All About Spike

Chapter: 1  2  3  4

The Games We Play
By Mezz

A/N: Many, many thanks to my wonderful betas: Moose, Ellen and Alanna!

Chapter 4, Part 1 - Chocolate

The wait seems interminable. I agreed to meet her outside so she could tell her friends she was leaving, but it's already been fifteen minutes and she still hasn't come out. Perhaps her friends have talked her into staying, or more likely she's changed her mind.

Five ciggies in fifteen minutes.

Maybe a few more minutes before I leave. Or should I stay and wait? Great, she's making me sound like a bad cover of The Clash. I have such plans for us if she would only show up.


Why won't they accept that I'm tired and I want to go home? Ok, that's a lie, but they don't know that. To them, I've been working all day, and I had a bad emotional moment with my sister. So why wouldn't I want to go home?

Of course, if they knew that I'd just had sex with a member of the undead and am planning on going back to his crypt for a lot more sex, then I could understand them complaining. But they don't know that.

"Look guys. I'm beat, and you all are having a great time. I don't want to bring you down."

Willow immediately jumped into the breach, trying to placate me. "You're not bringing us down. We're all here making with the merry! See, I have on my happy face!"

"I know, Will. But, see, I'm wearing my tired face. And I don't see it turning merry any time soon."

God, would this conversation ever be over? Why do I have to explain my every action? I just want to go home. Well, go home with Spike.

We continue to talk around the issue except Anya though. She really doesn't care one way or the other. Sometimes I like her more than my best friends. I finally convince them that I really am tired, and no, I don't mind going home alone, and I will see them tomorrow.



One more cigarette and then I'm definitely leaving. Obviously she's not going to -

"You're here." Trying for relaxed nonchalance, and probably failing. I know my limitations.

With advent of the instamatic camera, in the early seventies, Dru and I spent many happy hours taking pictures of each other. She loved to capture my different facial expressions and it gave me a chance to see which ones worked and which didn't. And now Buffy stands before me, and her smirk is eerily reminiscent of mine. "You didn't think I was going to show, did you?"

Oh ho. Two can play at this game. Extending my arms out from my side and turning in a circle, I say, "Would you miss out on this? I don't think so."

She snorts, which is never a pretty sound, but I soon forget to care as she pushes me against the alley wall, her mouth attacking mine. The kiss is voracious. The desire, which had abated slightly, has returns in full force. I want to slam her against this wall and have her here, listening to her screaming her pleasure to anyone within hearing distance.

She pulls away, tugging on my hand. "Crypt. Now."

No complaints here. Hand in hand, we race across Sunnydale, black and white figures streaking through the night. There is freedom here, and laughter and joy. These are the things I want from her.

We reach my crypt and as soon as we cross the threshold, she is in my arms; her legs wrapped tightly around my hips, her hands tugging at my hair and her lips kissing mine. I try to move us across the room, but furniture and columns keep getting in my way. I had wanted to take her down to my bed, but here is as good a place as any.


I can't get enough of him. I want to dive deeper, embracing my freedom. Dawn is at a friend's house, so no worries there. I don't have to be a sister or a friend tonight. I can throw off the shackles of responsibility and just have fun!

He moans as I draw back and set my feet on the ground. I walk away from him, my hips swaying. I feel saucy and seductive. Looking at him over my shoulder, I say, "I thought we might use the bed tonight." His eyes light up, and he is by my side before I can blink.

"Whatever you want, kitten." A voice filled with erotic promise. I climb down the ladder in what I hope is a graceful and seductive manner. He doesn't bother with it, simply jumping down to the lower level. He lands in front of me and walks me back towards the bed. "What does my lady desire tonight?"

Biting my lip, and peering at him through my eyelashes, I think about his question. What do I want? Hmm. "What do I want?" Suddenly I know. Throwing my arms in the air, laughing, I allow myself to fall back on the bed. "I want smut, smut, smut!"

A wide, happy smile covers his face. "Smut I can definitely do." A startled yelp escapes me as he pounces on me. He peppers my face with small kisses, which elicit a joy I haven't felt in ages. It forms in my stomach and bubbles forth, pouring out of my mouth as laughter.

He rolls off me and rummages around in the corner.

"Aha!" he exclaims, as he pulls a box out and sets it on the bed.

Curious, I peer into the box. I sit back stunned. "Umm. Wow. That's, ah, quite a collection you have there."

"Now don't be shy, kitten. Take a peek. Pick out what you like. I got them all just for you."

"What I like?" My voice comes out much squeakier that I had wanted. Tentatively, I move closer. With Spike's continuing encouragement, I blindly reach in and grab the first thing. An 'eep' escapes me when I see what I am holding in my hand. I had no idea that there were such things out there.

