Rating: NC17. Because there's f**king and bad words.
Spoilers: General Season 6
Disclaimer: Think I'd be writing about it if they were mine?
Summary: Spike. Willow. Sex. That about covers it.
Notes: Just wanted to see if I could write the Sex. Jury's still out. Title is borrowed from Lenny Kravitz. Borrowed a line from a Garbage song. You figure it out. Thanks to Bitca for the beta and the encouragement and to the ladies who showed an interest throughout the long, painful process. I suffered for my art, now it's your turn.
He's trying to control the crying. She could have told him that the more you try and control tears the more desperate they are to get out and the more violent and noisy they become. She doesn't think now's the appropriate time to bring it up.
As quietly as she can, Willow makes her way to the single bed that occupies most of the tiny room and lays herself down, trying to make the most of the space available. She doesn't want to ask Spike to move in case he forces her to go back to her own bed. He sniffs, then shifts a little. Willow presses her slight form into the curve of the vampire's back and wraps an arm around his chest in what she hopes is a comforting way. She wants to remind Spike that he's not alone. Not physically anyway.
"Oh Willow," he moans.
"Shhh. It's alright." She flattens her hand against his chest to stop him from pulling away from her. She's expecting him to fight her and she's prepared for an argument, but neither comes. Instead, he just sort of sighs and leans back into her, holding her hand tightly over the place where his heart used to beat. She moves to arrange the comforter over them but he pulls tighter on her hand, and she has to tell him it's OK, she's not going anywhere, before he'll relax and let go. When she's tucked them both in, Willow settles back into him and lets him clutch her hand again.
Lying with her chin on his shoulder, she imagines she can just make out where her breath is ruffling the tiny hairs on his ears, and she wonders whether she should ask if it's tickling him and if he wants her to move. But she figures he'd say something if he did. Willow really doesn't want to move just yet anyway. It feels so nice.
Willow and Spike are lying so close that Willow's sure that he can feel her heart beating through both their skins. She wonders if that and the rush of her blood are soothing for Spike. She thinks of newborn puppies and how they are lulled to sleep by alarm clocks masquerading as their mothers' heartbeats. Willow hopes it's like that for him and not a torment.
He's still crying but it's starting to ease. He sniffles occasionally and Willow wishes she'd had the presence of mind to grab the box of tissues from the dresser. She offers him the sleeve of her pyjama top, trying not to focus on the fact that if he takes her up on the offer, her sleeve will be covered in vampire snot. Do vampires even have snot, she wonders? Obviously, she decides, or he wouldn't be in need of a tissue.
He snorts, very wetly, and genteelly wipes his eyes with the cuff she presents to him. She notes, with a smile, that he rather graciously declines to wipe his nose with it. He does surprise her though when he takes her hand and brushes soft, damp lips against her palm. He cradles it tenderly to his cheek momentarily, before clasping it once more against his chest. "Thanks, Will," he murmurs softly.
"Welcome." Willow rubs her cheek against the broad expanse of his back and before she understands the consequences of her actions, she kisses the little piece of exposed, bare skin where the neck of his T-shirt is pulled down. Willow feels Spike's body tense and she thinks maybe she heard his eyes snap open, but he doesn't say anything.
Spike's skin is so soft and he tastes so clean, like lemons. Like one of Giles' fancy soaps. Willow wants to be sure. It seems important somehow. Willow's tongue darts from her mouth to lick at the spot again. Just a tiny touch of her tongue - barely a touch really, but he shudders anyway and soon Willow is tapping out delicate dots and dashes of Morse code on the back of his neck and shoulders.
It feels so good to touch someone again. She hasn't wanted to touch or be touched by anyone for so long. It's been too long, and he's been such a comfort to her these past few months, more than she could have thought possible. She had thought that there was no hope left for her when Giles had spirited her away to the elegant and alien streets of Bath to "mend". She was certain it was her fate to be hidden away forever, the constant and stifling presence of Giles and 'the ladies' her only companions. Not that she was hungry for company in the beginning.
Then one night out of the blue (well the black actually) just as she and Giles were preparing to turn in, there was a knock on the imposing front door. He appeared out of the darkness, looking half crazed and broken and begging sanctuary. Giles had sent her to bed, like some naughty schoolgirl but she had listened at the bedroom door to their muffled voices for most of the night. Heated and angry words and the sound of breaking things from Giles; plaintive and repentant pleading from Spike, and was that sobbing she could hear? The next morning Giles had informed her that Spike would be staying with them for a little while; that he was going through a crisis of his own but she was to focus on her own er, issues.
