“You’re hired…” Buffy groaned into her pillow as she lay on her stomach, boneless beneath him.
Spike grinned from where he straddled her legs as he massaged her back. “What’s it pay, luv?” he teased as he kneaded her muscles into jelly.
“Mmmm … All the gold in my kingdom,” Buffy replied.
Spike stopped a moment and snorted. “You don’t ‘ave any gold … or a kingdom, for that matter,” he pointed out.
“Oh,” she deadpanned. “Double it then.”
Spike laughed and went back to work, moving his hands lower down her back, savoring the curves of her body under his palms. Spike had been surprised when she’d emerged from the shower in just a towel and announced that she was ready to collect the massage he owed her. He was still in his jeans and he’d kept them on, not sure where Buffy’s mind was at … or where she’d be five minutes from now.
He’d heard a song once that said that, to women, sometimes a backrub was only a backrub. He’d learned some good lessons from songs in the past, so he heeded that advice. Therefore, he wasn’t sure if she just wanted a massage or if she had more on her mind. She’d been ready for more the other day until Angel stuck his bloody nose in and mucked it up, but then she’d ‘gone away’ and … and basically tried to rape him. Looking back, maybe he should've let her – it might've been his only shot. He sighed. No, he'd had a taste of actual affection from her and it had given him hope that she could actually love him one day. It was a long shot, he knew ... but long shots did win once in a while.
He used to feel like he could read her fairly well, but with her mind so scattered now, he was lost. He didn’t want to push her into anything she wasn’t ready for. On the other hand, he wanted her so badly it was a physical pain in his heart … and lower. It was driving him mad being this close to her and not taking it further. He allowed his hands to roam to her hips, then her bare bum, and waited to see if she objected. Buffy didn’t. He leaned down and began dropping soft kisses on the slick, vanilla-flavored skin of her back, tracing a line down her spine with his lips.
Buffy moaned in approval when Spike’s lips set the oil on her back on (metaphorical) fire. Flames tingled across her skin everywhere his lips touched her, building the heat up inside her until a bonfire raged. The heat burned away the mist of guilt and loneliness that had been her constant companion for too many weeks, like the noon-day sun would burn the morning fog from a mountain lake. Even when she’d managed to shed the crimson shroud of failure from her mind, the feeling of being utterly alone and of having failed Dawn never quite left her heart. Until now.
The feel of him, of his desire and his adoration, pushed everything else from her mind and heart. It was, she realized, why she’d retreated back to her ‘crazy-place’ that night after he’d taken her to heaven in the shower at the Paradise Lost. She’d allowed herself to forget for those few minutes – allowed herself happiness and pleasure when all she should be feeling was guilt and shame. It had slammed back into her like a freight train, putting her back in her proper place. She had no right to be happy, to be feeling the things he could make her feel, not after what she’d done, how she’d failed.
But right now it felt so good, so freeing. It felt like an oasis after trudging across sun-baked, desert sands for a month. It felt like that first gulp of air after your head broke the surface of the water after being held under for far too long. It felt like a warm, crackling fire in the middle of winter; a half-frozen glass of lemonade in the summer. It felt like an ocean breeze, a snowflake, a raindrop, a sunbeam after being too long in the dark, and she longed to feel those things again. She longed to feel hope, to feel not-alone, to feel wanted and loved and forgiven.
Buffy gasped and stiffened when Spike’s fingers slid between her butt cheeks and feathered over the sensitive skin there. Spike pulled them away and began massaging the round globes of her ass as he slid to one side of her legs and urged them apart with one knee. Buffy complied, relaxing again as he moved between her legs. He slid his hands back up her body, leaning forward as he did until his mouth was near her ear.
“Trust me, luv,” he whispered against her ear, his breath a cool breeze against her heated skin. “Just relax, won’t hurt ya.”
“I’ve never … ummm … done anything … there,” Buffy stammered, flushing with embarrassment.
“I have,” he assured her, his voice a deep, rich caress. “Trust me, Buffy, not gonna hurt you. Just relax and let me make you feel good, pet.”
