Rating: NC-17 (always feel funny putting that, ‘cause my stuff is so vanilla, but you know, it's better safe than sorry)
Summary: S/B PWP, in between Gone and DmP. Given that DmP follows, maybe not so realistic, but Nora wanted it, so she gets it.
Feedback: Duh! email@example.com. I *hate* it that smut doesn't get the kind of feedback non-smut does. I mean, I *know* more folks read it.
A/N: For the penguins. Alizardincrimson wanted to know what the zookeepers would have happen if Spike presented himself for one hour with no strings attached. Here's a nice little fantasy... But no more writing until I get caught up on the nearly 4-week backlog of fic from these lists.
Buffy sat in her darkened bedroom, idly flipping the wheel of the silver lighter. It was mesmerizing. With just the right tilt and a quick shove of her thumb, the Zippo would shoot flames to put a demon to shame, and with a light, more difficult touch, she could elicit a tiny shower of sparks, more subtle in their entertainment value.
She hefted the metal, smooth chrome alternately warm and cool in her hands. Not so different from its owner, really.
She felt the shift in the wind from the window before the faintly menacing words slivered the air.
"Turnabout's fair play, luv."
Not different at all. Flames lit his face -- dancing blades of violet-blue fire flickered in eyes that stared straight through her, no InvisiRay required. With a gulp, she moved a foot to block his view of the lighter on the floor where it had fallen. He was angry? So not fair...
Her lips drew inward and her chin wrinkled with a pout, forming her response, when he flew across the room, pinning her against the door in a move that recalled her last visit to his crypt. Good lord, what had she been thinking? If she closed her eyes and kept them that way, it would almost be as if she were invisible again... And she wouldn't have to see the sardonic lift of his eyebrow as he took in her changed appearance, or the knowing smirk on his lips.
Maybe it was more like he was invisible. There was something terribly erotic about the sensation of being knocked against a solid surface by an unseen force. Her eyes squeezed even more tightly shut as she felt the tremors in her stomach where his hand held her firmly against the door. His other hand pulled at her newly shorn locks, and she could hear him inhaling her scent.
"You could have just asked, Goldilocks." Cool lips worked their way up her jaw-line, igniting liquid fire in her center as his tongue traced the outer rim of her ear, then withdrew to move lips even closer to her ear. "I would’ve given you the lighter. It's obvious you need it more than I do."
Her bones slipped in her skin when his teeth sank into her earlobe to punctuate his words. Buffy suppressed a groan, realizing how little it took to reach the melting point with him. Reach the melting point? Where'd that come from? No melting with the undead.
Gathering her spine up from around her ankles and valiantly ignoring what his tongue was doing to the soft spot where her ear met her jaw, Buffy opened her eyes and pushed away. She opened her mouth to blast his ego back where it belonged, but the words ran off to snark with the shirt he'd flung to the floor. Dear god, the things she could do -- had done -- to that vast canvas of silken skin. Her hand slid involuntarily upward to soak in the familiarity of the hard muscles that defined his lean frame.
"See something you like, luv?" His voice laughed at her, but his eyes were deadly serious. The hand with a life of its own snaked around to pull his head forward, but he eluded her grasp with a duck and a chuckle.
"Ah, ah, ah, Slayer. You already had your turn." He pushed her back onto the bed, then made a quick circuit of the room, closing the window and locking the door. "I'm a little pressed for time, but naughty little Slayers need their lessons." He turned to face her. "An hour should be just enough time."
Buffy's body quivered at the promise in his voice, but she fought to create some distance between them. "Lessons? In what? Breaking and entering? Got that covered."
The bottom dropped out of her stomach at the sly, slow smile that crept over his face as his hands reached for his belt. "No, luv." His voice was almost a growl. "You started this little game, but I'm here to finish it; teach you the rules while I'm at it." Spike advanced across the room at an even pace, sending her pulse skyrocketing.
His eyes pinned hers when he reached the bed. "I won't be your toy any more, Buffy." The measured tone of his words brooked no argument, and he leaned in to corral her body with his arms even as she scootched backward on the bed.
She could almost see the sparks flying off the wheels turning in his eyes as his words penetrated her fogged mind. She closed her eyes against the intensity of his gaze, feeling rather than watching him crawl over her body and into her cells.
There'd be no escape tonight that wasn't permanent. And she was far from ready for a permanent end to the delicious torture he offered. First steps, she'd told Willow. Lessons weren't such a bad place for first steps. Rational thought fled when heat from the tips of fingers that shouldn't burn announced her nakedness. Willfully, she kept her eyes closed, licking her lips in an automatic reflex.