It didn't take long to find out what the crisis was and Willow felt better knowing there was someone else around who was just as big a fuck-up as she was. Someone else to share the weight of Giles' well meant but nonetheless, condescending lectures. For the first time since she'd left Sunnydale, she'd been able to feel something other than self - self-pity, self-loathing, self-involvement. Because of Spike, Willow is remembering how to feel compassion and sympathy and all those other things that used to make Willow Willow. She's grateful to him for that.
They had fallen into a comforting routine during the weeks that followed Spike's sudden arrival. There was meditation and medication, lessons and lectures and a very slow acceptance of their respective fates. Of an evening, after the supper dishes were washed and dried and put away, Giles would allow them an hour's private constitutional. Most nights they usually only got as far as the open field adjacent to the house where they'd sit and whisper their war stories or just look at the stars until Giles' silhouette filled the open back door as he searched them out.
She found she missed him the few days every fortnight she had to return to Devon and the ladies, and it seemed he missed her too. The day before she would have to leave he would get very quiet. While their lessons would continue in her absence, Giles found Spike to be sullen and withdrawn, but he would always recover by the time the sound of Giles' key in the lock announced their return. He would meet them in the downstairs hall with a hesitant smile and silently take Willow's bag from the Watcher and take it up to her room. The tea things would always be arranged on a tray on the kitchen counter and the kettle was always magically just coming to the boil. Willow wants to ask Giles if Spike could be the one to drive her to Devon and bring her back but she's afraid he'd say no.
"What is it you want from me Willow?" Spike's growl brings her back to the here and now. Willow's never known how to ask for what she wants, so she asks a question of her own.
"How long has it been since someone's touched you Spike? Was it Anya? Buffy?" He flinches and Willow immediately regrets saying her name. She presses her forehead, then a tiny kiss to his back in apology and she prays he accepts. The truth is Willow is sick of talking and sicker still of listening. All Willow wants is to feel skin on skin; to drown in heat and breath and sweat. She wants to disappear inside someone until she can't hear herself think. Willow has been convinced for the last month and a bit that that someone is Spike. "I just thought..."
Throwing the covers off he sits up, trying to muster the strength to stand and leave. She moves with him, sitting up behind him on her knees. It takes all of Willow's strength to keep him on the bed. She knows he could get away from her if he *really* wanted to. "Please, Spike..." she says imploringly. Suddenly the most important thing in the world is to convince him to stay.
He sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands for the longest time. Her arms have snaked themselves around him of their own accord and her cheek has found a home on his shoulder. The hand on his chest ghosts ever so lightly against the cotton over his nipple. A sharp intake of breath and another shudder and his voice is a moan.
"What's the matter, Willow? You want a little cold comfort? What is it with you women?" He spits the word out like a curse. "Any convenient body will do?"
"God, no Spike. Couldn't we just...be here for each other? Would that be so bad? My head's so full..."
Willow loosens her hold on his chest, her hands making their way nervously to the buttons of her pyjamas. Willing Spike to turn and look at her, to meet her steady gaze, Willow opens them slowly, peeling back her shirt to reveal the prettily flushed skin underneath. For all the boldness of her actions, Willow is afraid. What if he turns her down? Who's going to block out the noise in her head if Spike turns her away? She can't let that happen.
He's been thinking of her like this, just like this, since the first night he spent in this house without her, and the thoughts have been making him crazy. They're just learning to be friends for Chrissakes and she's still so fucked up, what with her girl dying and her near apocalyptic, post-power trip meltdown. Not to mention the fact that he's not exactly her cup of tea, physically speaking. And she's just starting to heal. The last thing Willow needs is some suddenly souled, emotionally tortured vampire complicating matters further by making her the focus of his latest obsession. So if it means he gets to keep her for a little while longer, he'll forgo his fantasy of finding his comfort buried inside her. He doesn't want Willow to be another little girl who'll regret him in the morning. Besides he doesn't think he'd survive it this time if he were again the one who wanted it more. Or if he hurt her because neither of them really knew what it was they wanted.