Buffy shivered with a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and a hint of fear, but she nodded and forced her body to relax. It occurred to her, with no small amount of irony to the revelation, that she could trust this soulless vampire perhaps more than anyone else in the entire world. Back in Sunnydale, she had put more and more trust in him as the skirmishes with Glory had escalated, and he’d rightfully earned higher levels of trust with each passing week. She once again began to wonder if she should trust him with the mission her mother had given her. Maybe she could counter his objections, make him see that it could be of the good... Then Spike’s fingers once again parted her firm cheeks and all coherent thought evaporated in the heat of the moment.
Something cool and wet trailed down from her tailbone and delved between the mounds of flesh of her ass. Buffy realized with a start that it was his tongue and he was … Oh God! Buffy’s body jerked when the tip of his tongue circled her puckered hole, teasing the sensitive skin there with gentle flicks and licks. Those tingling flames burst back into life in her core and her whole body seemed to throb in time to his teasing touches.
“Like that, pet?” Spike murmured against her skin.
“God, Spike … yes,” Buffy moaned into the pillow beneath her head. She'd never had anyone do anything there, let alone what Spike was doing. Was that a vampire thing, or a Spike thing? Her heart-rate skittered excitedly and her breathing became shallow and erratic in anticipation of just what Spike would do next.
Spike lifted her hips up off the bed just a couple of inches until she was supported on her widely-spread knees and chest. He slid a finger down from her crack, over her taint to her glistening pussy. He moaned in pleasure when his finger was coated with her slick juices.
"So wet, you are," he murmured reverently.
Buffy let out a whimper as he teased her opening, sliding just the tip of one finger inside her, then pulling back out.
“Killing me…” Buffy groaned, as she arched her back, lifting her ass higher in the air to give him better access.
“It’s what I do, luv,” Spike replied in a rumbling basso as he settled onto his stomach and elbows between her legs and covered her throbbing hole with his mouth.
Buffy screamed out when he sucked down and slid his tongue into her at the same time. Her hips bucked back against him, then began grinding against his mouth as his fingers began circling her clit. His hand, tongue, and lips seemed to know exactly how to touch her – how hard and how fast to move against her heated flesh to send her over the edge. The world suddenly fell away as he made love to her in a way she’d never experienced before. She fell through space and time, letting every thought, every worry, every emotion except exultant joy slip away as meaningless. Her body bucked against him of its own accord, demanding more. Spike was more than happy to give it to her.
He slid his tongue back up over her taint and began to tease her ass again. Spike’s thumb dipped into her pussy, allowing his forefinger to continue its teasing-torture of her clit. At the new sensation, Buffy felt herself floating higher as her body shuddered and tensed beneath Spike’s ministrations. The orgasm reformed, the second building upon the foundation of the first, and propelled her so far away from the crushing weight of guilt that she couldn’t even remember the meaning of the word.
Her mind blanked, filled with nothing but brilliant fireworks of rapture. She floated, weightless in the inky-blackness, surrounded only by the colorful, glowing sparks which tingled over her skin in a cascade of bliss. Suddenly there was another explosion, and she was hurtled even higher as Spike increased the tempo and ferocity of the thrusts into her sweet quim. White hot sparks engulfed her as the next wave of rapture washed over her body.
She heard someone screaming out and realized it was her. The feelings building up inside her were more than she could contain without exploding – she had to let them out.
As Buffy’s scream of orgasmic bliss slowly died and she began gasping for oxygen, Spike slowed his thrusts into her and changed back to teasing touches around her clit. He lifted up and began dropping kisses on her lower back and the firm globes of her ass as he gently lowered her back from heaven to earth.
Buffy’s thighs trembled and she collapsed onto her stomach when gravity finally kicked in again, pulling away from Spike. Her whole body buzzed in the afterglow of traveling through the heavens. She’d never felt anything like that before; not with Angel, or Riley, and certainly not with poop-head Parker. It was the second time Spike had been the giver – and wow did he know how to give.
Buffy turned over onto her side so she could look down and see Spike. He was sitting back on his heels now, still between her legs, so she had to pull one leg up to get it past him. He seemed to be as dazed as she was, his eyes unfocused with a small smile on his face.
