At the foot of the bed, she gazed down at his feet, pulling his feet apart, sliding her hands up his calves, lightly scratching her nails at the back of his knee, dropping her eyes and looking up through her lashes. He wondered if she was deliberately looking innocent, which was quite an accomplishment, as she sat naked between his legs. He didn't get time to ask her, however. She got up and walked around the side of the bed, still looking serious, almost dreamy, hopping up beside him on the bed and looking down on him for several minutes. He tensed, wondering what was coming, remembering what he'd done to her, and wondering if now was payback.
What he wasn't expecting was the kiss that he got; sweet, almost virginal, soft and so light it was almost too little. He changed his mind as she relaxed into it, her body melting to his, bit by bit, till she was lying on him, her hands roaming over his body.
It began to dawn on him slowly that she had a different goal in mind than he had. She started kissing her way over his body, licking and biting just lightly down his chest, kissing the marks she'd left on him earlier. He wondered if she'd ever done this with any of her boyfriends; he rather suspected not. Unlike his tactic of avoiding her erogenous zones until they both couldn't stand it, she zeroed in on his nipples, the inside of his thighs, and his dick. She wriggled on top of him, her breasts pressing into his stomach, then his chest, as she dragged herself back to his mouth and gave him a kiss that went straight down his nerve endings to his burgeoning erection. She was sliding her hands up and down his arms, down his sides, fingering thoughtfully the muscles on his sides, his chest, stroking them in an oddly catlike way. All the time, the heat of her body burned into him, and he could feel how aroused she herself was. He bent his legs, trying to wrap himself around her like she did him, but she continued working her way down his body, looking into his eyes, thrusting her tongue into his belly button, before meandering further south between his legs and settling herself in on her side.
He still didn't know quite what was going on; she was being so gentle, and he'd expected ferocity. She handled him as if she were afraid he'd break, tracing the veins on his penis, then licking it as if it were candy, tracing the veins with her tongue like lines on a map. And then he stopped thinking....
It was delicate and fierce both, her tongue and her mouth unnaturally hot, her hands preternaturally gentle. The Slayer, who'd once been the only opponent to truly scare him, had somehow metamorphosized into elements that defied his definition. Heat and liquid, pressure and weight, all beyond his control and description. Her hands were gentle and possessive, saying everything she couldn't, and his last lucid thought was that it wasn't a bad trade. Not when his hips had begun gentle, small movements, and her mouth had not relented. He kept opening his eyes to find hers fixed upon his, and he wanted so desperately to touch her that it was frustration crystallized rather than frustration released that spurred him on. He couldn't help it, his breaths shrinking into gasps, his back arching like a bow; "Oh, God, Buffy...! Oh God, oh, God..." And then even breathing itself became a struggle, and he couldn't remember if he was human or not. Didn't only humans feel such things, such vulnerability? He was still a vampire, after all, but as his breathing slowed from gasps to even tempo, he wondered. He looked down at her, curled up between his legs, and wondered more. Had it been like this? When? As a human, he'd been hopeless, but now... He felt hope, and it was like a shock to his system. Maybe it wasn't his heart that needed reviving.
She bit her lip, watching him recuperate, and then pulled herself up between his legs, and crawled up his body till she was poised over his penis. With her legs on either side of him, her hands bracing herself on his chest, she settled herself on his insanely sensitive dick and made herself comfortable...but not him. She was burning him with her heat, and he hadn't recovered himself enough to do anything about it.
She leaned forward then, and with a sense of impending doom, he tried to reach up and meet her mouth. Now he understood the sash, the restraint. She didn't trust herself; it wasn't him that needed the restraint, it was her.
She kissed him, then, another one of those gentle, savoring kisses, sighing into his mouth, hands working through his hair, tongue meeting his own. He could feel how aroused she was, the pulse beating between her legs and reverberating through his flesh. She pulled back slowly, settling her weight on his penis, moving just a bit, back and forth, her wet flesh moving up and down his length, and he was amazed. He wasn't erect; but that was going to change really fast if she kept doing that. She was wriggling on top of the head of his penis in earnest now, the ridge hitting her in all the right places. He had to close his eyes as she slowly rubbed against him, her breasts too far away, but too much to see and not have. In the frenzy that much of their encounters became, he hadn't had much time to just appreciate how the sight of her affected him, but now he did, and he drank it in, knowing that it would probably be a couple of days before he saw enough of her again. She was a small girl, made smaller by the leanness of muscle, her body lightly dotted with scars, an especially nasty one low on her left side.
"Something nasty got a taste of you." Hoist by my own petard yet again, he thought wryly. Looking at her, however fun it was, though, wasn't the same as holding her, and he knew he could rip the sash off. He'd had however long since she'd tied him up, and as much fun as it was watching her, the best thing of all was feeling as much of her as he could enclose in his arms and hands. It wasn't enough to see her.
She stopped, froze, looking down at him, then slowly reached out and pulled the sash free. He rubbed his wrists, looking up at her, and she slipped off of him, down his legs, but he stopped her, pulling her up till she was on top of him, staring into his eyes as if she'd been caught at something illegal. He slid his own hand down her body, rolling her over so he could concentrate on his task, then slipping his hand between her legs. At that, she closed her eyes, and made a sound that shivered straight through his body. He was abruptly hard, and she felt it, too, because she bent her knee and tried to pull him over on top of her.
"Ah ah ah." He whispered. "This is yours..." He thought wryly; not even necessary, either; if she kept looking at him like that, he'd explode some time soon anyway. Oh, God, she was wet and tender, and he wanted to dive between her legs and taste her till he'd melted her bones. But the same voice that nagged him about her also pointed out that this was different. He needed to look into her eyes. "Look at me, luv. Let me see you." And then he didn't look away, not even when she reached out and grabbed his shoulders, not even when she spread her legs, as if she were trying to escape those tormenting fingers -- or make sure they didn't miss a single spot. Not even when she grabbed him to her, kissing him desperately, biting her lip between kisses, trying to stop the sounds in her throat. Not even when she came, silently, barely moving, looking into his eyes, rocking gently, the way people do when they're wading in the ocean and a wave hits them. But the waves stopped and she couldn't stop looking.
Continued in Chapter 13