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CHAPTER SEVEN
He was dreaming again.
Invisible hands roamed his body, touching, caressing, pressing into and around him. Nowhere and everywhere, never enough and too much. Leaving him adrift. Setting him on fire.
Warm breath flowed across his cheek, essence of peppermint and mocha tickling his eyelashes, grazing his brow. Half-formed words faded in and out, meaning lost in a haze of sensation.
His head arched back, acquiescing to the moist tongue lapping insistently at his neck. Licking, licking softly and steadily in the tender hollow of his throat, curling against his skin, tracing patterns along tendons stretched taut beneath the welcome assault. Soft nibbles and sharp nips joined the fray, sending tiny eruptions of pleasure racing along nerve endings. Muscles clenched, breath caught.
Fingers drifted in a languid dance down his abdomen, stoking the fire burning fierce and hot in his belly. A hoarse shout burst from his throat as they closed around him, weaving a spell of golden-honey warmth that left him wild and rampant with need. Ruthless in their devotion, they teased and soothed, tickled and stroked, worshipped and adored, always unhampered by clothing that invariably dissolved into the hazy edges of these dream encounters. His voice broke as he whispered her name.
Velvet heat descended, driving him upward, grunting and gasping, blindly seeking more. He closed his eyes to the shifting mists and dreamt of a blonde head poised above him. Hands rose, fisting in silken air, as he rode the swell higher and harder, breaking and surging, until at last he shattered and came apart, like flotsam caught on the crest of a wave and jetsam forever lost to the shore.
His head rolled to one side as he lay prostrate on the ground, chest heaving, weak with repletion, but still hard and aching. Despair rose in his throat, a sense of loss so keen he thought he might choke on it. Any moment, he would wake, and the dream would fade. No memory to warm him, nothing to hold on to – all alone with only a hollow space inside. Trapped in an endless void of nothingness.
A feather-soft caress grazed his hip.
He froze, too afraid to hope that it would come again. When it did, he nearly exploded with relief. Muscles tensed, straining in anticipation as teasing strokes segued into a steady stream of cascading touches, propelling him to great shuddering gasps that left him teetering on the brink. Head arched back, lips moaning her name, he waited for the plunge…
That never came.
Quivering and bereft, he breathed a low, agonized groan, protesting the abrupt abandonment. His eyes flew open, searching wildly for his phantom lover, then widened as the air in front of him rippled, parted, and reformed. Nebulous shadows coalesced into firm flesh that settled over him, taking him in, covering his nude body with hers.
Bending, she brushed against his chest, arching and mewling, hips rising and falling in mindless rhythm. His arms locked around her, pulling her closer, skin against skin, as they flowed together like cool cream and warm molasses. Adoring hands swept down the length of her back, following the sweet curve of her ass, squeezing and kneading, then gliding lower still.
Mouth covering hers, he opened wide to swallow a welcoming moan as his fingers slid home. At the same time, his tongue plunged between her lips to taste the velvety depths with a frenzied need that screamed of desperation.
Another shift, and he was above her – forehead to forehead, eyes fixed on hers with single-minded intensity. He thrust harder and faster as her nails dug into his biceps and she rose to meet him with an unleashed fervor that matched his own.
At some point, a bed had materialized beneath them, a fact that registered only now in a distant part of his brain. A familiar hunger began to build as her head pressed back into nonexistent pillows, baring her throat to him, egging him on with soft cries and the haunting beat of her pulse. In the space of a breath, he felt the change take him over, smooth forehead gliding into ridged brow. Loosing a long, low growl, he tried to turn away, but soft hands caught and framed his face, denying him escape.
Her frenzied movements slowed and stilled as he waited for the inevitable, knowing with near-fatalistic certainty that not even this dream Buffy would accept that part of him. But in the depths of passion-darkened eyes, a smoldering spark ignited, and with a quick lunge her mouth crashed into his. Heedless of his razor-sharp fangs, she devoured him – deep, endless kisses with warm trickles of slayer ambrosia teasing at his tongue.
When she finally came up for air, he found his gaze riveted to her mouth and the tiny beads of blood glistening on her lower lip. With another low growl, he leaned in, claiming the droplets in one possessive sweep of his tongue. As he pulled back, she looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes, hand lifting to trace the curve of his mouth.
“Mine,” she whispered.
He froze in mid-thrust, hand halfway up her thigh. Then the word erupted in his mind like molten lava shooting into the sky, and with a strangled cry, his mouth descended on hers in a feverish kiss that surpassed all sense of time and place.
Clarity spiraled away in a blur of ardent gasps, desperate kisses, and savage movement. When he at last came to himself again, he was buried to the hilt, her legs locked around him, his fangs penetrating her neck. With each greedy pull of his lips, his mouth filled with the hot, sweet tang of slayer’s blood, while beneath him, she writhed and panted, hands tangling in his hair, holding him firmly in place.
He shifted slightly and her grip tightened. Fingers twisted and pulled, urging him on. Ever obedient, he bit down harder even as the speed and force of his thrusts increased.
She rewarded him with an arched back and a high keen, heels beating a wild tattoo against his backside as he drove them ever closer to the brink. She met him thrust for thrust, hips undulating, seemingly unfazed by the relentless way he went about possessing her.
Just when he felt he would surely dust from the sweet agony of it all, a final explosive thrust sent them rocketing over the edge. Her frantic cries of release rang in his ears as his own pleasure crested, the sheer intensity of it crashing over him in great shuddering waves. Unable to contain it, he tore his fangs from her neck and threw back his head, a loud roar of fulfillment erupting from somewhere deep in his chest.
He rode the wave down, chest heaving, muscles trembling, her hands falling away from his shoulders as she relaxed beneath him like butter melting in a pan. Lowering his head, he saw her gazing at him with a heartrending tenderness he’d never found in those hazel depths. It spoke to a part of him he’d tried to bury along with the hellmouth.
She blinked slowly, as if awakening from a deep sleep, then sighed and stirred. Questing fingers reached up to touch first his mouth, then the still-tender mark he’d left on her neck. She smiled, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
“I knew you’d come back.”
Her arms reached up, twining around him as she pulled his head down, guiding him back to the golden curve of her neck. He went willingly, aware on some level that she would soon be gone, dissolved into the ether, and that he would inevitably wake to the bleak loneliness of his own personal hell. He wouldn’t question; he would only feel.
Fangs sinking into her tender flesh, he marked her for a second time, his eyes closing as he began to drink. But with each heady pull at her neck, something niggled at the edges of his mind, until at last it cut through the gossamer haze enveloping him.
He jerked, as if a vial of holy water had been splashed in his face, and pulled free, his vampire visage vanishing beneath a crush of horrified confusion. The next instant, he was across the room, back pressed against the door, chest heaving in full-bloom panic.
Buffy sat up, seemingly heedless as the sheet slipped down around her waist. She gazed back at him, the contented glow in her eyes fading to uncertainty. Her hand rose, halfway reaching out to him.
“Spike?”
He fled out the door, his name echoing behind him.
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TBC in Part 8
A/N: Yes, another cliffhanger. I'm a mean, evil person who can't resist leaving you wanting more. At least, that's the idea. Hopefully, you do want more. If not, I'm definitely not doing this right. ;-)
Many thanks to those who have been following the story and especially those who have left reviews. That's what keeps me working on the next chapter. Well, that and a promise I made. So thank you all!
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is currently a WIP written in response to a Spuffy Kinkathon challenge. The story requirements were as follows: The requested kink was hurt/comfort. Three other requests were to show Spike reluctantly biting Buffy, include Dawn and/or Xander in the story, and set it anywhere from Season 5 to Post-NFA.