But she's looking at him now with all kinds of want and he's too afraid to let himself believe that he can have this. But he wants this. God how he wants it, and he shouldn't be expected to turn it down just because it would be the right thing to do, soul or no soul. His silent resolve not to touch her is broken and in one liquid movement he has turned and pinned her to the bed. Grinding his erection into her thigh he asks "Is this what you're after little one? Is this want you want?" Jesus, please let it be true. Although the words are harsh, the tone is gentle as anything. "Not allowed to make the darkness anymore; you want to touch it one more time?" He wonders how it's possible to hope for something he's resigned himself to never getting.
She hears the defeat in his voice and it scares her more than any threat he's ever made. He is the quintessential survivor. What hope is there for her if Spike is giving up? And how does she explain it's not the darkness anymore that's calling to her? And why can't she just say, "Yes"?
He wants her to understand. Needs her to really, so she can explain it to him, so he can finally make some kind of sense of it all and then maybe he won't go crazy. Maybe if he says the words out loud.
"The people I care about, the people I love, will never, *can* never, look at me the same way again. I've lost everything." Please God, not everything. Can I please just have this?
He searches her face, looking for the lie he's sure will come, something to make him feel better, but he can't find it. All he finds are sad green eyes, a trembling bottom lip and a very tiny: "I know." And right then he gets it. That she gets it. Because she feels it too. All the love and support in the world from her friends isn't going to save this little girl because she doesn't think she should be saved. That she's even worth saving. And all the time he thought... This is something they've carefully avoided talking about out in the star covered field and now there it is, out in the open.
Spike's gaze travels from her face to the exposed flesh and he devours the vision of her. The swell of her small breasts, the curve of her belly, the intricate mapping of freckles across her pale skin. She is so open, so ridiculously trusting. He forces himself to meet her gaze again and sees the turmoil there. Fear, determination, uncertainty and an empathy that scares him. Spike shakes his head, chuckling mirthlessly.
"Please don't laugh at me!" And when she lowers her tear-filled eyes he feels his heart wrench.
"I'm sorry," says Spike, and he means it. His hand is cupping her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek. "I'm not laughing at you. It's just...this is a bad idea."
"Why?" she wants to know, leaning into his touch.
"We'll only end up hurting each other. I don't want to hurt you." His voice cracks. "And I don't want to be hurt."
"I won't. You can't. There's nothing left to hurt"
"I don't want anything," Willow lies.
"Jesus, Willow," he sighs. "You want everything." And she knows it's true. She's not sure how he knows though.
"You're a fine one to talk," she wants to say, instead she leans forward a little and runs her tongue lightly over the vampire's bottom lip.
"Would you kiss me, Spike?" she asks and he looks at her for a long time, studying her like she's a test he knows he's going to fail. When he doesn't touch her it's impossible for Willow to hide her hurt and confusion, and her tears threaten to spill over. "I'm sorry..."
The reassuring pressure of his lips on hers is her answer and he swallows her relief.
She clutches desperately to his shoulders, pushing forward with her hips, reaching for that delicious friction and she whimpers when he grabs her by the arms and breaks contact. "Wha..?" she begins but is silenced by look he gives her. Oh God. Please don't let him change his mind, she begs silently.
"Slow down OK? Just relax." He waits for her to nod her assent before he kisses her again. He takes his time tasting her, exploring her eager mouth with lips and teeth and tongue.
It's a luxury he's not been afforded with his most recent partners. Haste was always a factor with Buffy, he never knew when she was just going get up and leave so it was pretty much straight down to business with her and he doesn't classify what they did as kissing anyway. It was always just a mashing of mouths, grinding teeth against teeth and there was never any tenderness allowed.
It was all about desperation and forgetting with Anya and he didn't really use any of his best moves. And Harmony. Who cared? She was just a way to pass the days, a choice he'd made and regretted just so there'd be a body to fill his empty bed. With all of them the kissing had just been perfunctory, a necessary step in the dance. Which was a pity because Spike loved to kiss.
Reluctantly he pulls away from her and makes his way to the other side of the room. He checks the darkened hallway, ensuring the door to Giles' bedroom is shut fast before quietly disappearing for a few agonising seconds. When he emerges again out of the darkness, he listens intently for a sign that Giles may be stirring. When he is sure the Watcher is sleeping soundly he closes the door behind him. Spike has collected the pillows from Willow's empty bed in the next room and with delicate care, he sets them down behind her.
