Buffy awoke at the coldest, darkest point of morning, wrapped up tight against Spike’s chest. His body wasn’t especially warm, but Buffy was far from chilled. She jerked awake, a scream suspended in her throat and the burn of terror-sweat on her skin.
The dreams were so life-like sometimes that it was difficult for Buffy to divorce herself from them when she woke. She wasted valuable minutes grasping for the floor that had disappeared from underneath her before realising the scene around her had changed.
She’d been to that place again, made to stay on the outskirts as Spike was torn from her side and obliterated by the far-too-sharp claws of the killer bunnies. The moon shone large and round, almost making the night as light as day and Spike’s hair was so bright that it nearly looked like he wore a halo. Buffy felt pride in her beloved, crushing down that betraying part of her that wanted to scoff in disgust that she should care for an evil monster that had destroyed many more lives than she could begin to imagine. Spike was hers now; his mark was lodged deeper than the scar on her neck. He’d grafted himself to her heart and she knew that if he were removed, the hole would be too large to repair.
Some filthy, nasty little old man—wizened by time and experience—held her back from the fight and Buffy wondered why he seemed to have more strength than her.
“Let me go!” she demanded angrily, twisting and struggling against the tight hold while never letting her gaze leave her lover. Spike. He was her lover in her dreams and in her bed and now his very existence was being threatened and she could do nothing about it. When she found this guy, she was so going to make sure it hurt.
“What would you give, Slayer? What would you give to save the one you love? And what would you give to destroy him if he betrayed you?”
Before Buffy could scream her rage at being restrained, the man was gone and she had freedom again to move. Only it was all too late. Her first step accompanied Spike’s roar of pain and shock, and then he was twinkling in the night-time air as ugly, greasy ash. It was so undeserving for a vamp with such pretty eyes.
“No. Nooo!” And her legs were pumping through the air, running toward the leftovers of his spirit, and her face was bathed with his dust. It clung to her tears, showered her hair, and Buffy had never felt so bereft of her own essence in all her life. Had never felt so lost and broken and unwilling to go on.
Waking against his smooth chest was slow to build up her relief; Buffy was still heaving sobbing breaths at the devastation of her senses. And then his arms circled her and drew her closer, giving her the reassurance she needed to make it through the night and into morning without losing her sanity.
“Oh God.” She couldn’t control the shaking, didn’t care that the response to the familiar scene was more extreme, felt so much deeper than last time; didn’t care because she recognised now that the makings of this predictable torment was always there. Why else could she never stake him and accepted him so easily with chip into her life?
“Ssshh.” Spike rubbed Buffy’s back and tried to blink back his own confused tears. “I saw it, Slayer. But I’m right here an’ I’m not going anywhere. Do I need to remind you I’ve won against two slayers?” He cringed even as he pointed out the fact for reassurance rather than to gloat. “I’m hardly going to let some overgrown rabbit take me out. Not now I’ve got you to warm me up.”
Buffy ignored the words but soaked in the soothing tone while winding her arms tighter around his body. By touch she sought the wounds that existed only in her mind, and finally cried quietly, reassured that he was as perfect and blemish-free as he’d been when they’d tumbled exhausted into bed.
“Remind me when we actually find these feral furry rabbits that I have to take out the grubby little guy first.”
Spike smiled into her hair and nodded. “Sounds like a plan, pet.”
The comforting moment stretched out into sensual promise, Buffy’s uncertain emotions turning the tide from devastated loss to seizing the day. Her soft touch slowly mapped the contours of his body as her lips nuzzled his throat. She straddled his hips, her body twitching and needy for the reassurance of every aspect of his presence. Feeling his length slide fast and hard inside of her was the first clue that she wasn’t lost, and Buffy’s nibbling turned into much more active and determined bites. She flattened her body on top of him, gasping at the feel of her belly resting against his, her breasts squashed against his chest, her clit rubbing against the hard resistance of his cock.
