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Author's Chapter Notes:
Yeah, I'm finally back writing. Sorry I've been so busy with RL. Hope you all like this update. Reviews, as always, are very welcome.
After “dressing” his uncomfortably engorged boner to the right, Spike followed Buffy into the sewers. Despite the distraction of pant leg abrading against tumescent flesh, he set off at a sprint to overtake Buffy. As it would happen, there was no real challenge to keeping up -- lacking both vampire vision and familiarity with the route, Buffy was no match for the stealthy vampire. Even with frequent detours around the beams of afternoon sun that knifed down from the manhole covers above, Spike had no trouble keeping pace. This left plenty of time to ponder the big question: should he let her win the race to the crypt?

“If I get there first,” he mused while darting silently behind a pillar to remain out of Buffy’s line of sight, “I realize my fantasy in which I get to order the Slayer about in bed. But if I lose…I experience something I’ve never had the audacity to even dream about—the Slayer ordering me about in bed.” A fleeting mental image of Buffy in fishnets, tight black lace, and stiletto heeled boots brought Spike’s decision-making process to a screeching halt just as he caught site of their destination. The vision did nothing to reduce the painful friction in his pants, but by now he was used to it.

Although he could have easily surged ahead, Spike carefully paced himself to arrive at the spot exactly one second after Buffy.

************

Slipping through the gap behind the bookshelf, Buffy dropped lightly into the sewer beneath the library. With little in the way of landmarks for orientation, she had to rely on Slayer senses and intuition. Turning her mind to that task, and paying almost no attention to Spike’s strangled protest from above, she struck off in the general direction of his crypt, heels echoing against the cement walls as she negotiated the tunnels.

Once under way, Buffy took stock of the situation. Ruining a perfectly good pair of boots tracking through a filthy sewer would never make it to her “top ten,” but, at least this time she was on her way to a sweaty tryst rather than a battle with some smelly Hell Spawn of the Week. Still, it was always a shame to destroy good footwear.

Saying a sad little goodbye to her doomed boots, Buffy divided attention between charting her way through the dark and anticipating what awaited her at the end of her journey. Feeling no ambivalence was a bit of a surprise. She didn’t much care who won this race either—whatever the outcome, she figured she’d be getting a “valuable prize” at the finish line. Truth be told, the whole thing with Spike felt so very right.

“This must be what it feels like to be free,” she thought. “When I’m with him I feel light. Being the Slayer doesn’t feel like such a heavy burden.” Buffy picked up her pace when she saw the entrance to the crypt ahead. Sure of her course now, she ran as fast as she could, reveling in the feel of her muscles as they contracted and released, heart pounding steadily in her chest, breath coming fast. Exhilaration like this had been largely missing from her life of late. For too long it had been just one night after another of slaying with random bits of classes and a little studying thrown. Her social life was next to non-existent and her love-life was a bad joke. But this, this…thing with Spike took her mind right off the slaying. Only her mother’s illness could compare as a distraction, but that was also a source of sadness and worry. The only negative with Spike was the secrecy. But if she didn’t think about it she could pretend, at least for now, that everything would work out. In the meantime, just the thought of his cool touch on her hot flesh banished all thoughts, all cares, everything except the anticipation of pleasure, acceptance and…love. She knew now he really did love her. Denying the possibility that Spike could love her had been her best excuse for ignoring her own feelings, but now she had to admit the truth—something she had to confess had been plain to see for some time. He was truly, deeply, maybe even hopelessly in love with her. It made no sense, and yet, it was completely right.

“When the time comes,” she thought, “Giles and the Scoobies will just have to deal. But this isn’t the time to think about that.” Buffy planted one muddy boot on the lowest rung of the short metal ladder and immediately felt a chilly presence behind her.

“Took you long enough,” she said, turning to flash a victorious smile while keeping both hands firmly on the ladder.

“Yes, well, you certainly did your best to make it hard for me to keep up,” he replied, glancing meaningfully down at his crotch before returning his gaze to her eyes. “But I’m here now. What do you say we get on with the awards ceremony?”

Buffy let out a little gasp when Spike reached around her to grab the ladder and simultaneously molded his body to her back. With one foot resting on the bottom rung, she could feel the entire length of his erection against her backside. The temptation was irresistible. Buffy allowed her hips to press back, ever so slightly, against Spike’s pelvis. His low growl sent a shiver rocketing up her spine.

