Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It’s all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

Dawn of a New Age 

Chapter Six

Buffy contemplated the pastry display at the campus café.  She was trying to limit her caffeine and sugar intake, but it was hard when she felt like she was in a constant state of exhaustion, combined with a gnawing sense of hunger.  She wanted to eat everything in sight, yet at the same time nothing appealed in the display.  Pregnancy was turning out to be fickle bitch.  In the end, she compromised by getting a medium mocha and a banana instead of a chocolate chip cookie.

“Hey.”  Startled, she nearly dropped her coffee, which would have made for a very cranky Buffy.

“Hey!”  Buffy brightened at the sight of her best friend, then dulled when she remembered why they hadn’t spoken in almost a week.  It hadn’t really been Willow’s fault.  Buffy was hiding out at her mom’s house and hadn’t been back to the dorms or attended classes.  Willow called a few times when she was napping, and she admitted to being avoidy Buffy by not calling her back.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her friend.  She really, really did.  But she didn’t want any confrontations either.

Suddenly, Willow launched herself at her, winding her arms around Buffy’s neck.  Only Buffy’s super slayer agility kept her from dumping her stuff over both of them.  She awkwardly wrapped her arms around Willow the best she could, feeling all her tension fade away.  Her friend smelled like strawberries, magic and hominess.  Buffy took a deep breath and it came out a smothered sob.

“I’m sorry.  Please stop being mad at me.  I can’t stand it when you’re not talking to me.  Please,” Willow sobbed, her breath hot and wet on Buffy’s neck.

“I’m not mad at you.”  Willow choked in disagreement, and Buffy felt even more guilt.  “I’m really not.”

Still sniffling she led her friend to an empty table, glaring at students who so much as looked at them wrong.  They sat down, their chairs pulled close until their knees touched.  Willow looked horrible.  Red heads never cried prettily.  Her usually pale skin was blotchy, her nose red and her eyes swollen from the short crying jag.  She looked utterly miserable. 

Buffy placed her stuff on the table and hugged her friend again, this time soothing her hands down her back.  Willow was wearing something soft and fuzzy and it made Buffy smile.  “I’m not mad at you, I swear I’m not,” she reassured.

“B-but I did that spell.  A-and you and Spike.  A-and now your pregnant,” Willow stuttered between sobs.  Willow broke away, pawing through her book bag and finding a packet of tissues to wipe her nose.  Buffy’s soft smile stayed as she rubbed a comforting hand down her friend’s arm.

“Sweetie, the spell had nothing to do with me being…you know.”

“I know, but you were so mad the other night.  And you haven’t been back to our room or taking my calls.  I can’t help, but feel like I did this.  That I made you sad.”

Buffy took Willow’s hands in hers.  The other night at Giles’ apartment was the nightmare she was trying to avoid.  Her and Spike had worked out an agreement of sorts.  They would attempt to get to know each outside of their normal comfort...err—uncomfort---zone.  Obviously, there would be no more killing or threat of killing, unless it was totally deserved.  Which in Spike’s case, he deserved at least the threat of staking every time he opened his mouth.  But they had called a truce for the good of their baby.  That truce and the baby were at the heart of why she was being avoidy Buffy.  She just didn’t want to deal with everyone else’s emotions, opinions, and castigations when it really wasn’t any of their business.  Especially when she had enough of her own to go around.  Buffy’s mercurial mood swing had her feeling like that Sybil chick.

“I’m not sad, Willow.  I’m just…”

“Trying to deal?”

Buffy huffed in relief.  No matter what, Willow got her.  Sometimes they had their ups and downs, but when it came down to it they were best friends.

“Yah.”  Buffy’s eyes darted away.  “Everyone is so disappointed in me.  I let them down.”

“No!”  Willow jerked on her hands.  “That’s not true.  We love you.  No matter what.”

Buffy dropped her head, her hair falling over her face in a curtain.  She lowered her head until it was nearly between her knees in the crash position, her forehead resting on top of Willow’s wrists.  “Maybe, but not for long,” she whimpered.  She was keeping the baby.  Oh, god.  She was keeping it and everyone was going to hate her for it.

“You’re keeping it?” Willow asked tentatively, perceptive as ever.  Buffy cringed, waiting for the recriminations.  “So, like, I’m gonna be an auntie?”  The awe in Willow’s voice cracked the ice forming around Buffy’s heart.

Buffy’s head popped up, her eyes wide.  “You’re not mad?  You aren’t gonna tell me what a huge mistake I’m making?  You aren’t gonna tell me it’s a monster?”

Willow surprised her by leaning forward until their foreheads touched.  She placed her small hands on Buffy’s hot cheeks to keep her from turning away.  Their eyes locked, and Buffy gulped.  “Nothing that comes from you could ever be a monster.  You are the best person I know.  Not just because you’re the slayer, but because you’re Buffy.  You are gonna make an awesome mom, and your baby is going to be beautiful.”