Willow gorges herself on the look of him as he moves about the room, the complete and unabashed beauty of him as he kneels in front of her. Slowly he slips her shirt from her shoulders and her pyjama pants from her hips, then lovingly arranges Willow across the bed before removing his own clothing. She is gloriously naked, unashamedly wide open and wet, waiting for him. He is almost drunk on the smell of her. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he asks.
Willow smiles. "C'mere" she slurs and he finally lowers himself to the bed.
"Do you know what that is?" she asks him, curling the fingers of her right hand lightly under his nose. She is apparently oblivious to the fact that he can smell nothing else, her unmistakable perfume has become part of the room and he would willingly drown in it. "That's me. Thinking about you," she whispers and although her cheeks colour, she doesn't look away. "I smell like that all the time lately." It's become part of her and it's something of herself that she has begun to identify with Spike.
It's more than he's allowed himself to hope for and he has to close his eyes against the look on her face or else he'll start crying again.
He kisses her everywhere in every way. Sweet, feather-light kisses to her eyes, her nose, her chin and the backs of her knees. Hot open- mouthed kisses to her wrists, the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. Deep wet kisses to her shoulders, the back of her neck and the rise of her belly. He tongues the small of her back, the curve of her arse, the underside of her breasts and her soft inner thighs. Willow is more than accommodating. She stretches and bends, offering up neglected flesh for his adoration. She rolls and giggles at the touch of his tongue on the arches of her feet, she growls and moans as his clever mouth works itself over all but the most needy places. "You taste so sweet Will. I could kiss you for hours."
Willow doesn't know what will happen tomorrow, she doesn't really care, Giles be damned. She just knows she can't be without him tonight. Her whole body is thrumming with desire, anticipating all the things Spike is going to do to her in this bed, just down the hallway from a sleeping Watcher. "I want more..." she moans, her need making her brave.
"Touch me," he breathes into her mouth, desperate to feel anything other than this suffocating emptiness.
Willow can't believe she hasn't touched him yet. Her hands have been knotted in her own hair or bound in the crumpled sheets or gripping the tatty bedhead but she hasn't yet allowed herself to touch him. She wonders at her own restraint because Willow has always wanted to see if he was cool to the touch, to feel if he was more marble than flesh, to taste if the leather and tobacco had become an integral part of his skin. Now's her chance and she can't think where to start.
His skin is screaming out for her hands to be on him, to burn and consume him and she's taking too long. Way too long. "Willow, c'mon please..." he begs and the ache inside him is a third presence in the room.
Willows hands skitter like butterflies against his skin. She begins with his face, where her fingers blaze a trail that her lips eagerly follow. They brush delicately over the contours of his eyebrows - the scar above his left eye earning the sweetest of kisses - his cheeks and nose, the line of his chin. Her thumbs trace the curve of his bottom lip and she gasps when he runs his tongue over them. Her hands dance across his shoulders and down the length of his powerful arms. Her fingers explore the alabaster of his chest, trace along each furrow of his too visible ribs and alight momentarily on his hips. They are soon cupping the curve of his arse, caressing the small of his back and the length of his spine, sweeping across his muscular back.
Obviously, Spike doesn't feel the same way that Tara felt, but Willow's trying to focus on the *feeling* of him, rather than the feel.
Finally her hands cut a feather-light trail down Spike's torso until she reaches the itch of his coarse hair. Eager fingers burrow there, carefully avoiding his cock. He growls as she caresses his balls, shifting the weight of them in the palm of her hand, then returns to the start. She traces gentle, teasing circles, first around one nipple and then the other, her tongue replacing her fingers when her hand makes its way back down the plane of his stomach with the faintest of touches, his stomach muscles give an involuntary flutter. His large hands flex where they rest on her hips. He is panting her name like a prayer.
He throws his head back and groans as at last, she connects with his hardening flesh. It's been some time since Willow's held a man in her hands and she can't quite get the rhythm. Spike winces at her enthusiasm. "Here, let me show you," he says gently. Taking her hand, he guides it to her centre, coating it with her own juices. He drags their thumbs over her swollen clit, once, twice, and Willow shudders. Bringing their hands back to his thick cock he wraps her slender fingers delicately around him. Spike places his hand over hers and begins to move them together until she finds his rhythm.
