AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hey, thanks to all who click on this story! I hope everyone who reads it enjoys! As you can tell, this is a wintry fic, and I don't know why but it's July and it's hot and I think maybe a very small part of my soul misses the solitude of winter... So, this fic was written. And yes, Buffy's a waitress, at a tiny diner, again. This isn't the first time I've written her with the job and probably won't be the last. No, I'm not sure why I like the whole "waitress in a tiny town" theme, but I blame the Anne debacle of season 3 and the Meet Virginia music video by Train.
Anyway, enough blabbering, here is chapter 2 of my incredibly cheesily titled fic, Wicked Winter Knight! Hope you like it :)
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They walked through the cascading snow, Buffy ducking her head to avoid the winds that were speeding through the area once again. The weather was destined to be unpredictable. Spike trailed close behind, and they soon arrived at the bar.
It appeared that the high number of customers which had filled the place earlier dwindled to a measly two over the hours, leaving a deader than dead atmosphere. The owner, Sarah, was busy tidying up the sticky aftermath of the festivities.
Her tired eyes lifted with the couple's entrance, barely even blinking as she watched the duo pass as quietly by as mice. The only communication Buffy and Sarah exchanged were two soft, acknowledging head bobs.
Spike opened the door for her, and they were fast ascending the wooden staircase that curved into a solid balcony, overlooking the small lobby. Their footfalls on the creaky steps sounded much louder to Buffy's ears than they actually were, even muffled by old blue carpeting. When her companion spoke for the first time since leaving the diner, it nearly made her jump. "Where's your room, pet?"
He wanted to go to her room? Buffy swallowed. "End of the hall." She led the way, and Spike's voice turned into a murmur as they passed a door that barely quieted snoring noises on the other side.
"What did you say?" She spun around just as they reached their destination.
"I said," Spike whispered, staring at her in a way that made her whole body warm, "I hope you don' work early."
There was a glint to match a fire's glow in her eyes, and though she couldn't see it, she could feel it. Buffy took a deep breath. "I-I don't." She shook her head. "I don't work tomorrow. Today. Whatever."
He smiled much like a predator, she thought, and thankfully ignored her pointless stammer. "That's even better."
Buffy chose quickly not to ask why it was better. She knew exactly what he meant.
Without preamble, and with forced calm, she turned and opened the door. Spike's presence felt like a brand on her back despite the fact their bodies weren't touching, and walking into the dimness of her shabby living room only brought him closer.
It wasn't really a living room, but it was clean and cozy enough. The lamp by the entrance was left on so she could see after coming back from work late.
Buffy dropped her key into the glass dish she'd picked up from a nearby thrift shop and shed her coat. Gloves, hat and scarf quickly followed, landing haphazardly on the provided wooden table to her left.
Spike looked into the shadows as Buffy tossed her purse on a narrow couch before sitting to remove her shoes. He spotted the tiny kitchen on the right as he overlooked the shelf with the key-dish, and wasn't surprised to find an unplugged hot plate beside a measly coffee maker. There was a microwave, as well, but he had to assume she'd bought that herself.
The sound of her heavy boots being plopped on a rubber mat drew his attention back. Buffy was busy undressing right in front of him. Considering the layers of clothing she had on, it wasn't much of a show. Yet, for some incredible reason- probably the same why he felt so pulled to this woman in the first place -watching her remove even the bulkiest sweater only to reveal another got his blood up.
Spike let his duster slide from his shoulders as Buffy got to her final layer, and walked calmly over. He draped his coat over an arm of the sofa and she looked up at him with luminescent eyes. Biting her lower lip, he caught her heartbeat accelerating again.
"Mind if I sit down?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, so he did. Moving passed her legs, barely brushing them, Spike settled in place beside her. Buffy rubbed her bare arm, the one closest to him, and he had to bite back an amused smile.
"You can take your shoes off," she said.
He bent to work on that, and then Buffy stood up. She offered him coffee before tossing her clothes into a wicker hamper, and he declined. She then offered tea, or juice, and he declined again. It seemed she reverted to waitress function when her nerves were acting up.
Finally, she took a deep breath, and said, "I would really like to shower."
Of course she would, she'd been working for over twelve hours and had yet to truly stop. "Okay."