Buffy’s broken heart healed itself right back up.  She started crying earnestly, her forehead lodged in the crook of her best friend’s neck.  She felt like she had just received absolution.  It was one thing to have her mother’s blessing.  A mother loved her child no matter what.  Buffy was just beginning to understand that.  The thought of disappointing her mother was scary, but not terrifying in the way it was with her friends.  Her mother would always be there for her, her friends might not be.  Especially, if they thought she was making an insurmountable mistake.

“We love you, Buffy.  We all do,” Willow murmured into her hair.  She was rubbing her hands up and down Buffy’s back like she was trying to sooth an overwrought child.  Buffy pulled back with a small laugh.  Smiling, Willow handed her tissues, glaring at her fellow students when they stared at Buffy blowing her nose.

“I’m sorry.  I’m hormonal Buffy.  If I’m not crying, or screaming bloody murder, then I’m upchucking my internal organs.”

Willow winced.  “That bad, huh?”

Buffy nodded miserably.  “Yah.  I have no idea how I’m supposed to ‘nurture’ this kid if I throw up everything I eat.  I’ve actually lost weight,” she whispered the last part, appalled when any other time she would have been ecstatic to take off an extra five pounds.

“Don’t worry.  I hear you gain it all back by the second trimester.”  Willow rubbed her hand down Buffy’s arm before gathering up her book bag.

Buffy glanced at the clock, and gathered her stuff as well.  Together they wound their way to class.

“You seem to know a lot,” Buffy commented with a sidelong glance at Willow.  The young witch turned pink at the edges.

“I’ve been reading,” she admitted.

Buffy laughed.  “Research, huh?  Yah, me too.”

“I sorta—“ Willow trailed off.  She didn’t know how voice her feelings.  It all seemed ambiguous.  As if something was happening at the far reaches of consciousness that was shaping their reality.  “I just knew you were gonna keep her.  I wanted to make sure I would be a good auntie.”  She smiled brightly and Buffy returned it.

“You’re going to be a wonderful auntie,” Buffy assured as they walked arm and arm.  She felt a giddy amount of happiness.  Willow supported the baby.  Buffy glanced at her from under her lashes.  Did Willow understand fully what that meant?

“Spike’s sticking around,” she confessed, watching Willow’s face closely.

Willow’s lips tightened, and there was an edge of fear in her eyes.  “For you?” she asked tightly.

Buffy thought about it.  The idea of Spike changing his ways, being Mr. Caring and Supportive was romantic.  Vampire or not, the idea of any man giving up everything to be with her was a romantic idea.  But he wasn’t doing it for her, was he?

“For the baby.  She’s what’s important.”  Buffy wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.  The baby was important.  But then why did her heart ache when she acknowledged Spike’s motivations were only driven by his need to be near their child?

Willow’s brow crumpled and she looked down at her feet as she walked.  She was silent for long minutes, and Buffy’s nervousness ratcheted up a notch.  She knew instinctively Willow was working through to a steadfast conclusion that once made wouldn’t be reversible.

Outside their classroom, Willow pulled her to a halt.  She wore her resolve face as their gazes met.  “Spike will be a great protector.”  Not father.  What did Spike know of being a father?  What did anyone know of being a parent?  But protector?  Yah, Spike knew how to do that, and do it well.

“Yah,” Buffy agreed.

Smiling they walked into the classroom, nearly bumping into Riley.

“Summers,” he mumbled, looking uncomfortable.

“Hey, Riley,” Buffy replied brightly.  Willow’s pronouncement put her in a good mood, and she was generous enough to share it.

He shifted his weight and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.  “How’s the engagement going?”

“My what?”  Buffy was caught off guard. Crap.

“You know.  To that older guy?”  Double crap.

“Oh, that.”  What to say?  Think, Summers, think.

“It was a dare,” Willow suddenly interjected.  “We were playing truth or dare.  Buffy got dared to tell the first person she ran into whom she knew that she was getting engaged.

“Really?” Riley asked skeptically.

“Alcohol may have been involved,” Willow lied spectacularly.  Buffy was dumbfounded.  She may have been catching flies her jaw was so wide open.  “Yah, and on that humiliating note, we’ll be taking our seats.”  Willow hooked her hand under Buffy’s elbow and towed her towards the stadium seating.

“Wow, Will.  That was amazing.”

“I’m not proud,” the witch muttered.

“No, seriously.  Can you come with me the next time I have to tell a whooper to my mom.”

“No.”  Willow rounded on her as they found their seats.  “It’s unethical to lie to your mother.  You should keep that in mind since you’re gonna be one.”

Buffy slumped into her seat.  “Oh, yeah.  Right.”  She scanned the class, her eyes colliding with the gun-metal gray gaze of her professor.  The Bitch Monster of Death was looking extra deathy today.  The speculative gaze of the professor ran down Buffy’s frame, and she had to fight the urge to slouch further into her seat.  Missing two classes was so of the bad.  She didn’t wonder if Professor Walsh was giving her more attention than usual as she got out her pad to take notes.