Willow marvels at the cool, silk, slickness of him warming to her touch and the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he breathes through each stroke of her hand. "Is this right? Am I doing it right?" she asks him a little uncertainly. It takes Spike a moment to focus on the fact she's speaking to him and another moment to remember to respond. When he does, his voice catches in his throat: "God. Fuck. Yes." She revels in the heady sense of power she has over him when she realises that this is all in response to her.
"Is it good Spike?," she whispers tightening her grip and moving a little quicker.
"Just a little harder, Pet. Faster. That's it. Good girl." Spike's hips jerk, his body becoming taut and he comes, gasping her name. Willow nuzzles his chest, feeling very pleased with herself, as he lies bonelessly back against the bed.
She laps at the cum he's spilt across her fingers and his stomach. She swirls the pads of her fingers over the random splashes on his thigh, bringing them against his bottom lip before urging them between his teeth. The little sigh he gives makes her smile.
They shift a little and her cheek is against his belly, her hair splayed out against his chest. Spike's fingers are raking through her hair and she remembers moments like this with Tara. She remembers the silk of Tara's hair moving across her overly sensitive skin and the rippling bliss that would run through her as it did. Willow follows the delicate trail of hair down from his navel with tiny kisses, tasting her own salt on his skin. Willow sits up slowly, letting her hair glide softly down, tickling Spike's stomach and over the head of his erect cock.
"Don't leave me." Spike suddenly sounds scared and Willow likes the desperation in his voice.
"I'm not going anywhere," she says, placing a reassuring kiss over his belly button. Settling on her knees between his thighs she wets her lips and takes him into her mouth. Spike's hips jerk and she moves with him so she doesn't gag. Placing her hands on his hips she continues sucking him, swirling her tongue around the head relaxing her throat so she can take more of him into her. This she remembers.
His hands go to her hair and he's moaning her name. "Christ, Willow. Where did you...? Oh fuck, yeah that's it. So good. Yeah. Clever girl. Just like that. Fuck yes! Keep doing that. I love that. Don't stop! Don't..."
Willow suddenly remembers Giles is sleeping down the hall. One hand makes its way from his hip to his mouth, trying to quiet him. She releases him and the cool air on his moist skin makes him groan. "Shhh. I'm glad you like that but we need to be quiet okay?"
Spike takes her fingers into his mouth and begins to suck them. Tentatively Willow pumps them into Spike's mouth. He hums and the combination of his tongue writhing between her fingers and the vibration of his throat acts as a conductor. Willow feels the electricity burning through her, finding a home in the pit of her stomach and snaking out in all directions. The laving of her flesh, as his tongue runs over her palm, is so erotic that Willow's stomach tightens, her thighs coated in her desire.
Cradling his balls, Willow takes Spike back into her mouth and it's not long before she feels the now familiar tension in his body rising again. "Fuck. I'm gonna come..."
Sweeping her tongue down the thick shaft of his cock and up over the weeping head she sucks deeply once, twice and he's coming again and she's trying to swallow all of his seed. He's trying to be so quiet but he can't stop the tide of his breathing, released as short, shallow gasps. He pulls her up to meet him in a ravenous kiss, tasting himself on her lips.
With as much grace as haste will allow Willow pushes Spike back on the bed then rising over him, she presses her wet cunt against his belly. Taking his hand and placing it to her lips, she begins to kiss each of his fingers. Willow whispers, "so beautiful" because she's always thought so, gay or otherwise. Spike's eyes only open when Willow sucks two of his fingers into her greedy little mouth.
Spike's fingers leave Willow's mouth with a wet 'pop' and she drags them down the length of her body until they reach her aching cunt. Willow likes the chill against her molten skin as the air hits the glistening trail of saliva and she hisses her pleasure as she guides Spike's hand into her heat, showing him the rhythm she needs. "See what you do to me?" she moans as he begins to move independently of her. Leaning forward, she kisses him deeply, eyes wide open. He returns the kiss, running his tongue along the roof of her mouth, then along the line of her chin before nipping hungrily at her throat.
His other hand captures her breast, pinching and plucking at her nipple. Moving her weight forward onto her arms she lowers her head to place long, hot kisses along his chin, across his jaw line, behind his ears, down his neck to his chest and back again. His dips his mouth to her breasts, first one, then the other, his teeth and tongue tugging against her nipples so hard the twitching travels down through her belly and connects directly with her cunt. "Oh God, that's nice. I really like that," she hisses.
