“Neither did I,” Buffy replied with a smirk. “Love your graphic interpretation, by the way. Looks like that would be fun.”
Spike leered at her, his tongue poking between his teeth. “Oh it is.”
Normally, this would be the part where Buffy would punch him in the nose and call him a pig, or something to that effect. But this time, she smiled slowly, like a cat who still had a mouth full of feathers. “Maybe I’ll let you show me sometime.”
Spike, for once was at a total loss for words. He stared at her, mouth open. Was she toying with him? Had the lack of demon activity recently made her so bloody bored she’d come up with an all new way to torment her favorite whipping boy?
Suddenly, Buffy’s hand shot out, reaching down to cup him hard though his jeans. Spike gasped, then swore, low and hot, under his breath, his body trembling.
“Geez, that’s all it took to make you hard? You’re easy.”
He looked down at her with hooded eyelids, unable to stop his next words. “Been hard since I saw you tonight, Slayer.”
She grinned again, then squeezed harder, and Spike hissed with pained pleasure. Then she was gone again, moving back over to her can of spray paint. Spike blew out a breath. Lil’ cocktease…
Buffy shook the can, frowning. “I’m all out. Shit.” She tossed the can down, letting it clatter against the pavement. “Got anything to drink at your place?”
Spike shook his head, needing a moment to come back to his senses. This night had to rank at the top on the list of weirdest ones of his unlife. “Uh, a little. Not much. Got pretty pissed a couple nights back.”
“Then we gotta get some. I can so distract the clerk if you can stick it in your duster.” She winked. “Don’t worry, I won’t show him my tits. I’ll save those for you.”
With a laugh, she was running down the street, leaving Spike standing for a moment, gaping, before his wits returned and he ran after her.
“Ethan Rayne? Are you sure, Giles?” Willow asked, worry marring her features.
“That’s one voice I wouldn’t forget, I can assure you,” Giles replied. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He told me what goes around comes around and to enjoy my karma. Oh, good lord.” Giles sat down on the couch, his face paling.
“What is it, Giles?” Xander asked. “What did he do?”
“He turned her into, well, me,” Giles replied, ending with a humorless laugh.
“You?” Anya asked, her nose wrinkled in confusion. “But she was all with the drinking and the smoking—not decked out in tweed, cleaning her glasses and muttering incessantly about books.”
“Thanks ever so for that lovely description, Anya, but I meant he’s turned her into a younger version of myself.”
“Giles used to be badass,” Xander chimed in. “We saw it. There was magic candy involved.”
“I can still bloody well hold my own, I’ll have you know,” Giles replied, shaking his glasses at Xander. “But the important thing is we find out how to help Buffy. We need to find Ethan. I have no doubt that whatever spell he has cast will not be easily removed without him.”
“Tara and I can do a locator spell,” Willow offered.
“Right then. Get on that. I’ll start looking for any other possibilities incase we cannot locate him,” Giles replied.
“And I’ll help with that,” Xander said. When the others stared at him, he added, “Hey, I’m willing to do research if it means saying good bye to scary Buffy.”
The Scooby Gang in agreement, they set to work.
Well the kids are all hopped up and ready to go
They're ready to go now
They've got their surfboards
And they're going to the discotheque a go go
But she just couldn't stay
She had to break away
Well New York City really has it all
Oh yeah, oh yeah
Spike looked over at where Buffy was leaning against a stone sarcophagus as she took a swig straight from the bottle they’d recently liberated, a still-burning cigarette dangling from the fingers of her other hand. Booze, smokes, the Ramones, and the possibility of sex. It didn’t get any better than this…
And then, she put down the bottle and reached for his crotch.
Sheena is a punk rocker
Sheena is a punk rocker
Sheena is a punk rocker now
The sound of each of his buttons opening seemed to echo in Spike’s ears as she popped them open one by one. Her hot little hand reached in, grabbed his erect cock, and pulled him out into the cool crypt air. He hissed then groaned as she began to pump him, using the precum leaking at the tip to smooth her movements.
“Fuck yeah, pet,” Spike moaned, arching up. He knew this wasn’t right. Buffy was clearly not herself and would probably dust him the moment she returned to her right mind. But hell if he cared. He was getting the best damn handjob of his existence.
And if she could make him feel this way with just her hand…
She's a punk punk, a punk rocker
Punk punk, a punk rocker
Punk punk, a punk rocker
A mischievous twinkle in her eye, Buffy snubbed her cigarette out on the stone floor and leaned down, filling her mouth with his cock. She pulled up, her teeth scraping lightly against sensitive skin, then went down again, taking him further. Spike yelled something intelligible and his hand shot out to tangle in her hair.
Bits of the mascara she’d put in her hair earlier flaked off on his hand as Buffy slid up and down, moaning around him as if his cock were the most delicious thing she’d ever had in her mouth.
He was babbling, he knew, and he wasn’t even sure what he was saying, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t say he’d never thought about this before, but never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined she’d be this good.
Then she was gone, and he was crying out at the loss, fearing she’d simply brought her earlier teasing to a whole new level—until he realized she was taking off her boots and shimmying out of her pants.
She looked at him like a predator sizing up her prey as she got down on all fours and crawled across the floor and up his body, but Spike was more than willing to surrender. She could whip out a stake now, and he’d go without a fight—as long as she let him feel the inside of her delicious pussy just once.