Buffy was pacing around the small den before Spike arrived.  This would be their third ‘date’ and both previous affairs had been awkward and stilted.  Most of the subjects they had in common were off the table due to unspoken mutual agreement.  Neither of them thought it prudent to talk about their past lovers or their affinity for trying to kill each other.  Pressure from Joyce, and Spike’s desire to be involved his baby’s development added a new level of strain to their already nonexistent relationship.  Frankly, after updates on the baby front had been exhausted they ended up just pushing their food around their plates until it was time to leave the restaurant.

Buffy had no idea why they were participating in this farce.  It wasn’t like they were going to be a couple.  Just because they were going to have a baby together didn’t mean they were going to be indivisibly exclusive in each other’s lives.  They only had to get along comfortably enough to share custody.  All this pressure to get to know each other was giving her tension headaches.  Adding to it was Buffy’s underlying need to slay something.  Or lay something.  No!  Bad tarty Buffy.  Bad!  She needed to slay, not lay.  Buffy bounced on the balls of her feet.  She had been a good little girl, and a very bad slayer lately.  She hadn’t slayed anything in over two weeks.  She was about to ping pong off the freakin’ walls!

A shiver slid down the back of her neck, and she hurried to the door, jerking it open.  Dusk was just falling and the shadows were blue under the fading light, running wild before the streetlights flickered on and chased them away.  Spike stood on the porch, a darker, more menacing shadow than the rest.  Unafraid, she twisted her hand in his shirt and yanked him inside.  He was wearing the blue silk one she liked so much.  She could barely contain the urge to run her hands down his chest.

“What’s this, then?”

Buffy released him, and hunted down her shoes she had toed off by the couch while waiting for him.  “I’m wound up.  I have too much energy.  I sleep all day and I’m up all night.  And I’ve been having these weird dreams.” 

Spike shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking on his feet a little.  Buffy’s anxious energy was starting to infect him.  “What kinda dreams?”

“I dunno.  Some little girl singing a rhyme about not being able to scream while holding a wooden box.  It’s giving me the wiggins.  It’s probably pregnancy related.  Anxiety about having a kid.  Stupid hormones.”  She swiped up a pamphlet off the coffee table and shoved it at him.  “It says here I can exercise regularly through the first trimester, but my kind of workout is dangerous for the baby,” she pouted, finally slumping on the couch.

“Why don’t you go for a jog?” he offered, still standing by the door.  This charade of them being normal was starting to fray on his nerves.  The last two dates with her had been both the best and worst experiences of his life.  They had been mind-numbingly normal which made the demon inside him howl with near insanity, but simultaneously they provided him a connection to the development of his baby in a way his monster couldn’t comprehend.  No matter how torturous the evenings were, he would keep coming back just for that.

She shot him a dirty, sidelong glance that made his skin prickle in anticipation.  Ever since their blow out the first night they had been disgustingly civil to each other.  She occasionally digressed into superbitch mode, but he was careful to keep his own reactions in check.  He couldn’t fight with her physically for fear of harming the baby, and he wasn’t sure what would happen if Buffy become emotionally overwrought so he kept the snarking to a minimum.  They were both wound up, and if they didn’t find a way to parley their frustration and tension into some sort of activity soon they were going to explode.

“If I go out and jog, I might see something,” she snarled.

Spike raised a brow.  “Come again?”

She sighed and settled against the couch cushions, her fingers massaging her temple.  “If I see someone getting attacked, I’ll have to intervene.  There’s no way I’d just walk away and let someone die.  It’s bad enough knowing people are out there dying every night, because I’m not doing my job anymore.”

She was right.  It made him both angry and resigned.  He wanted to lash out and order her to walk away if she ever came across someone who needed help.  A stranger’s life wasn’t worth the risk to their child.  But he knew that wasn’t who Buffy was.  As Heaven’s Chosen One, she was hardwired to be a hero.  The difference between them couldn’t be more blatant.  She was meant to walk in the sun while he lurked in the shadows.  She saved people; he preferred to eat them.  It was her wiring making her miserable at the moment.  She was a creature who needed to run free, not be caged up by conformity.  Finally, this was something he could understand about her.

“Why don’t you get changed?  We’ll jog together.”

She looked at him, her green eyes cool and assessing.  “And if we come across someone?”

“I’ll take care of it,” he assured her, his dark eyes daring her to say differently.

“What about your chip?”

He shifted.  He didn’t know why he hadn’t told her about his chip sooner.  Honestly, it hadn’t really come up.  It was forbidden topic adjacent.  “It doesn’t work on demons, luv.  Jus’ humans.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed.  “How did you find that out?”