"Is this what I think it's for?" My voice embarrassingly rises an octave. "Just what do you think it is?" He gives me his standard bad boy look, the one I can't ever seem to resist.

"Um, I think I know where this part goes, but what am I supposed to do with it? I mean you wouldn't, um, want me to do that to you? Would you? I didn't think you were into that kind of thing. You know, with Dru and Harmony, I just figured that." I sit back, unable to form the proper words. Are there people out there who can discuss things like this without stammering and blushing?

"Listen love, there's nothing that I wouldn't want to do with you." Yes, but this? "Why don't you see what else is in there."

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea." Definitely a good idea, I mumble to myself. Of course, he hears me, stupid vamp hearing. His chuckle follows me as I reach into the box again and find myself staring at a.vibrator? "Spike, what do you need one of these for?"

"It's not for me. It's for us. Or more specifically, for you."

"But why would we need it if there are two of us?"

He sighs dramatically. "The guys you've been with really haven't taught you anything, have they?" Wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger, he tugs me closer to him. "Lucky you though. We're going to have a grand old time."


I wish I had had a camera to record her face when she looked into the box. I'm surprised she hasn't asked me where I got all these things. Perhaps once the shock wears off she will. And will I tell her the truth? Will I tell her that I did a little unauthorized, late night browsing at Adam and Eve? Maybe not. But I can at least assure her they're all new and have never been used.

She wants smut? Fun? Playtime? I can give all of those to her. But where to start? The Nexus seems to have shaken her. I need to soothe her, lull her into a feeling of comfort.

I am inherently a hunter, a predator. I watch, perceive weaknesses and then attack. I will have her desires and fears laid bare for me. She will not be able to hide beneath a cloak of indifference.

Bloody hell, I sound like William. My consolation is that he would never have known what to do with a willing woman in his bed.

She's lounging on the sheets, staring up at me. Her lashes veil her eyes, but the look is intense. I forget that she, too, watches and hunts.

I grab the box and put it on the floor, out of her view, deliberately trying to relax her. "I think we'll start somewhere else, love. But first, I do believe that one of us has on too many clothes." I run my finger along the neckline of her shirt. "Why don't we remedy that?"

My hands slide down her torso and grip the hem of her shirt. Slowly I pull the fabric up and off. She arches her back to assist me, which conveniently puts her breasts near my face. She pouts a bit when I don't take advantage of their proximity. I guide her onto her stomach so I can remove her skirt.

I sigh at the expanse of skin before me. Her back is a map of the desert. Her vertebrae are ripples in the sun washed sand, her shoulder blades are dunes. Her muscles undulate when I touch her, causing the landscape to swell and shift. I could get lost here, never missing what I had left behind.

Her skin peeks through as I lower the zipper of her skirt. It is this part of her body, the small of her back, that I love the most. This slight concavity is practically virginal territory. Few have seen it, touched it; most probably never think about it. But I do. And with my lips and tongue, I claim it as my own.

She is gloriously naked as I urge her onto her back again, but she's so still beneath me. At first, I'm afraid that she has pulled inward, disappearing into her silent shell. But it's not that at all. Her mouth is open slightly, her tongue darting out at intervals to moisten her lips. Her breathing is increasingly rapid, her eyes, glassy with desire.

All this and we've barely begun. What a night it's going to be!


He kisses me softly. "Stay here, love. Don't move." Right, like I was going to. I feel exposed lying here on his bed, my arms and legs positioned just so. I once saw a show on Picasso's models, how he would pose and then paint them. The idea sounded so exotic that I wanted to run off to Spain or France and live on wine and bread and cheese. And now here I am in the bed of the undead. He has spent in inordinate amount of time laying my arms out so that my hands are near my head with one leg bent, and the other extended. Did Picasso do the same thing? This is the closest, I think, that I'll ever come to those countries and that carefree life.

He has this look about him. Something's up. Ooh, bad pun, Buffy! He's moved to his microwave and has put something in to heat. It had better not be blood. That is most definitely not the sort of foreplay I'd envisioned.

"What are you doing?"

As the microwave hums, he walks back towards me, hypnotically removing his clothes. I bet he could make a fortune stripping. I know I'd be happy to slip a few dollars into his g-string.

"It's a surprise," he tells me. "You are going to love this, kitten." His voice is husky, full of wordless promises. I believe him.

The microwave finishes its cycle, and he walks over and removes something that looks like a ceramic jar. He dips his finger in it and swirls it around. His finger comes out coated in something dark, but I can't tell what it is. He moves his finger to my lips, rubbing gently, seeking entrance. I open my mouth and his finger slips in. I suck on it and the taste explodes on my tongue. Oh my God! Is that what I think it is?