Buffy reached an arm out toward him and his eyes finally tracked up to hers. She beckoned him to her and he slowly crawled up the bed and settled next to her, lying on his side facing her. Buffy laid a hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him closer as she touched her lips to his. He still tasted of cigarettes and whiskey, but the perfume that was on him now was all hers. Her sex. Her essence. Buffy pressed her tongue against his lips, gently requesting entry, and Spike welcomed her into his mouth with a small moan. Within a moment, his arms were around her, pressing her bare chest against his, and the kiss had become a desperate struggle, each giving as much as they took.
When Buffy pulled back to breathe, she rested her forehead against his, not wanting to break the contact any more than necessary.
“So beautiful you are, pet. Dreamt o’ this … can’t tell you how often,” he murmured to her as his hands roamed over her back and sides, taking in every curve, every heaving rise of her body as she panted for air.
“Did your dreams usually involve you still dressed?” Buffy wondered as her hands skimmed down his body only to be thwarted by his jeans.
Spike smirked. “Not as a general rule … no,” he admitted.
“So … why are you now?” Buffy asked as she fumbled for the button at the front of his jeans.
Spike reached between them and stilled her hand a moment. She pulled back a bit so she could look into his eyes. “Want to make sure you want this, Buffy. You. Not … Barmy-Buffy – but you.”
Buffy bit her bottom lip and nodded. Tears swam in her eyes, but she blinked them back quickly. “I’m here, Spike, and I want this,” she assured him. Buffy leaned in and kissed him softly. “What you’ve done for me is real,” she said when the kiss broke. “I believe you when you say you love me … you’ve shown me that it’s possible, soul or not.”
Buffy dropped her gaze from his eyes. Spike waited, unbreathing, unmoving, hope blooming in his chest. He longed for the words she didn’t say; longed for her to give him what he knew she’d given others. Why was he undeserving of her love when she could give it to Peaches and Captain Cardboard?
‘Cos ya got no soul, came the silent, painful answer. She could believe his emotions were real, but not reciprocate. His stomach coiled into knots – he may finally have her body, perhaps even her trust, but would he ever have her heart? Would she ever give him the one thing he’d searched for all his life: undying love? He’d thought he’d found it with Dru, but he’d been wrong. Dru wasn’t capable of giving back the same love that he’d showered on her – ever faithful, ever adoring. Perhaps Buffy wasn’t either. His heart ached at the notion.
Buffy was his equal in every way. She was the point to his counterpoint, the wit to his charm, the good to his evil, the soft to his hard, the warm to his cool, the light to his dark, the sun to his moon. She met his every strike with a perfect parry, anticipated every feint, and gave back as good as she got. Surely her heart was just as capable of love as his was. Surely.
Finally, when she didn’t say any more, he curled a finger under her chin and lifted her eyes back up to his. He didn’t want to beg her for the words – for the feeling – but his eyes, as always, betrayed his emotions.
She gave him a sad smile, reading his expression like the open book that it was. He was asking too much. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she’d have to leave him soon. He didn’t know that she didn’t have enough pieces of her broken and battered heart left to leave a part of it with him. She couldn’t bear it; couldn’t bear her heart being ripped apart again. Even now, with Slayer-hood renounced, the mission always came first. It was, she realized, her destiny, her curse. She wasn’t meant for love – it had never been part of the Slayer package anyway. She knew that now. Her life was not her own, perhaps it never had been.
“I … I need you. I trust you. You’re … in my heart – I care for you. That’s all I have to give. I … don’t know if it’s enough.”
Spike closed his eyes against the pain in his chest where a dagger had been stabbed in and twisted.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy blurted out quickly. “I … maybe one day things will be different,” she continued, the words sailing past her lips without thought. Why? Why had she said that? Why give him false hope? Bad Buffy!
“Spike, I’m barely hanging on here,” she continued truthfully. “Insano-Buffy could come back any minute. I never know when … I can’t seem to stop it. But you … you make me feel safe. I know I can count on you and, really, that’s so much more than I can say about anyone else in the world right now. I care about you … I care for you.”
That was better, she decided. That was all true. No false hope in those words. No promise of a tomorrow that will never come for them.
Spike opened his eyes and met hers. Unshed tears made the blue seem brighter as they shimmered in the low light of the room. Buffy felt the mist of guilt rise in her again. Good job, Buffy. Why don’t you just stake him instead of dragging his heart through the mud? Great way to repay all he’s done for you.