“Pub brawl.”  He grinned unrepentantly.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t take another moment to reconsider.  She jumped off the couch and headed for the stairs.  “Be down in a sec.”

“’m gonna get a change of clothes out of the car.”

She nodded, but didn’t pause in her headlong gallop up the stairs.  Finally, she was going to get some action!

Spike was waiting for her, dressed in jeans and his duster when she came down the stairs.  She was a vision in peach velour sweats with white stripes down the legs and a matching hoodie.  She streaked passed him, laughing out the door.  “Catch me if you can, vampire!”

He grinned and leapt down the porch steps in one bound as he chased after her.  They were fast, a streak of peach being stalked by an amorphous shadow as they raced down the side of the darkened street.  By instinct they veered into Shady Rest cemetery, hurdling over gravestones and doing handsprings off tombs.  Buffy’s laughter trailed behind her, and Spike was able to track her by the exultant sound alone.  She ran by a fresh grave, and a fledgling burst through the loose dirt.  She leapt agilely to the side, but before she could wield her stake, Spike was on top of the vamp, dusting it before they fell to the ground. 

Crouched at her feet, the tails of his duster spread behind him Spike was evil incarnate as he looked up at her with yellow eyes.  He ran the tip of his tongue along a fang.  “Gonna get’cha, little girl,” he promised wickedly.  Buffy’s eyes widened, and she sheathed her stake.  She whirled away, streaking into the night, Spike hot on her heels.

Now he was tracking her by the scent of her arousal.  It was redolent in the air, and he was almost afraid it would call other demons to her.  He burst forward with extra speed, but she wasn’t prey to be brought down easily.  She led him into the older section of the cemetery overgrown with bracken and the overcrowded mausoleums narrowed the labyrinthine paths.  She was smaller than him, able to twine herself around obstacles with effortless agility.  Frustrated, when he smacked his head on a low hanging eve, he leapt onto the rooftops, tracking her from above.  He bounded from roof to roof, his duster billowing behind him, keeping her in sight as she weaved her way in and out of the tombs and statuary.

An area widened into a tiny quadrangle, bordered by family tombs.  He pushed off from the roof, flying through the air over her head.  He landed in front of her with a growl.  She squeaked, her momentum carrying her into him.  He gripped her underarms when she would have bounced off on impact.  He used the motion to push her up against the cool, stone wall behind her, capturing her mouth in a reckless kiss. 

She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to him.  Her body temperature was elevated from the run, and it felt like he was holding living flame in his arms.  He edged his knee between her legs, firmly situating his muscular thigh against her.  She was soaking wet, dampening his jeans.  She moaned, and writhed against him, rocking urgently against his thigh.  He kissed his way down the column of her throat, finding the hum of her pulse beneath her ear and sucking her satiny skin between his lips.  His gums ached and he desperately wished he could sink his fangs into her vein and drink her in.  To taste her, to savor her, to be connected to her in a way that was elemental.  He dipped his hands under her top, bracketing her rib cage in his palms.  His fingers spread along her back, greedily trying to feel every inch of her.  His thumbs toyed with the elastic edge of her sports bra, as he slowly slid his palms upwards.

She was writhing desperately against him, and he gradually became aware something was happening.  Something that didn’t really require his participation.  He stilled against her as she panted into his mouth, her thighs clutching at the leg she was riding.  Suddenly she stiffened, her back arching away from the tomb as she released a keening whine.  They were very still within each other’s arms for a long moment.  Crickets chirped around them, and in the distance a dog barked.  Slowly, Spike leaned away to look down at her.  She refused to look at him, covering her hot face with her hands instead.

“’s that normal?”

She shook her head, and mumbled something into her hands.

“What was that, luv?”  He tried to angle himself so he could see passed her hands, but she hunched her shoulders.  Sighing, he gently took her wrists and pulled her hands down.  She allowed her hands to drop, but she focused her gaze to some unknown point over his shoulder.

“The doctor said I’d be more sensitive,” she rushed out.

“So that’s not normal?”

“No!” she spat.  “I hardly ever—“ she trailed off, mortified at what she was about to reveal.

Spike’s scarred brow shot upwards.  “Hardly ever?”

“It’s none of your business, alright.”  Her lips were set in a mutinous line and her body language was dead set on pushing him away.  He didn’t allow it.  “I’m gonna go home now.  We worked out all the kinks, and I’m gonna try to get some sleep.”

He braced his hands on either side of her, refusing to let her escape.  He leaned forward with a long, exaggerated sniff.  “Oh, I don’t think we’ve worked out all the kinks.”

She stiffened.  He could smell her.  Dammit!  She shoved at his chest, but her action was half hearted.  They both knew if she wanted him moved, he would be buried in the wall across the quad.  His smile was slow and wicked, making her horny and irritated at the same time. 

