scale at least twice. After devoting himself assiduously to his task for several minutes Spike could tell he was in safe territory. Buffy, now hoarse from screaming, was reduced to pitiful whining.
With one last luxurious swirl of his tongue, Spike filled his mouth with Buffy’s juices and released his hold on her hips, letting her body drop next to him on the bed.
“Oh my,” she said, lying inert as Spike scooted up the bed until his face was level with hers. “That was…loud,” she rasped.
“Just as you requested,” Spike answered, wearing a smug smile.
Buffy lifted her head slightly to take in his expression. “It was more of a prediction, I think,” she said, dropping back into the bed. “But, whatever inspired you, it was…you know, inspired.”
“When you’ve recovered, I was hoping we might find your muse as well.”
“No problem, honey,” Buffy replied as she reached over to caress Spike’s impressive erection. “It’s not exactly keeping a low profile, now is it?”
Buffy was every bit as vain about her talents in the bedroom as her husband, though she lacked his intense powers of concentration. Try as she might to maintain her focus, Buffy often woke up after a bout of love making to the realization Spike had, once again, distracted her from maximizing his pleasure. Many times she’d asked him to let her finish what she started, but he claimed nothing she did to him mattered more than bringing her to the absolute heights of sexual fulfillment. Watching her now, skin flushed with a post-orgasmic blush, he silently vowed to restrain himself a bit longer than usual. It wasn’t fair to deny her the delight of pleasing him. And from the way Joy was snoring they didn’t have to worry about running out of time for quite a while.
Buffy wrapped her small hands around Spike’s cock and gave it a gentle squeeze. His eyes rolled back in his head as he sighed deeply. “Okay baby,” he breathed, “it’s your turn now.”
Relaxing into the bedding, Spike remembered the surprise he’d been planning to reveal, but when Buffy’s hot, wet lips circled the tip of his engorged member he quickly forgot it again.
Spike’s mastery of tongue-work was a skill finely honed over decades. If Buffy had ever had the presence of mind to think about it, she might have wondered about the other women—dozens, hundreds, perhaps dozens of hundreds—upon whom he’d practiced all those years before she was even born. Fortunately, she was always far too consumed with pleasure to form much in the way of logical thought once Spike settled in to dine on his beloved. He was so good Buffy never had a synapse to spare for connecting the dots—definitely of the good because jealousy rendered Buffy both thoroughly irrational and extremely cranky.
On the other hand, when Buffy crawled slowly up Spike’s legs to bring her eyes level with his crotch; he didn’t have to worry about where she’d learned to flick her slippery, warm tongue so expertly. He knew who taught her to emphasize friction at his glans, pressure on his shaft, and teasing, tickling caresses all around his testicles. She’d figured out all by herself how to make him catch his breath by stroking the smooth patch of flesh between the based of his penis and his anus. But he knew she’d never employed the technique on any other man. While Buffy may have experienced sex with a handful of other partners, none had schooled her as he had.
As for feeling jealous, Spike was more likely to pity the poor fool who’d let Buffy out of his bed. As far as he could tell, she was determined to spend the rest of their lives together making up for the way she’d treated him in the bad old days. And, while he’d forgiven her long, long ago, he’d learned to save his (unnecessary) breath arguing with her about it.
Coherent thought vanished from Spike’s brain when Buffy hit upon a particularly effective rhythm that combined stroking, squeezing, licking and sucking his throbbing, almost painfully engorged cock. Just before losing control, the idea flashed through his mind that she’d stimulated nerve endings never previously recruited in the service of an orgasm. But the incompletely formed thought was totally swept away in the wake of an unbelievably powerful climax that left him spent, panting, and spread eagle on the bed, Buffy collapsed beside him.
“Buffy, luv, what did you just do to me?” he asked when he was able. “No, forget it, don’t answer. As soon as I recover I’m going to shag you senseless, but before I forget again, please look at our bed.”
Buffy pushed up on her elbows to regard Spike with a confused expression. “Look at our bed? Why, what’s up with our bed?”
“Just look and you’ll see,” he replied weakly.
“Okay,” she said, clearly confused. “I’m looking but other than it not being destroyed yet, I’m not really seeing anything unusual.”
“Precisely.”
“Precisely what?” she asked.
“It’s not destroyed now,” he said, “and it won’t be, because you are lucky enough to be married to a brilliant bloke.”
“Maybe you gave me one too many orgasms honey, ‘cause I am not following…”
Before she could finish Spike reached up behind him and grabbed the corner of the sheet. Pulling the high thread-count linen toward the middle of the bed, along with the mattress pad underneath, he revealed a shiny, heavy-duty, royal blue surface.
“Oh my God,” Buffy said, eyes wide, “it’s a gym mat.”
“Yes, luv,” Spike said. “But not just any gym mat. This one is custom made exactly the size of a king-size bed. I ordered it when we were in California. Cost a pretty penny to get it here in time, too. But after our romp in Dawn’s basement I knew it was the solution to your little problem.”
“My problem?” Buffy flared with indignation. “Since when am I the one with the razor sharp claws?”
“Never mind whose problem it is. Okay?” Spike replied. “Just help me put the sheet back where it belongs. I seriously need to fuck you right now and I don’t want to get all tangled up in this mess.”
Buffy might have demurred, but Spike’s logic was sound. If they started going at it with the sheets half off it could only end badly. Joy was still fast asleep and they had a new bed to break-in. Nothing was going to be prioritized higher than that.
FIN
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Author's Chapter Notes:
After two years I've finally finished this story except for an epilogue that will link it to a new tale. I can hardly believe it! Since beginning this story I left my career in public health, became certified as a Pilates instructor, broke my shoulder, and became an empty-nester. Through it all I always knew I would finish this story. But I don't suppose you could have known I wouldn't abandon it as fic writers sometimes do. For those of you who never lost faith--thank you! For those who doubted me--Ha! And for those who just found this story, please review. My readers' comments always help me find the time to keep the story going.
Chapter End Notes:
I plan an epilogue linking this story to a new story arc with Dawn and Tom. Stay tuned but be patient. My new life means less time to play with my favorite characters.