"I don't want to leave you... to get bored or anything, I just-"
"It's fine, pet. Hop in the shower, I'll wait."
Buffy gave him a relieved smile, one gratefully devoid of anxiety, and Spike returned it with added warmth. She said she would be out shortly, and he told her there was no rush. She opened the bathroom door and disappeared inside; a minute later he could hear the shower running.
Spike sat quietly, avoiding temptation as he tried not to focus too hard. The shower was interrupted by quiet here and there, surely broken by her naked body coming between hot, falling streams. There were probably soapy bubbles foaming across her nipples, traveling down her hips and thighs, gathering between them...
Spike clenched his jaw. Cracking his neck, he stood to finish inspecting his surroundings and distract his overactive mind.
Buffy's scanty lodging didn't have much space. It wasn't cluttered. It was homey, in a way, but there were no photographs to be seen and only three DVD's below the television set. Her clothes must be hanging in the closet and inside the small dresser located against the far wall. Her bed wasn't too large, but it was big enough for two.
There wasn't much else to it than that, unless you counted aging floral wallpaper and an area rug, but Spike was nearly glad for the sparse decor. While the idea of Buffy being so... lonely, bothered him, it also meant that she might be more inclined to leave.
He shook his head roughly. Spike couldn't understand this attraction, and he couldn't for the unlife of him care about the whys either. All he cared about was her, and fortunately, Buffy seemed to be experiencing the same enticement that he was every time he looked at her.
The door to the bathroom opened, releasing a cloud of moist steam before Buffy came out wearing nothing but a towel. Her dark gold hair was dripping on the floor.
Spike stared, his mouth running dry as a tiny bead of water trailed down her throat and along her collarbone. He wanted to follow it with his tongue. "Christ."
Buffy smiled, laughing shortly. He approached her unbidden, lifting pale, inviting hands to cup her elbows and draw her body close. "You are like somethin' out of a bleeding painting."
He could see her blush in the dark. Buffy glanced away only to turn right back and meet his eyes. "You're not so bad yourself," she murmured.
She wanted to lean up and kiss him, but something told her the first contact that involved either of their mouths would be like bringing a lit match to a stick of dynamite. She reluctantly stepped back and then passed by his solid frame, moving to stand beside her dresser. There was a small window above it, and even though no one could possibly look inside due to the snow and frost covering the glass, she pulled the curtain anyway.
Butterflies flew around in her stomach as she sat on the bed, reaching for the comb she'd left on the nightstand earlier. She began working out the tangles in her hair, and could feel Spike's eyes boring into her, creating a starburst of invisible touches and tingles along her back. She heard him approaching, and her breath caught but her hands remained busy.
Methodically running first the comb, then her fingers through her wet hair, Buffy jolted when Spike caught her wrists, even though she'd both felt and heard him kneel behind her on the mattress.
"Easy, pet," he said, in a voice as thick as honey. "Let me."
The tedious motions of brushing one's hair became something entirely new right there. Spike's fingers twined gently in her wet tangles, unwinding them sweetly and with care. Her heart broke into a heated rhythm, pattering against her chest.
He spent a good while combing and stroking, long past the time when soaked strands turned damp and the knots had been tamed. Buffy's pulse calmed, and she was feeling lightheaded with pleasure as she let her towel drop; Spike's hands froze.
She smiled, then gasped when his lips pressed gently against the nape of her neck. He dropped the comb, and she placed it on the nightstand blindly, leaning fully against him when he gripped her arms. Spike's teeth danced along her throat, causing chills to spread, until a moan broke free of her mouth.
Something caught fire inside their chests. Something neither had felt in so long a time, they almost didn't recognize it.
Spike growled softly and yanked her down, letting her back hit the soft green comforter that covered the bed. He moved and spread lengthwise beside her, so they lay sideways on the mattress, wrapping one strong arm around her. He was admiring her flushed body in the darkness, every indent, each rosy nipple and shadowed curve when she spoke up.
"It's been..."
Caught off guard, Spike met Buffy's nervous eyes and frowned. "Buffy?"
"I haven't done this in a while." She looked to the ceiling.
A smirk spread across his lips. "Don't worry, love." His gaze was filled with reassurance. "I'll be happy to refresh your memory."