“Don’t get too cocky, vamp boy.  At this point a stiff breeze gets me worked up.  I’m so horny I’m giving serious thoughts to tarting myself out to the Oakland Raiders.”   Seriously, Buffy had been having some hardcore porn fantasies lately.  She was suddenly having dreams in Technicolor of things she wasn’t even sure was legal in some states.  The last three mornings she had woken up to orgasms, and this afternoon she almost came when she leaned against the rumbling clothes washer to get the fabric softener.  Something was clearly wrong with her.  “They might not even do it for me,” she added despairingly.  Who knew that Buffy Summers was a closet hussy? 

“Wanna go back to my place?” Spike offered seductively.  He was never so happy to have a place sorted out.  He’d move into the fifth story flat overlooking the river earlier that week.  It was fairly posh if he said so himself.  Tricked out enough to impress a woman like Buffy, but safe enough for their sprog to roam around when she arrived.  He tried not to give too much thought as to why having Buffy writhing and moaning beneath him excited him so much.  Why he so desperately wanted to possess her.

Buffy almost leapt on that bandwagon.  Because hot damn, Spike was sexy, and the way he kept curling his tongue behind the edge of his teeth made her think he knew exactly what to do with it to make a woman scream.  Instead, she shoved at his chest, this time hard enough to back him up a couple of steps.

“Why would I want to do that?  I can get sex from anyone I want.  A nice normal guy instead of the slobbering undead.”

The idea of another male putting his hands on her made him want to rip out someone’s throat, but only because she was the mother of his child.  Right?  “Have anyone in mind, pet?” he asked silkily, edging towards her.

She put her hands on her hips, jutting her chin forward defiantly.  “There’s a guy.  All big and muscly.”  He cocked his brow in disbelief, and Buffy was quick to add facts.  “He’s the TA for my psych class.  He’s totally in to me.”

“Sweetheart, the entire male population would be daft not to be into you.”  He stepped closer, trailing a finger down her hip.  “’sides, size doesn’t matter.”

She bristled under his touch.  “At least he’s human.  That counts for something.  Vampires can’t compare.”  He shoved her back against the wall, trapping her there.  Before she could protest, he had his thigh between her legs, pressed up tight against her clit.  She gasped, clutching at his biceps.

“Well, lets see.”  He pretended to consider her statement thoughtfully.  “Vampire stamina.  Vampire recovery time.  And, oh yeah.  A hundred and twenty years of experience making women cum.”  He rotated his thigh in a tight circle, lifting her up onto her toes.  Her head fell against the stone, a long tortured whimper echoing from the back of her throat.  He nuzzled her rapid pulse just below her ear.  “So, my place, then?” he offered again, his breath cool against her throat.  His aching hard on begged him to take her against the stone wall of the tomb, but he wanted more than a quickie.  He wanted to take his time with her.  He wanted to explore her inside and out. 

Buffy wasn’t easy.  She wasn’t easy prey and she wasn’t an easy lay.  She threaded her fingers through his hair, gripping a handful and pulling him away from her throat.  Her eyes were dark and speculative as she met his gaze.

“It would just be sex.  It doesn’t mean anything.  I don’t love you.”

He started against her like she had startled him.  His brow furrowed, his tone dry and humorless when he replied.  “I don’t love you either, pet.”

Illogically, his response made her mad.  “I don’t even like you.  I’m sure I must hate you,” she spat.

“Must you?” His sigh was long and suffering.  He eyed the stubborn set of her mouth, thinking about how soft it had been beneath his lips.  Her hand was still tightly fisted in his hair, and his throat was angled in a way that left him vulnerable.  He didn’t think she knew how erotic it was to him.  He gave her a dirty smile and licked the edge of his teeth.  “Sex doesn’t have to be about love.  It can be about pleasure.  C’mon, baby.  Let’s dance.”

She wanted to ask why he wanted to.  Of all the women he could get to dance with him, why her?  However, to question him would be to question her desirability, something she didn’t feel emotionally up to at the moment.  For once it was nice to be the pursued.  To be wanted by a handsome man.  Vampire.  Whatever.  And she so desperately wanted to be touched.  It may not be a fairytale romance.  Hell, it wasn’t even love, but it was desire, and that had its own magical allure.  She slumped against him, nodding in acquiescence.

Grinning, her took her by the hand, and they raced through the graveyard, back to her house where his car was parked.  He helped her in, before sliding behind the wheel.  She was steeped in arousal again, and she squirmed against the seat.  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, completely fascinated.  He had never come across phenomena like this.

“You’re really worked up, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up,” she grit out between clenched teeth.  “Don’t get used to it.  I’ll be back to normal after I pop this kid out.”  Her statement was ambiguous.  He wasn’t sure if she was indicating they might still have a sexual, but relatively normal relationship, after the baby was born or if she was saying the only reason she was going to have sex with him now was because her hormones were so out of whack she couldn’t control herself.  He wasn’t sure what to think about any of it.  Of course, he was a live in the now kinda vamp, so he decided to take what he could get.