"Like that, love?"

"Mmm. Chocolate."

"Not just chocolate. Belgian chocolate. Want some more?" I nod my head yes.

With his eyes on me, he dips his finger again, but this time brings it to his own mouth. I am entranced by the way his lips close around his finger. Wait! What about me? I want more. He must have read my mind because he leans over me, placing his mouth on mine, his tongue sliding along mine, coating it in chocolate. I moan in chocolate induced ecstasy. I suck on his tongue, trying to capture every last bit.

Mmm. This gives new meaning to 'chocolate kisses'. Leaning back, he smiles at me. "More?"

"Oh, yes."

Chuckling, he asks, "More of the chocolate or more of me?"

Tough decision. "Can't I have both?"

"Greedy. I like that in a woman. Now I want you to just lie back and think of England."

Huh? "Huh?"

"Sorry love, old saying. Now just lie back and let ol' Spike here take care of you." He lifts what looks like a Chinese calligraphy brush from his nightstand. Huh? He dips it in the chocolate and brings it to his mouth, licking it clean.

"Do you know any Neruda?" he asks me.


"Neruda. Famous poet. Very erotic." The brush is back in the jar and he's swirling it around. "He writes of love and passion."


"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair," he quotes.

He removes the brush and lowers it to my body. The chocolate is deliciously warm against my skin. I look down and see that he is writing something diagonally across my stomach. I follow the letters and realize that the word 'crave' now decorates my skin. Oh!

"Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets."

His voice is low and seductive as the word 'prowl' is drawn on my inner arm. The soft bristles on the brush play across my skin.

"Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps."

His eyes, filled with such intense desire, burn into mine. He beckons me, calling me forth to join him as he writes 'hunt' across my right breast.

"I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest"

'Hunger' across my left breast. 'Savage' on my lower stomach right above my pubic bone. I can't help but feel the words are appropriate. My lover is sleek and savage. My lover. The word tumbles in my mind and resonates like the chocolate on my tongue. My lover, not my boyfriend. The term boyfriend implies sweet kisses and happy smiles. Lover, on the other hand, suggests darker desires.

Somehow in the span of time from our first kiss to now, I have leapt from childhood to.what? Adulthood? Do other people do this? Are they filled with an all-consuming need as their 'lover' draws words of desire in chocolate on their skin?

"Hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond."

'Eat' is drawn on my other arm. I watch as the brush moves on my skin. My body trembles at the sensation.

"I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes."

'Lovely' graces the skin under my breasts. He tugs on his bottom lip as he slowly brushes the word on my skin. I do feel lovely. And cherished under his careful ministrations.

"And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue."

'Hungry' is drawn on my left inner thigh, 'hunting' on the right one. The words are no longer just letters put together. They are brands, which sear my skin, seeping through to my blood, altering it. Making it more like his.

He sits back with a satisfied look on his face. "That, my dear, is Neruda."


She swallows and says casually, "Great poet." She lies languorously in my bed, my masterpiece drawn on her body. "Although that whole bit about the eating my skin like an almond. Can I just say 'ewww.'"

Her eyes are lambent and her lips wanting. I can't help myself; I dip my finger into the chocolate and bring it to her mouth. She sucks vigorously. I wonder if I were to coat other parts of my body in chocolate, would she react the same way? Definitely something to try later.

She looks so beautiful and wanton, stretched out on my bed. I would love to take a picture of her like this, to capture the memory of this moment for eternity. But I don't think she'd agree. In fact, I think she would have some very strenuous objections. Oh well, it was just a thought.

I crawl over her, my body a hairsbreadth away from hers. "Now comes the fun part."

"The fun part?"

"Now I get to lick you clean."

Her mouth opens in a silent "O" and I can't resist moving in for a kiss. Our lips meet hungrily, but I draw back as her body arches towards me. Don't want to smear my work. At least not yet.

Our eyes locked, I bring my mouth to her left arm. Her head falls back and she moans as I slowly lick the chocolate off of her. I shift to her other arm, my tongue touches her skin, and she releases my name on a sigh.

Unable to resist, I move back to her mouth and kiss her again. Her tongue rubs against mine, capturing all the last traces of chocolate.

I slide down her body to just below her breasts. Her body hums as my mouth moves against her. I can feel her blood rising to the surface, enhancing the taste of her skin. Such a beautiful combination.

"Please, Spike." Her voice is a whisper and I smile. I love hearing her call my name, begging me for pleasure. My mouth moves to her breast, and I carefully lick every bit of chocolate from her skin, leaving her nipple woefully unattended. A sorrowful whimper reaches my ears.