Then he leant down, one hand sliding across her abdomen. Her breath hitched. Pulling whimpers from her as he kissed, caressed and explored, Spike's cool mouth trailed down Buffy's throat and nipped playfully. Her back arched, his metal ringed fingers moved along her warm body, tracing every swell. Buffy's heart beat dangerously fast as the telltale sensation of fever began.
Spike's moved tauntingly, barely whispering a touch against her skin, raising goose bumps, before grabbing at her with greed. His left hand found her breast and began to play, tracing her hardening nipple with a gentleness Buffy knew had to be controlled, for his right hand gripped the back of her neck to hold her in place for rough, violating kisses that left her feeling drugged.
Dizzy and eager, the last of her nerves finally melting away, Buffy slipped eager fingers beneath Spike's tight black shirt, trailing them down his back. He pressed against her, moaning her name and breaking the kiss. Searching the lady's eyes, he asked, "Do you trust me?"
Something, anything else, and Buffy wouldn't have been shocked, because of all the things she'd thought he might say, that wasn't one of them.
It was a truly halting question, after all. Did she trust him? He was a stranger. She was pretty sure she may have alluded to putting faith in him already, and the man had saved her life, but even such a fact couldn't strip away all common sense. He was still a mystery... sort of. And he wasn't a man... well, that bulge in his jeans said otherwise, but hardly the point. He was something inhuman; she remembered him telling her so.
Yet she'd believed him, hadn't she? Of course, there was proof- or at least supporting evidence -that could fend off most doubts, but there still had to be an overlay of trust in this relationship to believe what he'd said. To believe anything he told her.
Trust was necessary for Buffy to have let him touch her at all, but why was he asking for it?
"Yes," she answered, still frowning with uncertainty.
Spike practically read her frantic mind. "Do you trust me?" he repeated.
She became frustrated, and not in the physical sense, though she did start absently rubbing her thighs together. "I just said I did. What else do you want, a signed document?"
He sighed. "You know m'not human, love."
She blinked, then offered a slight nod once she understood. "I still trust you, and I don't really care what you are."
Maybe he'd expected an admittance of faith, even though Spike still wasn't sure why he'd cared enough to ask for it, but pure acceptance had never been expected, and certainly not hoped for. He tilted his head. "Why?"
She scowled at his question, then, in a very clear and sharp tone, said, "You saved my life. And I..." He beseeched silently when she froze, so Buffy swallowed her frustration. "I feel like... I need you," she whispered.
Spike glanced at her bared throat. It was strange how much he wanted to make sure this woman stayed alive. "Good enough," he grunted, tossing any other deep emotions he may be feeling to the wayside.
For now.
There was a very beautiful, very naked lady waiting on him, and she shouldn't have to be patient any longer; neither of them should.
His lips claimed hers once more, and it was like a gun had fired. The race began all over again, a rapid heartbeat striving to catch up with the swirling, giddy emotions galloping through her chest. His cold hands shaped her, molding Buffy's body like clay as she arched and pressed into him. Spike sat up momentarily to throw off his T-shirt, and she worked on removing his belt at the same time, tearing at it with uncharacteristic boldness.
Buffy wasn't timid, and certainly not demure, but she had never experienced sex with someone she couldn't also depend upon to be grounded, soft and gentle with her. Spike was anything but those things, from his hard abs to his leather coat, to the edges of his face; the only thing gentle about him was his sensual lips, and even those liked to maul.
Not that she was complaining.
She welcomed his weight when he fell into her open arms, biting her throat as he moved an impatient, brazen hand to the valley between her legs. Buffy whimpered, lifting hips up to catch him. She sighed as he circled her clit and began pressing moist kisses to her already reddened breasts, making her shiver. His teasing fingers quickly rid her of any remaining inhibitions.
Buffy's heels found the backs of his thighs and dug in, pulling him closer. Spike suckled and left behind teeth marks on her breasts while his left hand worked her over, slipping one, then two fingers inside her body, curling and withdrawing. Each deep thrust pulled moans and sighs from her open mouth.
She was made of poetry, every sound, every move, and his whole body tensed with impatience. He was hard and throbbing, silently begging entrance to her overheated body but similarly loathe to stop touching her any way she would allow; Spike wanted to worship her.