“So.  Do’ya think if you pressed your thighs together really tight, and squirmed a bit, you could get yourself off without your hands?”  Spike leered.  Buffy gaped at him mortified.

“What the hell, Spike!?”

“Try it,” he coaxed in a voice that was coated in sin.

“No.  I’m not going to humiliate myself in front of you.”  She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, and slumped down in the seat.  “Maybe you should take me home.”

Spike ignored her suggestion, focusing on the most important part of her statement.  “Humiliate?  Are you kiddin’ me, luv?  It would be the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my unlife.  There is nothin’ humiliatin’ about a woman in the throes of pleasure.  C’mon, luv.  Let me see how beautiful you are.”  His words, soft and silken, wound themselves around her.  Her clit throbbed, and her thighs were sticky.  She melted in the seat a little, her tightly clasped thighs putting pressure on her heavy and swollen pussy.  It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she knew they would be nearly black, only the thinnest band of blue around his pleasure dilated pupils.  He watched her hungrily, like she was a last meal to a starving man.  The intensity on his face, told her he wasn’t lying.  Her pleasure was beautiful to him. 

She tentatively rubbed her thighs together, and the friction set something on fire inside of her.  A corresponding blaze lit up in Spike’s eyes.  He glanced away frequently to watch the road, but she noticed how he slowed down as he navigated through the darkened city streets.  She bucked her hips, using the pressure of her tightly clasped legs and her inner muscles to build on her desire.  She wanted desperately to plunge her hand beneath the band of her sweatpants and tease her clit until she came, but it would be a violation of the rules.  Spike wanted to see her come without using her hands.  She curled her lax hand into a fist, her nails scrapping along the leather seat causing a tug of pleasure in her fingertips.  She arched her hips, giving a little cry of frustration when the soft fabric of her sweats didn’t provide the tension she needed.  If she was wearing tight jeans, she might have been able to find the angle of pressure, but she was thwarted from finding her release.

Spike heard the tone of despair in her mewling little cries of protest.  He glanced at the road, making sure it was deserted before he took one hand off the wheel.  He reached over, edging his hand beneath the band of her sweatpants, and ghosting over her silky panties.  Buffy’s thighs fell open, and she bucked her hips in welcome.  Her panties were soaking wet, making his fingers slick and he slid over them.  His middle finger parted her swollen lips, and with a single firm tap to her clit he made her world explode around her.  She arched off the seat, her head thrown back as a loud, tortured groan keened from her open mouth.  Spike was hypnotized by the sight.  She was so fucking gorgeous.  He glanced back at the road, jerking the wheel when he almost took out some garbage cans aside someone’s driveway.

When she came down from her pleasure high, he slipped his hand out from her pants and shakily placed both hands on the wheel.  His harden cocked pressed painfully against the zipper of his tight jeans.  He was afraid if he reached down to cup himself, he might spew in his jeans like a teenage boy in the girl’s locker room.  Thankfully, they were at his flat, and he quickly pulled into his parking spot.  When he turned off the car, he twisted towards Buffy who was now covering her mortified features with her hands.  He slid next to her, pulling her hands away.  He didn’t say anything, just cupped her face, his fingertips sliding along the underside of her jaw as he drew her up for a long, languorous kiss.  He slid his tongue along hers in deep, slow caresses as if he was trying to coax all her secrets out of her.  She clung onto the labels of his duster, completely and utterly in his thrall.

He drew away, so their lips hovered near each other’s.  He tucked a strand of honey, blonde hair behind her ear, as he stared into her green eyes.  “So beautiful,” he breathed and with those two words he swept away every inhabitation she ever had about the imperfections of her body.  She could see the reflection of herself in Spike’s eyes, and she was glorious.

He reached around her, and opened her door.  The heavy, Detroit steel screeching as it swung on the hinges.  Spike winced.  “Need to oil that.”  Buffy giggled and scooted out, Spike right behind her.  He held her hand as he led her to the elevator, pulling her into his arms as soon as the door closed.  She wound her arms beneath his duster, placing her palms flat between his shoulder blades as they kissed.  The elevator stopped and the doors were beginning to close again, before Spike realized what was happening and shot out his hand to trip the sensor.  They stumbled out of the elevator, and tried to navigate the hall to his door without ending up on the floor.

He dropped his keys twice before he got the door opened, tossing them aside once they were inside.  He pushed her up against the closed door, his hands trapping her wrists above her head.  “Stay.” He ordered, leaning back just enough so he could see her passion hazed features.  Her hair was mussed around her face, the honey tips sticking to her sweat coated skin.  Her lips were pink and swollen, her eyes shadowed with urgency.