I say her name and when her eyes meet mine, I extend my tongue, lightly licking her nipple. Her gasp is my reward. I cover the bud with my mouth and suck greedily. She undulates beneath me, her body trying to press against mine. I pull back, knowing that if I give in now, the game will be lost. I will be sunk in the depths of her desire.

Moving to her other breast, I repeat the same process. She cries out 'oh God!' but there is no god here but me. I am in command of her pleasure.

"No, no more." Her head thrashes on the pillow and her voice is plaintive, on the edge of distress. I move up her body, lying on my side, facing her. My fingers stroke the sensitive skin between her breasts, attempting to soothe her.

She looks at me with wide, desire filled eyes. Her pupils are dilated, her color high on her skin, her lips parted and trembling.

"What's wrong, kitten?"

"It''s just." Her hesitant voice squeezes my heart. This is my Slayer. She should be strong, confident, not trembling. Her eyes fill and I capture, with my mouth, a salty tear, that escapes from the corner of her eye. "It's." There is a new catch in her voice, and she presses her lips together to stifle a sob.

"Shh, love." I lay my hand on her forehead, and stroke down her cheek. She turns her head, her lips pressing against my palm.

"It's so much. What I feel, what I want." Her eyes are imploring. "I'm scared." The words are whispered in the tone of a young girl, afraid of the dark. Was she this child once? Did she curl up at night, worrying about the nasties under the bed? Was the confidence and strength I see in her, won on a battlefield of chemically enhanced grass and marble headstones?

I know how hard it was for her to say this. We're both fighters. One moment of weakness, and either of us could lose our edge and our lives. This anguished voice reminds me that she is nearly an innocent. Who among her previous lovers has ever taken the time to teach her to embrace her desires?

What words can I utter to assuage her fears and doubts? If ever there was a time when William the Bloody Poet was needed to make a grand entrance, it is now. What words could he capture from the heavens that would comfort her. Honestly, I don't know. William is not here, only I am.

My hand caresses her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her lips. "Here in this bed, with me, you're free. You can take anything you desire, have everything you want. There are no boundaries for us. We strive, we seek, we find and we do not yield."

Her face is set in a moment of indecision, and then a small smile plays at the edges of her mouth. I relax into my own smile, my mouth teasing hers. The kisses become harder, more frantic, as her desire returns.

My mouth resumes its journey, traversing her skin in wanton kisses. I reach the word 'savage' and begin to lick my work. Her hips arch, unconsciously trying to urge me lower. All in good time.

My head moves between her legs and they fall open, welcoming me. "I hunger for you," I murmur against her inner thigh. Her head thrashes and frantic sounds escape her lips. She freezes as my face brushes her center, and then moans as I continue to her other thigh. The scent of her arousal intoxicates me and all I want to do is drink deeply of her.

"Spike, please." I suck on the tender skin before me, which elicits another moan. "Please, I need you. Don't make me wait any longer." Her litany of words washes over me and I succumb.

I turn my face back to her center and inhale her fragrance. My tongue extends and licks her gently. Another moan and then she is pushing herself against my face, begging for more. Who am I to deny her? Gone is any sense of delicacy. I am feasting on her with lips and tongue. My mouth captures that wonderful little bundle of nerves that has no purpose except to bring her pleasure. Her body arches, her cries reaching a crescendo. She freezes and then she comes against my face, my mouth absorbing every last bit of her. This is far more delicious than the chocolate, even if it is from Belgium.

Her hands are in my hair, tugging me towards her. I rise up and slam into her. I can never seem to enter her slowly. Always by this point, I am frantic with my own need. I am flexing and thrusting within her, my mouth ravaging hers. I swallow her cries, my own falling into her mouth. Her legs tighten around me and I can feel her muscles beginning to spasm around me. My movements grow harder, more erratic. All I can think about is joining her. Her mouth tears away from mine, and she screams my name as she reaches her climax. I rear back, thrusting wildly, various curses escaping my mouth. Yes, yes. At long last, I am here. Her name explodes from my lips as my body finds its release within her.

I collapse on top of her, my harsh pants matching her own. Several 'oh gods' escape me and I laugh, remembering when I declared myself her god. I had it wrong. She is my deity, and I will be happy to worship her forever.

"That was!"

I smile as I cover her face in grateful kisses. "Yes, kitten, it was wow!"

She stretches beneath me and I move off her, leaving my leg and arm to anchor her to my bed and body. Her hand traces my cheeks and lips.

Her voice is a lazy whisper as she asks, "How are we ever going to top this?"

"Don't worry, love," I tell her. "I have plans for us."

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