Buffy gasped when suddenly she was pulled up and repositioned, her head placed on the pillows near the wall. There was no headboard, and for the fact she lived in a hotel where many guests stayed every day, Buffy felt it was probably a good thing.
The damp towel she'd worn was pushed to the floor. Spike kneeled above her, his eyes dark and ribs expanding. Her muscles felt molten and her thighs were moist, the air felt chilly on her skin; when she realized he was finally removing his jeans, Buffy was unashamedly relieved.
Fast, and visibly annoyed with the chore, Spike slipped back into bed the second the denim hit the floor. He lifted the covers and draped them over their bodies, and immediately, she felt grateful, for there was an added dose of intimacy now that somehow felt right.
Fire in his touch made her instantly warm. It sounded awful and cliché, but she felt it, and her body curled around his beseechingly. Her ankles brushed along his calves. Spike's hand found the curve of her ass, stroking it while their tongues met again in a duel for something neither could name. A fight for dominance, maybe, except Buffy was basking in the control Spike seemed to want to take, and she melted at the mere order of a caress.
He pushed against her belly, groaning as the sensation of her warm skin along the underside of his cock sent heat through dead veins. She gasped into his mouth, carelessly bowing her back.
Her bee-stung lips made his body throb every time he looked at them. Buffy squeezed his arms and Spike noted idly that he could barely feel it, despite her white knuckled grip. He could barely feel anything but the warmth. "Are- Are you-" Her stutter caught him short, and Spike waited patiently for her to finish. It wasn't his fault that his hand was still kneading the softness of her ass; really, resisting the urge was pointless. "Shouldn't we use protection?" she asked.
Spike tried very hard not to chuckle. He only hoped Buffy would believe what he told her. "Don't need it, love." She gave him a funny look, as expected. "Not human. Don't have any live swimmers, or diseases."
She frowned hard. "B-but-" She glanced between them. "You're-"
He did laugh then. "S'all painless, sweets. No repercussions even though the parts are all in workin' order. Rather a nice predicament. Don' have to worry overly much."
Buffy met his eyes again, and he saw trust there. Whether or not she felt it was another thing. "Oh."
That was all she said. Understanding was clear. Except, he was worried tension might invade their intimacy, so he attempted to curb it. "If it makes you feel better, I could suit up-" She cut him off with a kiss.
It was a kiss that melted brain cells, it was, and Spike gladly announced his surrender in the form of a groan. He cupped the back of her head, shivering as Buffy's hands danced over him with intent, her nails scoring his back, and her hips rolling against his cock. The heat from her pussy was teasing him, beckoning like a warm home to enter, to slide to the hilt inside. The sensation of her heartbeat echoing across his cold chest made him lose all restraint, and without the merest warning he shoved her flat onto her back.
Holding himself up, Spike pinned her wrists, then dove right back in. He never let up on the kiss, reveling in her taste, in the sweetness, the wildness. The abandonment of everything but this feeling.
He slipped his hips between her thighs and nearly glided inside right then, but when he broke away Buffy said his name like an angel and all Spike could do was force himself to breathe with her, to focus on her heartbeat. All he could hear or smell or see, was her. The room had disappeared some time ago. With a deep moan, he began spreading kisses down her writhing body, tonguing her nipples on an eager route south.
She was whimpering and it drove him crazy, the sound fueling his lust. Her breath hitched and Buffy started to shake with anticipation. Her thighs spread unintentionally, making room for Spike's body, hands, his rolling hips. But he just moved lower, creating a path of bite marks and kisses. Her patience had long since left her and sweat pooled everywhere.
Spike grabbed her legs, pushing until her ankles were high. Buffy's hands, now free, lifted to touch him. Her fingers ran through bleached curls, soft as silk, and a vibration strolled across his skin. Spike kissed her inner thigh before licking her center, and growling at the scent that made his gums itch.
Buffy's gasp of shock dissolved into a moan, and then something which sounded like his name coated in a whimper as sweet as chocolate. She had no shame left, and if she did, Spike banished the rest when he took her clit into his mouth and sucked. Buffy lifted her hips unthinkingly and he forced them still.