He gripped the bottom of her hoodie, and drew it up over her head.  She wore a white, cotton sports bra that made her golden skin glow.  He wrapped his hands around the indention of her waist, just below her ribcage, his fingers spread along her back to feel every silken inch of her.  Slowly he drew his hands upwards, until his thumbs edged under the elastic of her bra.  He didn’t watch his hands as he drew her bra upwards.  He watched her face.  The tip of her pink tongue darted out, sliding along her full lower lip.  The action was both tentative and hungry, making something in his chest ache with corresponding feeling.  He was nervous and ravenous at the same time.  The elastic edge of her bra was banding her nipples, leaving the delicate underside of her breasts bared.  He cupped their weight in his palms, relishing the feel of how soft and sensitive her skin was there.  Hidden away from sight, even when she was naked, it was shy and untouched.  She arched her back, pressing more of her flesh into the palms of his hands.  Still he didn’t look down, watching every flash of emotion as it flittered across her face instead.

“So fucking gorgeous.”  Her eyes widened, her lashes flickering gold in the soft lamplight by the door.  He bent down, and traced the underside of her breasts with the tip of his tongue.  Goose pimples formed up along her ribs, and he could see her nipples harden under the fabric.  He tugged up her bra just a fraction of an inch and her dark pink nipples popped free.  They were puckered in a wordless beg to be touched.  He wanted to roll them between his fingertips, suck them deep into his mouth, but he tamped down the urge.  He had all night to taste her.  There was no reason to rush anything.  He massaged the soft flesh of her breasts around her nipples, watching as Buffy’s pulse increased at the hollow of her throat.  He hooked his thumbs under the elastic, sliding his hands over the sensitive undersides of her arms as he dragged her bra over her head, and left it tangled around her wrists still pinned above her.  He slid his hands back down her arms, leaning in to slick his tongue along her lower lip as he cupped her breasts, tweaking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.  She bucked her hips, her teeth nipping at his lower lip with ill concealed aggression at his teasing. 

He chuckled, pulling away.  She tried to drop her arms around his shoulders, but he pinned them back against the door with a strong hand.  “Nuh uh.  Gonna eat my fill of you before I let you go.”  Her eyes widened, and there was a taint of fear in her scent.  He looked away so she didn’t see his disappointment in her reaction.  He dropped to his knees in front of her, flipping the tails of his duster so it flared out on the ground behind him.  He slid off her shoes, then gripped the waistband of her pants, and tugged.  They slid down her legs easily, and she obediently stepped out them.  She was naked, except for a pair of pink silk panties scantly covering a triangle of flesh.  Leaning back on his hunches he looked up at her.  She could see the glitter of his electric blue eyes beneath his dark lashes.  The yellow lamplight cast shadows beneath the hard edge of his cheekbones, and his lips were swollen in a pout.  As she watched, he ran his tongue along the edge of teeth, and her clit throbbed in response.

 “Wonder what you taste like, pet.”  He leaned forward, his nose a scant inch from her dripping pussy.  He inhaled, and his chest expanded.  “Smell like vanilla.”

She fidgeted, her entire body bowstring taut with expectation.  “It’s my body lotion,” she offered, desperate for any connection between them.  Touch me, she begged silently, please.  He cupped his hands around the curves of her body, running up her legs without actually touching her.  The tiny hairs on her body stood on end, as she felt the weight of his nonexistent touch on her skin.  He skimmed his hands up to her hips, and used only his forefingers to hook the thin bands of elastic to pull her panties off.

Now she was completely naked, golden and vulnerable.  He was completely dressed, obscured and shadowed.  The dichotomy of it didn’t escape her.  He rested his open hands on his thighs, leaning forward only as much as he had too.  She watched, wide-eyed as his tongue darted between his lips, the tip slithering lightly against her clit.  The sensation of it jolted her to the core.  She rocked violently, rattling the door.  She untangled her wrists from her bra and dropped her hands to her sides, pressing her sweaty palms to the cool wood behind her for extra support.

“Open up for me, luv.”  His cool breath tickled her hot thighs.  She widened her stance, opening herself up so he could see everything.  She had never been this vulnerable before.  No one, not even Angel had seen her so intimately.  It made her nervous, and relieved at the same time.  For the first time in her life she wasn’t hiding behind any barriers.  She wasn’t shielded physically or emotionally.  She was wide open, and instead of feeling defensive, she felt overwhelmingly safe.  He leaned forward again, and she braced herself.

Spike hadn’t ever taken his time with a woman like this before.  Sex with Drusilla had never been a slow, leisurely affair.  She was a spitfire that had to be contained.  She was something that had to be caught then dominated.  Her pleasure could only be achieved through her painful submission.  To be with her, meant he had to be stronger than her, a forceful and demanding lover.  He never had the opportunity to luxuriate in her.  To explore her in slow, languid strokes.  Drusilla was a pale stone masterpiece.  Her white, firm flesh only colored when bruised.  But Buffy.  She was painted in color.  She was golden, tinted with pink, peach and rose.  The flesh on the underside of her breasts were pale, her shoulders bronze, her inner thighs a slick, light gold, her pussy lips flushed a dark carnation. 