The tingling sensation from her entire body pried her attention from his neck and Buffy pulled away to look at the teeth indents in his skin, feeling the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t the only one who gained pleasure from that kind of pain. He stood rigid inside her, and Buffy melted around him, grasping hold as she began to move her hips.
Spike pushed her up so that she was sitting fully, her hands braced against his shoulders and her body betraying the changed trajectory of his cock as he lifted her and dragged her back down upon him. There were fang marks on her breast and he was mesmerised at his audacity, wondrous at her unspoken permission that gave him leave to mark her.
“Buffy, do you have any idea how I feel about you?” Spike couldn’t keep his hands off her, fear making him take every part of her she’d willingly give him before she tore herself away and made him go back to his carrot-infested crypt.
A finger stretched out and rested gently against his lips, her hazel eyes softer than he’d ever seen.
“Not now, Spike. We’ll talk after, okay?” She smiled, but the tears in her eyes glistened and he took pity on her. It wasn’t like he was eager for her to snap out of this and kick his ass to the curb. There was nothing he wanted more than to wallow in the affection of his slayer; nothing more delicious than to be sunk womb deep in her heat.
Buffy took control of the surging of her hips, and Spike lost himself in the vision of her body seeking pleasure from his. He loved the way her hair swung as her head lolled, loved the way her muscles bunched as she moved and really loved the way her tits bounced and hypnotised him into a drooling mess of vamp.
Despite feeling like all his senses were long past fried, Spike dragged his legs up so that his thighs could support her and he pushed her back, lifting her legs out of her kneeling position and parted them wider, his fingertips itching to rub the now exposed little pearl that was red and hungry for attention. Spike slicked his thumb with his tongue and let it zero in on her control button, enjoying the minimal movement that had her still trying to slide along his cock. Her whimper when he pressed against her almost lit him up from the inside out. His balls ached but he wasn’t going to rush. All their moments had been rushed, and now, if this was all he ever had, he was going to take the image of her open and desperate for him.
“Please…oh God…don’t…gah!” Buffy was incoherent as she swirled her hips against his thumb, her hand compulsively reaching his and helping him rub her mindless.
It was raw, this emotion that was suddenly unveiled while he touched her. He couldn’t stop looking at her, her body flushed, her eyes wide in surprise and embarrassment—which wouldn’t do at all. He loved her like this; couldn’t get enough of seeing her so open and pleasured. Couldn’t wipe the grin from his face that it was him and not Too-Happy Peaches making her moan and groan and wiggle on his cock.
“You’re glorious, you know? That gorgeous little nub sticking its pretty tongue out at me, tapping against my thumb. Your pussy fucking me like it owns me.” His eyes crossed as Buffy squeezed tight and he gripped her hips hard with his remaining hand and pinched her clit till she squealed.
“Spike!”
He loved it when she shattered. She was a queen among women, and when she pulsated around his cock, when she shouted his name, he could fool himself that she was his queen and that they were meant to be.
The layer of sweat she wore now was totally love induced, and Buffy liked that a whole lot better than the terror that had sparked her adrenaline rushed run from sleep. She felt her cells disintegrate and was mentally exhausted from the trip. Collapsing against Spike and curling her arms around his neck, she continued to pump her hips, wanting so much to feel his loss of control spurt inside her receptive heat. She’d never experienced anything like this and was half tempted to talk herself into believing it was the claim. That claim that she was mostly ignorant of and how it would affect her thoughts and actions. Buffy knew enough though to know that it was Spike that made her feel so out of control, made her feel so good and safe and loved.
Buffy shivered, concentrating on the drag of his cock against her walls and struggled to breathe properly.
There was something fundamentally different to having sex with Spike—and she so didn’t mean that it had started from a dream. Her first time with Angel had been overwhelming in a scary way, tainted with the fear that he was going to be gone for months or longer. And then he was gone but she still got to be torn apart by seeing his face and being slashed by his barbed tongue. Parker wasn’t worth mentioning, and Riley? How could she see sex with Riley as anything but an attempt to rub out the bad of her past with something not requiring much of her heart?