“I reckon that ‘maybe one day’ is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, yeah?” Spike offered, trying to sound cocky and indifferent. It didn’t really work. He gently pressed a lock of her hair back from her face, letting it fall over her shoulder, his eyes giving away the longing his words denied.
“I do love you. I’ll always love you, Buffy. I can live with being in your heart … for now,” he admitted softly, his adulating eyes locked onto hers.
Buffy took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her guilt building. She shouldn’t have said that to him; should not have given him that empty promise. “I’m sorry that I don’t have more to give you.”
Spike nodded – afraid if he spoke, his voice would give away his hurt and disappointment. He endeavored to look assuring, as if that was fine, as if he didn’t need anything more, but he had to wonder if she’d be giving this same speech to the Magnificent Poof … or even Soldier Boy if one of them were in his place right now. He tried not to dwell on it too long, tried not to let the disappointment and hurt and jealously show in his eyes. He tried to assure himself that being ‘in her heart’ was at least in the same zip code as being ‘in love’. It was closer than he’d ever been before; closer than he’d ever hoped to get; possibly closer than he deserved – but he wanted more. The small taste of trust and affection she’d given him had only been enough to whet his appetite. He wanted all of her: mind, body, spirit, heart, and soul – and he wanted it forever. Long shot. Spike had played long shots before and won. This race wasn't over yet. He could still win Buffy's love, he assured himself.
Buffy couldn’t take the silence that had fallen over them another second. She was afraid she’d start talking to fill it, and more empty, unwise promises would rattle from her mouth unbidden. Action now was better than words, she concluded. Words were not her friend; she’d always been better at action.
Buffy pressed a palm against his top shoulder and rolled Spike onto his back, following him over. She straddled his stomach and leaned down over him, her hair falling in a golden veil around their faces as she kissed him. Buffy’s hands roamed over his strong chest, shoulders, and upper arms as their lips nibbled on the other, tasting and teasing.
His hands came up to glide over her body, finding her swaying breasts and cupping them gently in his hands as a tremulous breath escaped his lips. Spike’s thumbs ghosted over her nipples, and they responded immediately, puckering into hard pebbles. Chill-bumps flowed out from his touch, covering the curve of her breasts in the process. Buffy moaned against his lips, her hips grinding slow circles against his hardness as he fanned the fires within her again.
“God, Spike … need you, baby,” Buffy mumbled against his mouth as her desire blossomed back into a burning need, empty promises temporarily forgotten.
Spike’s eyes flashed wide and he hesitated with the endearment, momentarily frozen in place. He took a mental snapshot of this moment, locking the memory into his mind forever. Baby. A shiver ran down his spine. Baby. In the next instant, he crushed his mouth up to hers again, holding her down against him, devouring the flavor and scent and feel of her to add to his mental cache of this moment: the moment she called him her baby.
When Buffy had to breathe, she reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and from his magical fingers, which seemed to know just how to touch her body, and she slid down his legs. She unfastened his jeans and slid the zipper down, releasing his urgent need from the denim that had been holding it prisoner.
Her eyes widened in fascinated surprise when his hardness emerged from his pants. Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth as he watched her expression.
“Oh…” Buffy managed at last, clearing her throat a little uncomfortably and sliding the rest of the way off the bed. She began tugging on the legs of his jeans and Spike lifted his hips up so she could slide them off.
“Something wrong, pet?” Spike wondered, his voice tinged with a … errrr … cocky arrogance.
Buffy looked back up to his face and felt her own face flush. “No … no, not at all. I just … ummm … am gonna need a new name for your … privates.”
Spike cocked an amused brow at her. “Pardon?”
Buffy waved a hand vaguely at his package and flushed even brighter red. “I … in my mind, sort of called it ‘Little Bad’ … you know, ‘Big Bad’ and ‘Little Bad’,” she admitted. “But … that won’t work – at all.”
Spike barked out a short laugh. “Given this a bit o’ thought, then, have you?”
Buffy coughed again and fanned herself with both hands as she looked around the room – concentrating on anything but Spike. “It’s really … hot in here, isn’t it?”
Spike sat up, grabbed one of her arms, and pulled her back onto the bed. “Not as hot as it’s gonna be,” he promised.
Buffy 'eeped' in surprised when he grabbed her, and flopped onto her back next to him. Spike supported himself on one elbow and leaned over her, half-covering her body with his. “Now … where were we?” he murmured as he dropped his mouth to hers again.