Spike slips the two fingers Willow held in her mouth into her tight heat. "I'm inside you Will, do you feel me? I'm right here and I'm fucking you and it feels so good doesn't it, baby? Hmmm? Do you like the way I'm touching you?"
"Yes" she growls around a sharp intake of breath. She presses herself harder against his magical fingers, demanding his full and fast attention. "Harder. Do it harder."
"God, you're so tight. You're gonna burn me up, sweet girl, you're so hot." He watches Willow intently. Eyes closed, head rolling on her shoulders, he could be anyone. Spike wants her to know it's him. He needs her to see him.
"Willow. Look at me. C'mon Pet, look at me. I need you to see me, Will." His insistent pleading pulls her back from the precipice. "Spike" she moans, eyes half lidded but still focussed on his exquisite face.
"Good girl. Stay with me, Will."
The slow, steady rhythm he initiates builds until he is pumping fiercely into her, his thumb nail scraping over her sensitive clit, until she is riding his hand ferociously, grabbing weakly at his busy hands. She releases a guttural moan as she bucks and writhes to her climax.
Willow's certain that her body is no longer solid matter. Unable to hold herself up any longer she collapses back against him, breathing hard. Before the tremors of pleasure running through Willow's body subside Spike flips them so she is lying back on the bed and he is poised between her thighs. "Open up, sweetheart," he urges, and Willow eagerly complies. Placing his hands under her backside he lifts her to his mouth like a ripe peach. The sensation of his knowledgeable tongue and blunt teeth working her desperate cunt causes Willow to hiss and growl. He pauses, looking up at her and orders "I want you to ride my mouth until you scream yourself mute, do you understand?"
Locking her fingers together in his hair and arching her back, Willow grinds herself against his face and tries to take control of the pace. She is completely unprepared for the increase in the intensity of feeling, as Spike obliges her silent demand. "Oh God, it's too much. I can't..." But he is relentless, taking her clit between his teeth, alternately biting and sucking at her until she comes violently and still he fucks her with his tongue.
Starbursts of white light explode behind her eyes as the pleasure almost becomes pain. Her hands are no longer in his hair, they are grappling with the sheets as she scrambles to get away while wave after powerful wave crashes over her, dragging her down to drown in sensation. Willow forgets her own advice to Spike and screams, thrashing wildly in the tangled sheets. "Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod..."
Savouring the taste of her he tongues her clean, then offers a chaste kiss there before moving up her body to settle at her side. "Mmmm. such a pretty cunt." he purrs.
Taking her in his arms he holds her close while her cunt pulses, pumping in time with her heart, and her whole body shudders with the waves of ecstasy still threatening to drag her under. "Shh, kitten. I got you." Willow drifts away to the music of his mumbled nonsenses and her ragged breathing.
Willow can hear her name being called softly from somewhere far away. She can hear something else, somehow familiar but not instantly recognisable. Slowly she opens her eyes and is met with the vision of Spike lovingly mouthing her breasts. She recognises the other sound now. It's her. She's mewling. She is recumbent, her legs splayed brazenly open, as Spike's fingers dip lazily into her wet folds. She notes with pleasure the insistent pressure of his hard cock pressing against her thigh. "Welcome back, love" he smiles and kisses her, snaking his tongue around her own. "Are you ready for me sweetheart? Because I *really* want to fuck you now. Would you like that?" Spike asks tenderly, placing butterfly kisses against her throat. Willow nods, still deliciously weak.
"You have to say the words Will. You have to say you want me to fuck you or it won't happen." Without warning he removes his hand. It takes more control than he thought he possessed because all the time Willow's licking at him, pushing and rubbing herself against him. Slow, languid movements like an oversized house cat, only far more dangerous.
"I want my cock inside you. I'm gonna fuck you senseless, kitten. I promise you'll come so hard. Do you want my cock here?" He returns his hand to her needy cunt, slipping his fingers gracefully back in and flexes them so they're held firmly inside her. She cannot find her voice but grinds down against him further in answer.
"Tell me. Tell me what you want, sweet. Do you want me?"
"Spike," she gasps. "Please...I want..."
"Yes Will? What do you want? Just tell me, Pet, and you can have anything you want"
"Spike," she snarls, desperately grabbing to bring his wrist to force more of his hand inside her heat. "Fuck me. Now."