The delicate pink tip of her clit, pushed passed her swollen lips, weeping to be touched.  He flicked the tip of his tongue against it, barely enough to get a sip of her taste.  She was a heady mix of vanilla, cinnamon and something exotic he couldn’t place.  Drusilla had been flavorless.  Her undead body barely producing the secretions needed for sex.  Buffy was dripping with life.  It soaked her pussy and ran down her thighs.  He didn’t know if he could ever go back to a colorless, tasteless world again.

He lifted himself slightly off his haunches, placing his hands flat against the door on either side of her hips.  He slid his hands upwards until his fingers interlocked with hers.  Finally connected with her, he slicked the flat length of his tongue along her slit.  She keened, pressing her pussy against his mouth.  He ran his tongue along the insides of her lips, taunting her clit with teasing little flicks, and delved into her tight pussy.  She fell apart around him.  She wound her fingers around his hair, holding him to her.  He gripped the underside of her thighs, urging her to ride his mouth.  She shuddered and rocked, her upper body bowed over him as he ate her up.  Her thighs quivered, and after experiencing three explosive climaxes in the last half hour, her legs could no longer hold her up.  She collapsed against Spike who quickly gathered her against his chest.  He looped his arms under her knees and shoulders and lifted her off the ground, striding across the room to his king-sized bed.

She sprawled across his satiny black coverlet in debauched abandonment.  Her gold hair flared around her in a tousled halo, her skin glowing with the after effects of her pleasure.  She lolled her head, so she could look up at Spike.  He stood at the side of the bed, watching her with the quiet intensity she had learned to equate with him.  Sometimes she wondered if he was even tamed.  He seemed more animal than man.  Languidly, she gathered her legs beneath her to kneel in front of him.  She reached for his belt and the only sound in the room was the quiet snick of the leather sliding free from the buckle.  She watched as every nuance of his expression tensed with longing as she undid the button to his pants and slowly drew down his zipper. 

The hard, heavy weight of him fell against her hand as soon as it was freed from his pants.  She glanced down surprised he wasn’t wearing underwear.  She’d never fully seen a man’s penis.  She had kept her eyes locked on Angel’s face when they made love, and sex with Parker had been the dark.  Somehow she knew those experiences would never be repeated with Spike.  He demanded full exposure, all barriers torn down so there was nowhere to hide.  Sex with him would be a long, slow, uninhibited affair that would leave her thoroughly explored from the outside in. 

His cock was long, thick, the head slightly ruddy and wet with precum.  She touched her finger to the tip, and it bobbed excitedly.  Her eyes darted up to his, suddenly uncertain.

“I’ve never,” she tried to explain.

“Never?” Spike arched his scarred brow. 

She mutely shook her head, suddenly ashamed of her inexperience.  He expelled a gusty breath, his mouth quirking at the corner.  “Their loss is my bleedin’ fantastic pleasure,” he purred. 

She blushed and looked down again.  She loosely wrapped her fingers around his cock, and ran them experimentally along his length.  He shuddered, rocking forward on the balls of his feet.  “What do I do?”

“You’re doin’ great, luv.”

“But my mouth would be better?” She cast him a coy glance from beneath her golden lashes.  His breath stolen, he nodded mutely.  She kneeled forward, her delectable little arse waving in the air as she flicked her tongue across the head of his cock.  Spike groaned.  It was the first sound of pleasure she had heard him make.  Embolden, she pursed her lips, pressing a kiss to the tip.  Instinctively he rocked forward, ecstatic when her lips parted ever so slightly to let him in.  Her mouth was wet, smooth and purposely tight as she allowed him to slide into her throat.  She wrapped one small fist around the base of his cock, the fingers of her other hand tickling his balls.  He threw his head back, tight tendons bulging in his neck and he ground his teeth together to keep from whooping in joy. 

“So good,” he exhaled in a long groan. 

Quick to learn, Buffy was sliding him in and out of her mouth in a slow dance that was setting his nerve endings on fire.  He wrapped her silky hair around his fists, trying his damnedest to be gentlemanly and not ram himself down her throat. 

“’m cumming,” he hissed, using his grip on her hair to pull her away.  She protested when he dropped to his knees beside the bed.  He snatched a deep, open mouth kiss from her as he shuddered into his hand.  Finished, he broke away and rested his forehead against the edge of the bed to recoup himself. 

“Why did you do that?”  Buffy was confused.  Every whispered, under the covers, sleep-over confession she had heard from her girlfriends growing up confirmed that men preferred mouths to fists when they came. 

He heard her pain, and lifted his head.  Her wide green eyes were so expressive.  A man could judge his actions in the mirror of her eyes.  How was it possible that anyone could hurt her, when she looked at them like that?  He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her close for a searing kiss.  She w