Buffy melted against him. His cool body felt like heaven against her suddenly tingling, over-hot skin. His lips were soft against hers, and her body thrummed in anticipation as ‘Little Bad’ pressed urgently against her hip.
Spike’s free hand roamed over her skin, now damp with a thin layer of perspiration, as well as slick from the massage oil. Her soft, feminine curves belied the power beneath and Spike cherished them both. Her strength was as much an aphrodisiac to him as the swell of her breasts or the sway of her hips.
“Buffy … so beautiful, you are, luv. You got no idea what you do to me, pet. Want you so much. Love you so much …” he murmured against her neck as he kissed a line of fire down from her mouth to her throat.
“Spike … please … want to feel you inside me,” Buffy replied breathily as she shifted on the bed and encouraged him to settle between her spread legs.
Spike slid over her and Buffy immediately wrapped her legs around his hips and tilted her opening up to him, beckoning his hardness into her supple heat. Spike rose up to support himself on his hands and slid his cock up and down her slick folds, over her clit, coating himself in her juices.
Buffy’s eyes fluttered closed as she moaned and clutched at his shoulders, then slid her hands down his sides. The corded muscles of his back and buttocks strained and shifted beneath her palms as he moved, like cool, smooth granite come to life. She lifted her hips up against him in frustration and need, wanting more from him even as she longed for the sensation of his hard shaft raking against her clit to continue forever.
When he stopped moving, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He’d pulled his hips back away from her a bit and just remained motionless above her. The muscles of his arms bulged with the strain of holding himself over her, but he didn’t tremble or waver.
She felt like she was falling into the deep pools of cool blue water that were his eyes. Little flecks of gold shone in their cerulean depths, the demon wanting to be set free, but he didn’t change. In fact, he’d never changed into the demon except when they were fighting – and even then only if she’d really pissed him off royally. How did he manage to control it so thoroughly without a soul, she wondered briefly, but put her pondering aside for another time.
Buffy didn’t break eye contact with him as she slid her hand between them and guided his hardness to her opening. Spike pressed forward slowly, his whole body quivering in anticipation. Buffy gasped and he thought he saw a flicker of pain pass behind her lustful, green eyes. He stopped.
“It’s ok … just … been a while and you’re a little … ummm … more than…” Buffy cleared her throat self-consciously. “Just go slow at first …” she said finally as she explored the ever-changing hills and valleys of muscle on his back with her hands.
Spike dipped his head down and kissed her. It was so gentle that it felt like nothing so much as a cool breeze fluttering against her lips. Spike lifted up so he could see her eyes again. Their viridian depths were so full of fire, full of life, of strength, of passion, and if he looked closely, he thought he could see the affection she had for him reflected there too. His heart took comfort in the thought, ill-conceived and self-delusional as it may be.
He pulled his hips back fractionally and then pressed in again, going just a little further than he’d been before. A tingling chill rushed over Buffy’s skin as he pressed in, then pulled back, then pressed in again. He stretched her gently until she could accommodate his girth without pain. Each time he pressed in a new wave of pleasure tingled over her body, caressing her with a gentleness she’d never before felt. Not even Angel had been this careful, this caring or adoring with her. She was suddenly wreathed in a warm blanket of pure emotion. It swelled up from the deepest, most guarded and hidden corners of her heart, and surprised her with its girlish softness.
She was momentarily taken back to that first time with Angel. At the time she’d thought he had been loving, giving, and gentle with her, but now she knew better. This. This is how it should’ve been. The soft murmurs of affection, of love and desire that Spike was raining down on her had never passed her first love’s lips. Angel had been silent – as was his nature. Not exactly cold, but not … not this. Angel’s hands had not touched her so reverently; his mouth had not kissed her so fervently. He had tried, she was sure – he’d tried to be this, but even with a soul he didn’t have what Spike had. She didn’t know what it was. Something indefinable, unfathomable to her in this moment – something that made him so very different than any vampire she’d ever met. Heart, her mother's word came to her mind. Spike has heart.
By the time his hips settled against hers, Buffy’s chest was heaving and her heart was racing from the endorphins flooding her body. His slow progression into her had triggered a series of seismic events – like foreshocks preceding an earthquake. With that as the precursor, she couldn’t wait to feel the main event.