And then he's inside and above and around her and he's surrounding her and she can't breath and God it feels so good. She is full and complete and she doesn't think she can take anymore, doesn't know if she can do it again but she will because she doesn't want this to end.
She scalds him as he sheaths himself within her and he hisses from the heat of her. The rhythmic rocking of her hips is soothing him, guiding him. The smell, taste, feel of her cunt; opening herself up to him; welcoming him in, swallowing him whole. Hot. Wet. Home.
And all the time he's fucking her, he talks to her.
"Tell me what you like baby. I want you to feel good. How does that feel? Is that good? Do you like that? Should I do it slower? Faster? What if I touched you there? Or here? Does that work? Would you like me to do it again?"
Just the deep baritone of his voice, saying these things to her between deep, deliberate kisses is enough, she thinks, to make her come again. She tries to answer him, to tell him that it's all good, it's all working for her, that she thinks she may die from the pleasure of it but she can't form the words. All she is capable of is incoherence.
"You make the prettiest noises, Sweet, when I'm inside you"
He loves the way she growls and moans. Her breath catching in her throat. The little mewling noise as her body begins the ascent. The way she vocalises every sensation. There is nothing she feels that she does not telegraph. There are no lies, no pretense. She hums and sighs. Her wanton pleasure as she writhes and bucks beneath him. Her clutching, grasping hands, the way she holds onto him as if he were her only lifeline. The way her legs wrap around him, defying him to escape, allowing for only mere millimetres of space to exist between them. Her desire for him to crush her to the mattress, to pin her down, welcoming the full weight of him on her; to be left breathless by it. The tiny half moon marks that traverse his body from her needy little hands; his arms, back and arse; the bruising on his shoulders and chest from her blunt little teeth. No sweet gentle kisses but tongues licking and sucking wetly at any and all available flesh within reach, sweat-slick and wanting. He pulls her closer to him so their bodies are skin to skin, from chest to groin and all points in between, for maximum contact. He is thrusting into her harder and harder. She pushes back against him matching him thrust for thrust. "Are you there, kitten?" He growls in her ear as he nears his climax.
"Just..." Both their hands scramble for her clit, but he bats her hand away, working her feverishly.
"Come for me, Willow" he urges.
"JesusGod. I can't...Will!" he keens, his voice getting louder and louder. Willow places her hand over his mouth again. "Shh, shh"
Clutching desperately to each other, her hand still over his mouth, Willow can taste the copper on her tongue where she's bitten through her lip to stop from crying out. She kisses him hard, pushing her bleeding lip into his mouth and he suckles her. Spike can no longer hold back and he comes; his roar stifled by Willow's mouth on his. The hungry pulling on her lip and his desperate fingers pinching her clit brings her to orgasm.
They lie together, him still inside her, until the electricity that is crackling in the air around them subsides and the sweat on their skin cools and chills their flesh. "You feel so good inside me," she croons. Spike places lazy kisses tenderly along her neck, enjoying the simple pleasure of her fingers in his hair and her sweet heat still surrounding him.
Lying back in the small confines of his bed, Spike collects the bed linen from the floor and they arrange themselves for sleep. Facing one another, they are a tangle of spent limbs with Willow wrapped around Spike like a blanket. Somewhere in the back of her mind Willow knows she'll have to face Giles but tonight that's a lifetime away.
Watching Spike sleep, briefly at peace with the world, Willow fancies she might know something of what young William was like before the turning and she mourns the gentle man who was torn down so that this beautiful monster might be. William remains, his heart an ugly, purple bruise just under the surface of the demon's skin, open and bleeding and raw. Willow thinks that William is stronger than the beast that wears his face could ever be. The sheer tenacity of his will to have survived over a century chained to a fiend and still have his monumental capacity to love and his almost self destructive need to be loved intact is proof enough for her.
"Beautiful, delicate boy," she sighs. She kisses his forehead softly, rubbing her cheek against his hair. "I'm so sorry things turned out the way they did for you."
Willow doesn't realise he's awake until she feels her skin slick with his tears. "Let it go baby, its OK." They're both crying like orphaned children, holding fast to the only comfort they'll allow themselves.
How long was long enough before penitents are granted a stillness of heart she wonders? There has to be a way for them to be OK. Maybe they can figure it out together. Maybe tomorrow it'll be easier. "We're gonna be alright, Spike. Everything's gonna be okay, you'll see," she soothes, as she rocks them both to sleep.