“You flaunt your skin colour like it pleases you. This is not right—you are wrong and the line is tarnished with you as The One.” A pause, filled with menace and loathing. “Why won’t you kill IT that walks with you?” Sineya spoke low, her voice guttural with rage and age.
Buffy shrugged, getting used to her strangely coloured skin, finding it not so much a hardship with her new wardrobe and Spike not caring as long as he got some nooky. “I would be totally stupid to kill him. He’s thick and hard and he reaches all those difficult to get places that no one else ever has. Besides, he looks really hot in purple. It brings out the vividness of his eyes.” Was it her voice that had gone all dreamy and flirty with the acceptance of hottie Spike?
They were in the desert this time, sizing each other up and adopting a fighting stance in defence.
“You are an abomination to this line. My sister lies with beasts and monsters and should be killed. I forced you to walk with the enemy—kill IT or IT will kill you.”
Buffy stopped her predatory circling and stood, became thoughtful, and then shrugged before shaking her head ‘no’. The refusal came easily to her. There was no part of her that sought the dustiness of Spike.
“Nah. Besides, Spike is so not the enemy. He’s like…a puppy with a really raspy tongue.” Giggles erupted at the thought of the places where he could potentially use that tongue and Buffy could feel herself getting all excited. Besides, walking beside the enemy? Again with the not-so-hardship.
“I curse you,” the first one spat rudely, and Buffy felt a little edge of hurt at the words. She hadn’t done anything wrong, nothing that others hadn’t done before her. Why was Buffy always the one to be slapped down when everything went kablooey and turned to carrots?
“Is it because of you that I dream about Spike being sucker punched and slashed to decorative ribbons by werebunnies? Because got to tell you, really not a pretty moment.” Though it didn’t take much for Buffy to start envisioning other moments that took the edge off the ugliness.
Even knowing she had a vengeful slayer at her back, Buffy turned and ignored her, searching now for the one she’d been cursed to walk the earth with forever. In keeping with the strange, he ambled out of obscure shadow and wore a purple tee. Buffy held in a surprised giggle, yet cocked her brow and waited for an explanation.
He spluttered in indignation. “I’m a manly man, Slayer. A bloke can pull off purple if he chooses.” He stopped before her, arms crossed and duster caressing his body in ways that savaged the butterflies dive bombing her stomach.
Oh yeah, he could pull off purple, all right. And Buffy had detailed plans for pulling purple off him. She had a little carrot-coloured skin she wanted to share and she didn’t care who her audience was.
“I think its past time you showed me how much of a manly man you really are, Spike.”
Spike looked questioningly over his shoulder at the stalking African slayer as she growled and bared her teeth at their sexual prancing and innuendo.
“What about your voodoo princess, pet?”
Buffy peered around him and shrugged unconcernedly. “Psh…if she wants to watch…”
Spike leered lustily and then jumped, tackling Buffy to the solid ground beneath them and absorbed the impact with a groan. The wind knocked from her lungs, Buffy could only gasp as Spike made with the claws and fangs and tore her clothes for her body.
And as she was revealed to his hungry gaze, he marvelled at the richness of her hue. “Bloody hell, Slayer. You look so tasty I could bite you right now. This colour does amazing things to your eyes.”
Yeah, she probably looked like a colour-deranged Martian, but who was criticising when they had naked Spike positioned at weeping, tense areas craving nothing but penetration and possession?
“You are obscene, unnatural. You both must die.” The battle-prepared Sineya charged them, and slammed hard into an invisible barrier that protected the mated couple. Spike grinned as the troublemaker hit the deck, and he thrust into the warm heat of his slayer. He’d barely submerged the first stroke before Buffy had him spinning—head and body.
He was immediately incoherent the second his skull impacted with the floor and Buffy’s pelvis slotting around his. His senses were scrambled as she leaned forward and dangled her breasts in his face, a delectable pale pink nubbin just begging to be sucked. Her gasp was the sweetest music to his ears and Spike gave her a little bite for good measure. Buffy squeezed her vaginal muscles hard, dragged herself up high on his erection, before releasing him on a whimper and sliding down again.
“Oh Slayer,” he breathed in worship. “You are the most beautiful orange woman I’ve ever seen. Give it to me good, baby!”
That pleased her, and with a silly grin on her face, Buffy bounced happily on his cock, loving the friction of surfaces, the bump against her cervix, the stretching of her body to accommodate him.