Spike licked once again, growling around her wet flesh, nipping the plump, aroused petals until all her senses blurred. Eventually, when her cries echoed around her own mind like butterflies, he dipped his tongue inside her. Then, plunged.
Buffy's actions were out of control, her hips futilely trying to rise beneath his iron grip. Spike finally let go to finger her clit as he drank boldly from her body, licking her pussy clean and yet wetter. Driving her insane with need, and yet answering every one.
Spike swallowed warm, tangy mouthfuls, savoring her flavor. She was as rich as cinnamon. His lips shined when he pulled back to flick her clit with the point of his tongue, curling two fingers inside her heat and massaging the warm muscles; Buffy's shout was desperate and addicting.
Spike hummed against her sensitive pearl. "Shh, baby. Don' want the neighbors to complain, do we?"
You could hear that sinful smirk. "D-Don't-" She gasped again. "Spike! Please, ohh-" Her hips lifted high again and Spike held them above the mattress as he ate her out, moaning, swallowing with blatant hunger. His rushing breaths flew across her damp thighs. "What d'you want, Buffy? Tell me."
She shook her head, hips gyrating beneath his hand as he lowered her back to the bed, his fingers sliding in and out of her drenched core once again. "I want you. Please." He growled before taking her clit into his mouth like he enjoyed hearing her scream. "Oh God!"
Spike didn't stop, didn't let up until he felt her walls clench around his fingers and a moan rattled through Buffy's throat, music to his ears. She was like an ocean, waving and keening atop the bed sheets; he couldn't take his eyes off her. He didn't move from his place between her legs until the muscles in them softened and her ankles fell. Then, he rose.
He slid across her body, her nipples grazing his bare skin and hardening every muscle in his back. Spike met Buffy's blackened forest eyes before pressing his lips to hers, his breathing heavy. "Need to feel you around me. Beneath me," he murmured roughly. "I crave it."
Buffy's chest hurt from the urgent beat of her heart, but the pain was nothing compared to the want in his voice, to the desire in his eyes. She had gotten her chance to see the stars, but not with him inside her; she wanted that. "I crave... you." She stretched her courage with the admission, then wrapped her legs around Spike's waist. "I need you."
He growled very lowly as his cock pushed slowly into her tight sheath, heavy and thick; her pleasured gasp broke the silence.
Buffy threw her head back, and Spike pulled out on a strangled moan. She gasped again when he returned. "Oh, my God."
He withdrew once more, then felt her thighs clench around his waist. *Baby wants me close, does she?* He plunged back inside, this time grinding against her body with his own, stroking her sensitive clit on deep, rocking strokes that sent vibrations down his spine.
She called his name, lifting for every move he made. Her head was thrown back, lying amongst the pillows as moans spilled from her lips like a poem. *She's magnificent,* he thought, grabbing her ass to pull her into his rolling thrusts. "Buffy..."
They collided, moved like old lovers. Skin grew slick, and Buffy burned him up from the inside out. The chill in the room turned to steam as she gave him everything she had, taking Spike's bruising kisses and thrusts as payment. His cock filled her up, his touch made her blood race, and noises were leaving her that she'd never known she could make.
He made her yearn, even when he pulled out for moments that were one second too long for him to go, then she was lost in heaven each time he returned.
Buffy clenched her inner muscles around his cock as he twisted his hips just so and her body ached with pleasure. "Harder," she breathed into his ear, grunting when he suckled at her throat again, "Fuck, Spike..." Her moans got louder.
Spike's jaw tightened and he fought off the desire to lose control. Not yet. She was squeezing him from the inside, burning him alive, and all he could do was melt. He didn't want it to end. "Don' hold back. Bloody hell- Love bein' inside you." Her nails found his ass and ran up, scratching his skin. "C'mon, baby, squeeze me, yeah-" He let out a harsh growl when her teeth found his neck, biting hard so her whimpers turned muffled. "Bleeding fuck, that's right! That's my girl. Make it hurt- Buffy!"
She couldn't control herself anymore. Her pussy was clenching with every thrust he gave and her legs felt wooden with tension, her heart was drumming in her ears and he'd said make it hurt. Buffy bit fiercely down then released his skin, shouting her pleasure in the form of his name as she climaxed, her body trembling. Muscles fluttered around his cock as Spike rolled against her throbbing clit. Her name had never sounded so free as when he snarled it behind her ear, and she felt his orgasm within.