“No, luv,” Spike whispered, his lips nearly touching her ear, voice urgent with warning. “Don’t play with me. You won the race fair and square, but I can’t vouch for my demon if you insist on provoking him. Our little footrace felt like the hunt to him and in another minute he’ll take what he wants. He won’t care if it’s here on this rusty ladder. But I do, I care very much. I’ve got a brand new set of silk sheets up there on my bed and that is where I want to take this little party, not here.”

Buffy didn’t have to see his face to know Spike’s eyes were sparked with gold. She could sense the demon’s presence barely contained beneath Spike’s more human qualities. She’d seen him nearly lose control once before, and she didn’t need another demonstration, even if it was a total turn-on. Spike was right; his bed would be an infinitely better place to cross the finish line.

Without a word, Buffy straightened up just a bit as she withdrew the slight pressure she was exerting against Spike’s crotch. He sighed audibly and let her scramble up the ladder before following her into his bedroom.

Buffy felt strangely at home as she scanned the room. It was lit only by the soft glow of one thick candle. The rich furnishings appeared warm and inviting, especially the bed which was covered with a heavy brocade spread and piled with fringed silk pillows.

“So, what’s it to be, Mistress Buffy,” Spike asked. Buffy turned to face him. Although he stood in his typical cocky pose, head tilted provocatively to one side and a smirk on his face, she could detect just a hint of insecurity in his query. “Who’s to be on top?”

Buffy shrugged off her backpack, dropping it on the floor as she took a few steps toward him. Extending one arm, she took his hand in hers and drew him toward the bed.

“No one,” she replied in a whisper, her eyes locked on his, “I want you to lie beside me, at least for now.”

“That I can do,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. However, as he began to lie down, she stopped him.

“Wait,” she said. “Let me get your boots first.”

Before he could react, Buffy was kneeling on the floor in front of him, loosening the laces on his boots.

“Oh, no, luv, you don’t need to be doing that,” he said, attempting to stop her busy fingers with his hands. “I can take off my own boots.”

She looked up at him, a small smile curving her mouth. “But I want to do this,” she said. “And I won the race, so you have to let me.”

Spike, though reluctant, ultimately relented and then sat very still, looking uncomfortable, until Buffy managed to pull off both boots.

“Now you can lie down,” she said as she removed her own boots.

Spike complied, never taking his eyes off her as he climbed toward the head of the bed and sunk into the pile of pillows he found there. “I know you’re in charge, luv,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “But I’d have thought we’d be wearing a lot less clothing by now.”

Buffy stretched out beside him, reaching out to touch the placket of his shirt. “And if you had won the race you would be making that decision,” she said, slipping a shirt button from its hole. “But you didn’t win. I did. And, although I expect we’ll eventually end up wearing nothing at all, I want to take my time getting there.”

Spike couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “Why you wicked little thing,” he purred. “You want to undress me?’

Buffy blushed and looked down for a moment before lifting her eyes to reveal a look of complete determination. “Yeah, I guess I do,” she said, evenly. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Whoa,” Spike responded, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, no problem at all, luv. I guess we aren’t in Kansas anymore, are we?”

Buffy opened another button on Spike’s shirt and slipped her hand under the fabric. Through his t-shirt she could feel his skin was cool to the touch, but his eyes sparked hot with passion.

“And what about you, luv?” he asked, voice husky with barely contained desire. “Do you plan to keep all those clothes on?”

“No,” she answered. “We’re going to take turns. First I’ll take off one item of your clothing and than you’ll take off one of mine.”

Spike nearly croaked his response. “Do I get to choose which one?”

Buffy smiled benevolently. “Sure,” she said, working another button out of its hole. “I don’t need to make all the decisions.”

For several seconds Spike was uncharacteristically speechless. When he finally regained his ability to speak, his voice was a whisper. “No, luv, you don’t need to take charge of everything, but I’m more than happy with the choices you’ve made so far,” he said. “You can go first and I’ll decide what needs to come off you when the time comes.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Buffy replied as she freed the last button from his shirt and started to pull it off.

Tbc….





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