Spike dropped down onto his elbows and rested his body against hers, savoring the feeling of her quim, hot, wet, and tight around him. Her pussy walls fluttered and undulated over his hardness, holding him in their velvet smooth embrace as if she never planned on letting him go. And that was perfectly fine with him.
Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and began twining her fingers gently into the hair on the back of his head. It was softer than she’d imagined without the gel, and the curls were just adorable. He’d kill her if he knew she thought that … Big Bad was not adorable.
The adoration that was pouring from his eyes covered her with a feeling of security, of confidence, of belonging. It made her feel warm somewhere deep inside, as if he’d dropped a burning torch into the bottomless pit of her blood-soaked soul and frightened the icy guilt away.
The words that she knew he longed to hear fluttered to the fore of her mind and nearly made it to her throat when the crimson shroud of guilt began to descend over her again. Buffy closed her eyes, fighting it back – fighting to stay in this moment with him, fighting to remember her mother’s words of encouragement: Dawn’s death was no one’s fault but Glory’s.
She felt the veil waver as she struggled to hold it back with nothing but her willpower, then she realized that Spike was talking to her – asking her if she was alright. She opened her eyes and drew her hands down to frame his beautiful face. His eyes were full of concern and love, and it only made her feel less deserving. But she didn’t want to do this to him, didn’t want to go away – not now. She’d already withheld the words he longed to hear, made empty promises she knew she couldn't keep, she couldn’t take this away from him too. She wanted this to be perfect – as perfect as she could make it – for him. He’d done so much for her, she owed it to him to fight the oblivion her guilt wanted to drag her into. She wanted more than anything to make this first time perfect.
She lifted her face up until her mouth was near his ear, then whispered, “Make love to me, William.” It was as close as she could come to saying what she knew he wanted to hear. It was all she had to give.
“You sure, pet?” Spike asked, his voice full of gentle concern.
Buffy nodded. “Keep me here, baby. Make me feel … need to just feel … not think.”
Spike kissed her with that same gentleness that she’d been pondering only a few moments before as he began rocking his body against hers. It was a slow, sensuous movement that nonetheless made Buffy’s heart skip and stutter in her chest.
“I’ve got ya, luv. Never lettin’ you go,” Spike assured her, his mouth close enough for her to feel his cool breath on her cheek. Their bodies slid against each other, building a slow friction that kindled hundreds of sparks in the waiting tinder of Buffy’s body.
Before everything with Glory began, Giles had started teaching Buffy about compartmentalizing her thoughts, of concentrating on what was important in the moment and letting everything else wait. He’d used crystals for her to focus on, and it had taken hours of boring repetition before she’d started to get it – but she had started to get it.
The memory of those lessons popped into Buffy's mind now. She drew on that wisdom, using what she’d learned to help keep the shroud of guilt from crashing down on her. She had no crystals to focus on, but she had Spike. She had his bluer-than-blue eyes with the flashes of gold sparkling down on her, and she had the tingling sparks that he was showering over her body – inside and out.
Buffy kept her eyes focused on Spike’s as he moved above her, and she felt herself falling into those blue depths, away from the crimson gore. For the first time she was able to draw away from the demon inside who wanted to drag her back into the bloody river and drown her. She could, instead, immerse herself in the pool of cool blue adoration and be safe – Spike would keep her safe.
When Spike ground his pubic bone against her clit on the next down-stroke, Buffy’s mind dove headfirst to a sparkling sea of cool, azure blue, and her body flared white-hot in pleasure, washing away the bloody river in her mind that held the guilt of her failures.
“Yes … Spike … God, so good. So … oh! Yes!” Buffy panted breathlessly as he came down and ground against her again and again. Her body writhed beneath him as she clung to his shoulders, digging her nails into his deltoids in her fervor. Her body arched into his, demanding even more, as the small tremors announcing the upcoming earth-moving quake of bliss vibrated through her core.
When Spike rose up to his hands, pulled nearly out of her, and then slammed down against her in a wave of primal desire, Buffy shrieked in renewed pleasure. It was at once surprising and exhilarating – such a contrast to the easy movements of a moment before. It was exactly what she needed – what she wanted and desired. How did he know? How could he tell that she needed more when she didn’t even know until he’d given it to her, like a gift from heaven?