Sex with Spike made her think while inconveniently blowing her mind at the same time. Sex with Spike woke up every slumbering part of her body, and sex with Spike made her see a future for herself she’d always been too afraid to imagine. Especially now they had hellgods on their tail and mysterious vegetable patches popping up out of nowhere with hungry werebunnies hiding behind some inconspicuous corner.
Dealing with the inevitable, Buffy gave in once and for all. She was caught, claimed and dying to be kissed. Her dreams were totally gone from her mind, Spike wasn’t dust but in her arms, lodged deep inside her body and she happened to be enjoying that progression very much.
Biting her lip in trepidation, Buffy shyly looked at the plump yet sexy man lips slightly parted and whimpered needily. “Can…can you kiss me?”
He looked shocked, his brow rising as he assessed her vulnerability, and then his lips turned up in a relieved, warm smile as he curled a hand around her head and pulled her closer. “Buffy, I never want to stop.”
And then she felt it, the rapid increase of her heart beating at the first touch. She sank into the sensation, loving how he didn’t press too hard, wasn’t too soft and how he opened his mouth to lick her lips and press between them to butt against her teeth. His free hand cupped her face and Buffy’s eyes drifted closed, losing herself to the sensory experience of being wanted by a vampire. His mouth loved her and Buffy could tell that he was investing all of the unspoken emotions in this kiss. It melted the butterflies in her belly. Her body had totally stilled while she kissed him, while she explored his mouth and found him addictive and tasty. She’d stopped moving—but he hadn’t, and he came while he caressed her lips, his release shooting up inside of her as he groaned into her mouth.
“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth, and Buffy didn’t have the first mind to contradict him. Her second mind began forming the words herself, but the need to catch her breath held them back for now and that in itself was a relief. So much had happened in so short a time. Just days ago she would have had Spike disinvited from her house for voicing such a heinous thing. Now she wanted to gush and melt all over him.
Letting the words gather and be road blocked in her throat, Buffy bestowed a warm, meaningful kiss on his lips and then curled into him, resting her head on his chest.
“We’ll talk in the morning, ‘kay?” If pressed, she could do the talky thing now, but her bones were weary and her heart was on alert. She needed to think, needed to calm down, and after that awful dream, she definitely needed some sleep.
Spike heaved a gigantic sigh and she smiled secretly against him. She knew he was disappointed; somehow knew that he suspected the morning to bring ‘Foul Mood Buffy.’ That she’d be back to kicking and screaming at him while she spun a stake in her hand. He’d be so totally wrong, and Buffy was looking forward to when they did discuss the weirdness that had developed with them as the central force of God only knew what. For the first time ever, Buffy looked forward to waking up next to a lover.
Her body lax and satiated, Buffy closed her eyes and rested.
Spike kept watch with a frown marring his face. He hadn’t meant to spurt the words along with his come. Really hadn’t meant to leave himself vulnerable to the acid that could fly from the Slayer’s tongue at any given moment. Hearing the slow of her breathing and the relaxation of her body, Spike watched as Buffy drifted safely into sleep and hoped she’d be relieved of any more violent slayer dreams.
He’d felt something shift this last time. The way she’d taken his lips and made love to them. The way she’d left his body to reach toward relief from nothing but the stir of her tongue against his. The way she’d not fought against him in anything at all, instead held him with affection rather than brutal force. Not that he’d say no to a bit of rough and tumble on occasion. But this seemed like a good start—if he wasn’t reading the situation wrong.
Almost afraid to surrender to the same darkness that had the Slayer trapped, Spike closed his eyes and just hoped it would all be sorted tomorrow.
Wasn’t like he had any other choice.
Deep Purple by Peta
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Author's Chapter Notes:
More smut, I'm afraid. There will be clothes and other characters along for the ride in the next chapter. I promise. I'm kind of embarassed by all this smut actually.