Spike toppled to the mattress once the last jolt ran through them, and Buffy started to float back down like a feather on the wind. He lay on her right side, his tired hand stroking along her belly before gently pulling her in close. Buffy curled against him.
She opened her eyes after a few minutes, and found him staring. "Wow," she breathed.
"I'll bloody say." He smirked, and then somehow, those aftershocks she was feeling lit up like fresh sparkler flashes. Buffy would have been worried if Spike didn't trail a hand down her back to grasp her ass again, before pulling her forward to smoothly nudge himself between her legs. She felt gentle hardness teasing her tired body, and looked at him in astonishment. "You- You just-" She glanced at his hardening cock. "You're either on something, or definitely not human."
Spike laughed abruptly, and Buffy's mouth snapped shut. Her cheeks turned red like candied apples, and Spike felt himself falling. Giddiness and warmth spread through him like the lust quickly rebuilding. "S'another... perk, from bein' what I am," he said with a quirk of a brow. She continued to stare with those embarrassed hazel green eyes. "Care to see which one of us can wear the other out first, kitten?"
Buffy felt that telltale jolt in her blood again, the same one that caused her to gulp and stifle another whimper. A smile was her chosen answer, so Spike pulled her flush against him as their mouths met yet again in a wet, chaotic kiss.
This time, he rolled so Buffy was on top of him, her breasts flat against his chest and her pussy sliding along his thigh. She moved like a siren's song, her kisses drugging him until he had her hair in his fingers. He tugged so he could chart kisses down her neck like a line of purple stars.
Buffy moaned and dug into his shoulders, gasping in surprise when he sat up and aligned her drenched opening with his cock. Wetness pooled and moisture crept down her inner thighs as he teased her slit, but he kept her from gliding down, instead wrapping an arm about her waist to hold her still. "Spike- I- I want-"
"Know what you want, love. Want me inside again, right?" His breath whispered across her neck, his nostrils flaring. "You want me pounding into your tight quim. Want me so deep inside I can never leave."
She replied with a hoarse, incoherent moan, and Spike smiled evilly, his eyes as black as night. "Never want to leave either, baby. Would stay in here forever if I..." Slowly, he guided her body down onto his cock, her pussy swallowing him until he was as deep as he could get.
Spike never finished his sentence, and Buffy was almost glad for it. Because if he did, then she might ask him to stay. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and let go of reality, moving atop Spike's lap freely as he caused goose bumps to break out over her skin like pushpins on a map. He followed them with his tongue and traced her nipples, licking them into soft points he bit and bruised. Buffy rocked her hips slowly, lifting to feel his cock slide between her clenching muscles, gyrating shamelessly and knowing he was watching.
Shivering for the friction, she moved faster, and felt the heat creeping up on her, the scent of fire in the distance. Buffy moaned as he took her body in his hands, guiding her, keeping her close. Tugging on her hair again, he bared her throat and latched onto it. She pushed herself down harder. Whimpers escaped her lips like a bird's song as her hips moved furiously to stoke the flames. "Oh, yes, yes..." Her thoughts scattered, and just like that, she fell.
No warning, no starting shot, just bliss spilling through her senses like a slow bleed. Buffy shouted and Spike urged her on, claiming she was breathtaking, forced her to keep moving, rocking her hips as his cock stabbed gently inside. "Bloody hell," he cursed. He was gasping against her cheek as she worked herself off, and then suddenly, she felt vibration in Spike's chest as a snarl harsher than a blizzard wind flew passed her ear.
His hips slammed up, his cock piercing deep before he spilled himself inside her, and Buffy moaned in completion, her heart beating a mile a minute as she finally fell into his arms, sweaty and replete.
Spike dropped and hit the mattress, Buffy wrapped in his arms. Their exhaustion combined with shaky gasps and melting bones, until the lovers fell unbidden into sleep.
Their bodies remained one through the hours.
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END NOTES:
I love reviews, and would really adore some feedback on the lusty scenes in this story. I hope this chapter was enjoyed!
P.S. If it hasn't already come across as appallingly apparent, this fic is basically going to be porn with very little plot. ;)
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