Buffy poised herself over him, yet she didn’t take him in. Instead, she leaned forward, her lips against his ear. “How long have you wanted to fuck me, Spike? Tell me.”
“Bloody forever,” Spike replied, unable to hold back a moan when she licked up the column of his neck. “Since…since the first time I saw you.”
“Did you stroke your cock and think of me?”
“Yes… God, Slayer, please…”
“First I’m gonna tell you a secret,” Buffy said, her lips at his ear again. “Wanna hear?”
His only response was a whimper. Buffy took that as a yes.
“I wanted to fuck you, too. I’d dream about you, pounding into me, and I’d wake up, all sweaty and wet…”
“Fuck! Buffy, please…”
He could feel her smirk against his skin, hear it in her voice. “And I never thought you were the begging kind…”
It was then that something inside of him snapped. With a roar, he tossed her to the ground, her back hitting the stone floor. Then, he was on her, his cock pushing forward, her pussy surrounding him, hot, tight and wet.
“Spike! Fuck, yes!” Buffy screamed, euphoria reflected in every syllable. “Yes!”
Spike was snarling above her, thrusting hard and wild, his demon screaming for sex and blood. Buffy was keening and moaning, holding his arms with her fingernails tearing his skin.
Without breaking contact, Spike rocked backwards, sitting with her in his lap, forcing him deeper within her. Buffy didn’t miss a beat, bouncing on his cock now, her long, blonde hair flowing behind her.
He needed to see more of her, needed to see those firm, high tits she’d teased him about earlier. He reached for the bottom of her shirt and Buffy lifted her arms, knowing without words what he wanted.
Spike tossed her top to the side and leaned forward, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. Buffy grabbed his arms again, holding on as if she needed him to anchor her. She made a harsh, grunting sound with every thrust, and Spike thought it was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard.
Until she came…
Buffy’s scream of release was long and loud, echoing off the stone walls of his crypt. Her pussy grew impossibly tight, and Spike pulled up from her breast, vamped, roared, and let go.
They collapsed in a heap together on the floor, both panting, though only one of them had any need. It was several moments before Buffy could look up, and when she did, she wore a sated smile.
“Well, hey there, Fang Face.”
Spike didn’t realize until that moment that he was in game face, and it touched him that she didn’t seem to care, even when he was still embedded inside her. “Hey there yourself, Slayer.”
She fell back on his chest, though the smile didn’t fall from her face. Her fingers began to trace patterns on his chest, but Spike caught them and brought them to his lips for a kiss.
“We shoulda done that a long time ago,” Buffy said, her fingers tingling from his lips.
“Oh yeah,” Spike agreed. “Much better than all that trying to kill each other stuff.”
Buffy giggled. “Much.”
Reluctantly, Spike nudged her upwards so they could sit. He pulled his duster down from where he’d thrown it over the sarcophagus and fished out his smokes, putting two in his mouth to light before handing one to her.
“Thanks,” Buffy said as she leaned against the sarcophagus and brought the cigarette to her lips.
After a moment, she looked over at him again, her mouth growing dry at the sight. His hair was rumpled, allowing her to see for the first time that it was naturally curly, and his still semi-hard cock was hanging out of his open jeans.
She decided the only thing wrong with the picture was that she was naked and he wasn’t.
A gleam in her eye, Buffy set forth to rectify that problem.
She’s a punk rocker now…
Buffy knew something was different about her. She knew that, a couple days ago, she never would’ve been on her hands and knees on the floor of a crypt, screaming in pleasure while Spike fucked her wildly from behind.
She just didn’t know why the hell not.
Spike grabbed her hair, wrapped the long, blonde strands around his wrist, and jerked up, pulling Buffy backwards until she was on her knees, her back pressed against his chest and his cock still buried deep inside her.
“You love this, don’t you, Slayer,” he said, low and husky against her ear. It wasn’t a question.
If she hadn’t been on the brink of yet another orgasm, she would’ve called him on his cockiness. Instead, she answered his question with a low moan.
“Say it, Slayer. Tell me you love my cock.”
“Uhn… Love it, Spike…” Buffy moaned, bouncing up and down in time with his thrusts. “Fucking love your cock.”
With his free hand, he grabbed her hip, bruising hard, pushed her down; held her there and came with a roar.
Buffy followed him over.
He let her go and she fell forward, her palms hitting the stone floor hard. She panted, her body shaking as she whispered over and over again, “Oh god, oh god…”
Spike turned around and lay back on the floor, his hands folded under his head. Buffy looked over at him. He winked.
Unbidden, she began to giggle. It made him smile. “Feel good, baby?” he asked, though the twinkle in his eyes told her he more than knew the answer to that question.
“Fuck yeah,” she said with a rush of breath. She crawled over to him and climbed on his chest, snuggling closer as he brought his arms down to wrap around her.
He nuzzled her hair, his voice like a purr as he spoke. “You’re so bloody warm.”
Buffy trembled softly, and she could’ve sword she’d just had another little orgasm. “Spike…”
“Don’t go home tonight,” he said before he could think about what he was asking—or why he was asking it for that matter.
She didn’t hesitate in responding. “I won’t.”
Thank you so much to everyone reading this and especially to those who have taken the time to review. Knowing you’re enjoying this goes a long way towards helping me keep writing when my life is as busy as it has been recently. I appreciate everything you’ve had to say!