She felt him hovering in the space just above her face, those quixotic, sometimes blue, sometimes grey eyes staring at her, waiting for her to move, a cat toying with its prey. Just when she thought she'd succeeded in controlling her reactions, she felt a wisp of something soft slide down the side of her face, teasing her eyes open to face truth.
Silken whispers accompanied the hand that reached out to cover her sight. "Close them again love. Time for the first lesson..." A knot formed in her throat. "The lack of one sense," he murmured wetly against her shoulder, tongue swirling heat into her groin from a thousand miles away, "sharpens others."
And she knew the truth when the cells of her soul rocked at the flare of pain his blunt bite brought. The touch of his finger to her gasping lips did nothing to still her spiraling senses as the rhythm of his suckling reached through her veins and drummed her hips into the bed in a pulsing counterpoint.
A groan of satisfaction at her reaction accompanied his lips travelling across her face, obvious in their avoidance of her parched mouth. His hand slipped from her eyes to fist in her hair, but Buffy never noticed. Eyes wide shut, she threw her head back into the pillows and her mouth fell open, lower lip swollen even before his mouth's first touch.
The tip of his tongue flicked along the crevice of her bowed lip, teasing her mouth into a perfect, heated circle. Her head craned forward, demanding completion of the touch, urging him closer with a thrust of her chin. A low chuckle escaped him, and he pulled his hips away, avoiding the invitation she threw so carelessly his way.
He lured her tongue from her mouth, cavorting with it in midair, but refused her invitation to come further by suckling on her lower lip. Teeth and tongue mouthed her softness as if it were a bit of the finest chocolate, there for the tasting, the touching, the feel of the sweetness spreading through his mouth. She longed for the taste of him. Guttural moans babbled for possession.
When he pulled away, after what seemed days, she could stand the waiting no more. Her eyes flew open and she reared up against the headboard to watch as he knelt on the bed above her.
"Lesson two, pet." She could only stare as he lifted one of her feet over each shoulder, then sat back on his haunches. Her eyes rolled back into her head as the smooth skin of his palms slid trails of fire down the backs of her thighs to cup her cheeks upward and pull her bottom in to meet granite at his waist. "In patience, pleasure."
Her chest heaved faster with exertion, and her gaze flitted from desire-filled eyes to swollen, cherry-red lips and back again. When he tilted his head to give her a smoldering glance before turning down to address her flesh, Buffy let her head thud against the wooden headboard, lost in the pleasure of his tongue gliding along her ankle and upward toward her knee. The wet heat of his tongue sent flames licking up her thighs to push her buttocks firmly into his kneading fingers.
Nearly mindless with need, she threaded her hands in the softness of his hair, beating the rhythm of her need through his skull, pleading for more, and soon. Every hair on her body stood to attention when the hands massaging her bottom slid forward to allow his thumbs to pull her inner lips apart and begin a slow stroking that matched the pattern of her heartbeat. When his head leaned in, moving upward, she sucked in her breath at the thought of what might be next. Her mind could not imagine what came next, but her body keened as if it knew what pleasure would come.
Her nails tore at his back as his mouth reached its destination at the same moment fingers met thumbs in joint manipulation of the utter source of her pleasure and pain. That glorious tongue wrapped itself around a nipple and pulled, while talented fingers slid deep into her soul. He, pumped hard and fast, a cadence balanced against the rough suckle of his mouth on her breasts.
Buffy's hands cradled his head, helpless to do other than clench in concert with her pleasure. In the moment that his nails grazed her swollen bead and sent her flying into showers of multi-colored light, her reality was bounded completely by the icy fires of his mouth on her skin, his cheek against her chest. His hands were on her soul.
No sense bound her to the earth well enough to notice him easing out of his jeans, but her body welcomed his driving strength with the same enthusiasm as her mouth. It was like coming home after a long, long walk in the wilderness. Her hands wrapped around his face, pulling his eyes up to fasten on hers as she met his passion stroke for stroke, taking sheer delight in watching him cross over the edge before diving in after.
As the air began to cool them, Buffy shifted comfortably in the tangle of limbs and linens. There was a thread of some unspoken emotion hanging in the moment, but she buried her nose deep in his neck and drank in the scent of their pleasure, denying the need to speak.
Spike stretched an arm to retrieve something from the floor, his ragged voice breaking the silence only briefly as he laid his lips carefully on her forehead.
"Lesson 3, the most important of them all, luv. Never go to bed angry."
She opened her eyes to see a brief shower of sparks converge into a low, steady flame.