Buffy’s hips bucked up against him, matching his rhythm as he began thrusting into her with more and more power and fervor. Spike’s demon raged behind the burning eyes of the man, demanding release as untold days, weeks, months, and years of longing for his Slayer finally came to fruition. The demon’s desire for her blood was no less strong than the man’s desire for her heart and her body. Spike pressed the bloodlust back, and instead used the demon’s needs to fuel the man’s – driving him wild with feral lust. And the Slayer, the strong, passionate woman beneath him, responded in kind.
Her hisses, gasps, shrieks, and demanding cries of pleasure told him all he needed to know about her need. There was no more worry of hurting her. Her channel had stretched to take him and she engulfed his girth like a silken glove – hot and wet and supple, molding around his shaft like she had been made for Spike and Spike alone. Buffy’s body moved with him as if they’d danced this dance a hundred times – and in a way they had, the vampire and the Slayer – her strength and passion the perfect match for his, and his for hers.
Buffy’s legs wrapped around his hips in a crushing grip, pulling him to her ferociously, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Her hands slid down his body and her fingers dug into the undulating muscles of his ass as he drove into her at a feverish pace. She added her strength to his, pulling him against her, as their hips slammed together and he impaled his shaft deeper into her sheath of bliss.
Spike roared in defiance as his demon felt her trying to control him and he sat back slightly on his heels, pulling out of reach of her hands. He wrenched her legs from around his waist and then pressed them up and out – opening her to him fully, taking her control away. Then he drove into her again, thrusting into her with a power and passion she’d never felt before.
Buffy screamed out as the force of his renewed storm of lust hit her with a blinding explosion of bliss. She could do nothing but feel. Feel his body, hard and powerful above her; feel his hips driving against her, his cock hammering into her all the way to her core; feel his unneeded breath, cool and wild against her skin; feel his passion; feel his strength; feel her own vulnerability to the vampire that was controlling her; feel the utter madness of rapture washing over her, drowning her in the bliss of the sparkling blue ocean.
She’d never felt anything like it before – it was freedom. There was no thought; there was only feeling, and every cell in her body was screaming with blissful explosions of joy. There was no room for anything else; no thought or worry or inhibition could step between her and heaven now.
Her body reacted to his instinctively. Her arms reached above her head and pressed against the headboard for more leverage. Her hips jerked against his, somehow following his staccato rhythm – short, shallow strokes followed by long, slow ones then back again. Words fell from her lips, but they weren’t anything she thought with her conscious mind so much as something deeper, a brain-stem reflex to the power and pleasure coursing through her. And she could hear Spike’s voice, pouring over her like hot, sweet honey, hear his rumbling growls and grunts of effort. Every one of her senses was being bombarded with something, blocking everything else in the entire world out except this. There was nothing but this feeling.
When Buffy shrieked Spike’s name and her body convulsed into a final, ground-shaking, magnitude ten-million earthquake, Spike had no choice but to stay buried inside her. Her sugar walls clasped around him like a vise wielded by a goddess, undulating and fluttering wildly over his shaft. His own roar of release joined hers as her body milked every drop of lust from his groin in a painfully sweet explosion of bliss. Her name tumbled off his lips – half-curse, half-prayer – as he spilled into her, utterly undone.
Both of their bodies trembled violently with the power of their orgasms. The sound of their inharmonious chorus of ultimate release filled the room and reverberated off the walls. The air vibrated around them palpably, as if a giant loudspeaker had magnified Buffy’s ear-splitting scream and Spike’s growling, basso roar into a discord worthy of a Kiss concert.
And then they both collapsed bonelessly; every drop of tension and power drained from their bodies. Spike fell atop her, releasing the hold he had on her legs as he collapsed. Buffy’s legs sprawled uselessly to the mattress on each side of him; her arms, a moment ago pressing against the headboard above her with all her strength, simply slumped to the pillow near her head. The only sound left in the room was the gasping gulps for air that came from each of their throats.
Spike, not actually needing air, recovered use of his limbs first and began to roll off her, but she stopped him with a word, “Stay.”
He stopped and pulled back to look at her, worried that she’d lost the battle with the madness after all. But, when his eyes met hers, he realized it wasn’t that, she simply didn’t have the breath to say anything more.