There was no stopping the frenzy of mind and body that had Buffy striving hard to reach that pinnacle that would make her relish death.
“C-call me purple, Spike. I want to be purple.”
He smirked in satisfaction as his balls clenched and he released himself into her heat.
“And so you shall be, my love.”
There was passionate screaming, and tears, and more with the screaming. Buffy stared down into the face of a vampire lost in passion with a resplendent smile. “Oh God,” she objected, and yet her body wouldn’t let her stop, wouldn’t let her contain the sobs of desperation that told her she needed this, would die if she didn’t reach orgasm soon.
Mindlessly impassioned about the pleasure of his cock and the love he felt for the woman that was making him her bitch with every slap of her body, Spike strained up to nip at her breast, freezing as Buffy screeched indignantly, “Don’t touch me!”
And then grinned ecstatically as she moaned and sobbed in tortured acceptance and need. “Please. Touch me.”
He wasn’t slow to oblige, but shook the chains around his arms as he attempted to use his whole body to catch her, hold her down and be fucked into the next world.
There was no way to check the tears flowing like mini rivers down her cheeks. Buffy was consumed by powerful emotion, her whole body shaking with the ecstasy of it. “God, why won’t you leave me alone? I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s obscene!”
Spike scraped his teeth over the engorged nub, his tongue flicking out to tease just the tight tip of her nipple before sucking her breast fully into his mouth again. He grinned as he stared up into her eyes, feeling playful and wicked and just a little bit irritated that she couldn’t see this for the destiny it obviously was.
“I didn’t touch you, pet. You came down here and took me with all the power and force a bloke can lose his head over. Now stop your bellyachin’ and start pumping.” He jerked his hips up sharply three times in quick succession, eyes crossing as Buffy’s muscles automatically contracted around his girth before letting him free.
With a resigned sob, Buffy slapped her hands on his pecs and rode him at a gallop until his eyeballs spun and he popped like warm Champagne. With an inhuman howl, Spike struck like a snake, his fangs elongated and ready to mark what was his and siphon a measure of precious slayer blood through the stunningness of her tits.
Everything tightened, waiting in suspension, and then as if caught up in a fierce and raging storm, feeling and desire gushed to an explosion that wiped both creatures out and left them wrung out and drained. Buffy whimpered, her body weak and useless before slumping on Spike’s chest like a discarded puppet with its strings cut. Spike didn’t move, feeling all sensation and ability for animation leaking out his ears.
“I think you broke me, Slayer.”
“Did not.”
He could feel the pout as it snuggled into the crook of his neck, could feel the warm puffs of breath as Buffy sucked in essential air.
“Did too.”
She didn’t respond, didn’t move and Spike was beginning to question which one of them was the dead weight around there. His shoulders had surpassed the hurt stage, now aching and burning for how he’d pulled them into an uncomfortable position while he was being screwed into his mattress.
He decided to prompt her. “Did not.”
“I so did, you asshole,” she hissed as she pushed herself up on wobbly arms and glared with all the remaining strength she had.
Spike grinned at his success and prodded her with his thickening approval. “Good of you to take responsibility, luv. But you didn’t damage the best bit.” And his hips jerked up and he stabbed her deep.
She squealed and then slapped him weakly on the chest. “You tricked me.”
“Yeah, but it’s so easy.”
“You know that these dreams have to stop. That this, between us, is nothing and will never happen again as long as I live.” She hissed and denied, yet her hips were slowly building up to a determined swirling movement.
Spike eyed the smooth golden form poised over and above him. She was sleek, lithe and gorgeous, breasts like perfectly shaped tear drops on her chest and hair that he wanted draped over his bulging bits. Picturing it all with a greyer tinge really didn’t do much and the swell of his cock eased and slipped.
“Sorry, pet. I’m no necrophiliac.” He waited for the realisation to hit, and felt the laughter slamming into him for release as understanding made her indignant—and still.
“You’re not—huh, what? You’re already dead.” Buffy looked around and then desperately lowered her pitch to a harsh whisper. “What would you care—” Eyes squeezed shut, words dying on tightly clamped lips, and Buffy found herself in a detested position. “Thank you. It actually means something that you wouldn’t want me dead.”