He smiled down at her. Her face was flushed and sparkled with diamonds of perspiration; her hair was mussed, a golden tangle of silken tresses; her lips were swollen from their kisses and beautifully pink. But it was her eyes that captured him most. They were Buffy: her essence, her soul. And she was looking at him with something he was afraid to name, so he simply allowed himself to believe that she was looking at him with her heart.
“Wow,” was the next word from her lips. It came out raspy and a little choked through her strained vocal cords.
“Wow,” Spike mimicked in a throaty rumble, agreeing wholeheartedly. There was awe not only in his voice but in those amazing blue eyes that she’d let herself fall into. Even the demon’s eyes, hidden behind the man’s, sparkled like golden stars within the field of azure as he looked down at her.
“You’re bloody amazing, Slayer,” Spike whispered, touching his mouth to her sweet lips in a gentle, chaste kiss.
Buffy smiled and her flush actually turned a deeper shade of red. She bit her bottom lip and suddenly looked like a schoolgirl – that girl he’d first seen dancing with her friends so long ago, so many battles ago, so many heartbreaks ago.
“Not Slayer, just Buffy,” she corrected after a moment, but there was no scorn in her tone. “And you’re pretty amazing yourself,” she admitted as she snaked her arms around his neck and lifted her quivering legs up to capture his hips in a gentle embrace, hooking her feet behind his back and preventing him from moving.
Suddenly the door to the bedroom swung open and the Bot strode in. “Buffy, I did as you instructed and stayed on the balcony with my fingers in my ears humming ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’, but I got bored. Can we play a different game now?” she asked, her fingers still sticking into her ears.
Two pairs of surprised eyes turned to look at the door; the lovers too surprised to actually respond for a moment.
The Bot tilted her head and considered the pair on the bed. “Perhaps I could join in your game. What do you call it?” Then, after a beat, she asked, “It doesn’t involve show tunes, does it?”
Spike began to rebuke the Bot, ask her if she'd ever heard of bloody knocking, when a burst of laughter tore from Buffy’s lips. He looked down at her, more surprised by the sound of her laughter than the Bot's intrusion. Buffy was laughing! It was a joyous sound, like a celestial choir of angels singing.
Buffy knew she should be indignant, angry, or embarrassed, but she could do nothing but laugh at the Bot's earnestness. Buffy tightened her hold on Spike, making sure he didn't rise, using him as a cover, as she began to giggle uncontrollably. Then Spike’s laughter joined hers, his body shaking with the effort. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard him actually laugh before, and the rich, rolling sound only made her laugh harder. His laughter was contagious – a virus of mirth. Every time Buffy’s laughter began to wane, she found herself buoyed by the sound of his exuberance. Then she began to wonder if she’d ever heard any vampire laugh before – not the ‘I’ve got you now’ evil laugh of Angelus, or the ‘I’m crazy as a loon’ laugh of Dru, but a gleeful exaltation of emotion.
The Bot studied her naked roommates in earnest, trying to determine what was so humorous. Buffy watched her watching them and thought that the Bot was most likely the sanest of the three of them. That thought sent another wave of giggles over Buffy, and the entire scene simply devolved into one of those blooper reels where no one could stop laughing long enough to actually say anything.
Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so hard or so long. She laid her hands on the sides of Spike’s face and pulled him down to her, smothering his bubbling laughter with her child-like giggles. It was, perhaps, the most wonderful gift anyone had ever given her – he made the world go away. She could pretend that she was just a girl – a giggling, happy, normal girl – if just for a little while.
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{{ Click here to hear one of my favorite sounds in the world: James Marsters' Laugh }}
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{{ Click here to hear Make The World Go Away, Martina McBride on YouTube }}
Make the world go away
Get it off my shoulders
Say the things we used to say
And make the world, make it go away
Do you remember when you loved me
Before the world took you away
Well if you do, then forgive me
And make the world, make it go away
Make the world go away
Get it off my shoulders
Say the things we used to say
And make the world, make it go away
Now I'm sorry if I hurt you
Let me make it up to you day by day
And if you will please forgive me
And make the world, make it go away
Make the world go away
Get it off my shoulders
Say the things we used to say
And make the world, make it go away.