Seriousness had suddenly squeezed the life out of the exchange and Spike wished for all the world that he could touch her. He yanked meaningfully on the chains and then rolled his eyes when Buffy leaned down and retrieved the key from one of his boots beside the bed. She was blushing as she leaned forward and clicked the lock free, ignoring Spike’s not-so-subtle nuzzling on her aching, swollen breasts as she untangled his wrists from the metal. There was slow, almost imperceptible movement of her hips, just enough to keep things alive and interesting—even though she’d totally deny it if confronted.
The second he was free, Spike grabbed Buffy’s arms and drew himself up to be eye level.
“I know you don’t think much of me—if you let yourself think of me at all—but I wouldn’t hurt you. And this crazy bint that’s cursed us, I think she’s got her facts wrong because if it was a vamp she wanted to kill you, she picked the wrong one for the job.”
Misty green eyes measured his sincerity and triumphantly proclaimed Spike to be genuine. These dreams they were sharing were bigger than Buffy wanted to admit. They’d manipulated her sleep, put a price on her head, and turned her into a twisted nympho-necrophiliac. Not to mention made her terrified of vegetables the size of houses.
And yet, the biggest shock of all were the words proclaiming Spike to prefer her with blood thumping through her body. That was actually…kind of sweet.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Spike cocked an inquiring brow, stunned speechless at those magic words tumbling from his slayer’s lips.
“You know, for…not wanting to kill me anymore.”
He smiled, and it was warm and fun and filled with feeling.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” And there was that active little pelvis reminding her how true that really was.
“Would you stop that?” she pleaded half-heartedly, her voice nowhere near the vicinity of whiny.
“Why? ‘S fun.”
A very deep sigh and Buffy just gave in, allowing the urge to slowly move her hips up and down and renew the fever that had totally sapped her strength and sense.
“Guh! We have to stop this, Spike. There’s something making us do this. It isn’t us.”
Spike felt the molten slickness of Buffy’s juices coating him and begged to differ.
“Who is it then? Bloody feels like us.” And he scooped a neglected breast into the cup of each hand and gave them a squeeze, just to prove how right he was. Rubbed the raised wound of his bite and revelled in the compulsive shudder that moved throughout her body.
“Fine. It is us,” she admitted weakly. Reluctantly. “But I don’t want it to be us. I don’t want to wake up having sex with an evil vampire. You know this would never have normally happened between us, right?”
She’d only seen the flash of hurt because she’d chanced to look up for an answer. It wasn’t going to sway her. Dawn might have been so right about Spike’s fixation, but that didn’t mean Buffy had to accept it—and it especially didn’t mean she was going to return it.
“I’m no psychiatrist, but being that you’re a slayer being hounded by the First Slayer, I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest there’s some kind of message here. You want to start dosing up on caffeine and the like to prevent yourself from dreamin’, then go right ahead. Now I think you should leave.” His hands around her waist, Spike lifted her up and groaned as the sucking motion wanted to keep her wrapped warmly around his cock—but his pride demanded she go find some other sucker to get her off. If she wasn’t going to stop being the bitch she always was, he’d rather face the empty satisfaction of his hand any day.
“Wh-what? But I thought—” She clamped her muscles around him and held him in place, causing Spike to grit his teeth and struggle out the only sane objection.
“That’s not fair.” And he fought harder to get her off his dick, feeling the blood being squeezed painfully to the very tip as her pussy neared the end of this journey. He almost had her there, felt sweat on his brow as he struggled to get her off when she got clever and clamped her hands around his wrists and wrenched them away from her waist, slamming herself with full force down so he was fully lodged inside her again.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. Totally. Absolutely no question.” Up. Dowwwn. Up. Dowwwwwn. Eyes rolling back at the delicious sensations, Buffy redirected Spike’s hands to her breasts, whimpering as he lightly caressed her and then pinched and plucked her nipples. “Besides, shouldn’t we discuss the dreams?” She smirked, knowing by the very hard, very pulsing agreement inside her that she had him exactly where she was happy to have him for the moment—even if she didn’t want to admit it.
Trust the Slayer to appeal to his sense of mystery. There was nothing to do but to give in to this and reach that moment that would flush away the residual lust and allow them to think clearly again.
He looked into her eyes and knew he was going to allow it. And they needed to get to the bottom of these dreams.
Right then…
“First things first.”
Deep Purple by Peta
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I know! This is the third day in a row.