It had to be.
Every time she does a spell, I wind up kissing Spike. As a matter of fact, she was starting to wonder if it was deliberate or…She brushed the thought aside. Willow wouldn’t want to put them together. Then again, if the surest symptom that Willow was doing spells was her kissing Spike, what would she wind up doing with him when Willow ever got really good at magic?
Willow was doing magic to her without her consent, while Spike waited for consent that they both knew would never come. Spike, her erstwhile enemy, always at her back when she needed him. Willow, doing things behind her back, when she was least able to cope with them. Spike, of all people, treating her better than her friends. What a strange world it was. Giles was gone, and she was back, yet again. Was that the worst thing about dying, the way it just never seemed to end? Dying and coming back, dying and coming back…and then losing the memory, only to be hit with it again, worse for the respite. She felt like she was waiting for the next death, preparing for it, like her life was only a period being them. Was this what being a vampire was like?
Her poor tired brain kept plodding around in circles of thought, trying to puzzle out her predicament. Spike. Willow. Giles. Dawn. Tara. Xander. Anya. Spike…..As if the thought called him, he appeared, hovering over her in a way that was both comforting and…She cringed inside at the memory of the kiss, at the completely unaccustomed way it had made her feel. She was still the Slayer. She was still strong, even now, after being brought back, but around him she felt so weak….She felt like just an ordinary girl must feel, and she didn’t like it. That had nothing to do with Willow, unfortunately. It wasn’t that neat. It was his fault. With that thought in her mind, she resolutely turned away. Enough of this nice stuff. Why couldn’t they just hate each other again? It had been so peaceful like that.
Spike whirled and turned, stalking away, depriving her of the opportunity to tell him to leave her alone. So, he’d left her alone, and she found she liked it less than being around him. She tried to find her irritation at him, and couldn’t. It was the spell that had made her kiss him, made her grasp at him like he was a life preserver in a heaving sea, why couldn’t he understand that? She had just gotten comfortably annoyed, and then he was gone. At first she thought he was lurking just out of her range of vision like he always did, but then she realized he was well and truly gone. She jumped up abruptly, certain he was watching her from some corner, and then, panicking, she understood that he was not.
Under the stairway she found him, catching him by the sleeve as he strode away, freezing as he whirled to face her. They stared at each other, him furious, practically burning her with it, and she finding that all her reserves were singeing away under his eyes. She’d hurt his feelings. He had feelings. Before her eyes, he stopped being Spike, vampire, nemisis, unknown quantity, and became Spike, person whose feelings I hurt, even though I hate it when it happens to me. She dropped his coat sleeve as if it burned her.
He’s burning me.
In that moment, everything was possible, and everything lay before her instead of behind her. She stared at him, and as he realized that she’d run after him---him, Spike, she’d actually come running after him----his face softened into an expression she realized no one else would ever see. Mine, all mine. When they collided, when her mouth opened beneath his, she was already trembling with it, shaking in his arms like some tender virgin. Her hands couldn’t cope with touching him, and alighted here and there repeatedly, only to find him so frightening that they took flight again. There was that feeling again. It was only when he pulled her closer that she began to feel weak. Not in public, she thought. Her hands were on his face, and his were tightening on her back. She became aware of his arms around her, his chest against her breasts, his stomach against hers. She pulled back with a gasp and leaned against the partition behind her, eyes closed, lips parted. When she opened her eyes, Spike was eyeing her warily. She tried to breathe normally, failed, and reached out and grabbed his hand. She could only adjust in small doses. She studied their joined hands beneath her lashes for a moment, then looked up at him. What she saw in his face gave her enough courage to pull him with her, out the door and home.
It was all his fault, dammit. The walk home was charged with things that couldn’t be said, ideas she resolutely squelched. She could feel every breath he took as if it were in her ear. Only with Angel had it been something like that, but not as intense. Was it just that she had experience now, and knew was what at stake? But nothing was at stake, she thought firmly. It was the spell. Nothing was going to happen, and she was strong and she was the Slayer, and that was why she couldn’t glance any higher at him than his chest without turning bright red. He kept his eyes on the ground as they walked, taking her cue in a way no one else ever did. Of course, who had there been? Angel and Riley and Parker. When she was with Spike--and she could sense him biting his tongue these days---she wondered why no one else had been that attuned? Was it her? Or had it been…them? That was a disturbing thought, but not nearly as bad as the one that came next. Maybe they didn’t care enough.
Maybe he did.
But when they got home, the porch was full of boxes and bags, and Dawn was perched resentfully on the porch rail, arms crossed and lower lip stuck out. Tara, another box in her arms, stopped at the sight of them. God, can witches see something? Buffy thought. She could feel the force field between them, crackling with desire. “Tara?”
“Buffy…” Tara said quietly. “I…uh….I can’t stay here any more.” She looked down, away, anywhere but up at them. Do we look like two people who’ve been kissing? Buffy thought, panicking. She didn’t dare look at him for fear of blushing even deeper, and she was afraid her lips were puffy, too. Tara inadvertently answered that thought by tactfully turning to Dawn, who not so tactfully whirled and flew away up the stairs, with Tara following. She’d already taken out her keys as an excuse to step away from him, but now she had no excuse. Uh-oh. Now what? Put them away? She couldn’t think with him right there behind her. They got to the door and she started to fumble with the keys in earnest, reality hitting her and making her weak. Reality took the form of Spike, leaning forward over her shoulder and watching her dither with her keys, pressing his lips to her neck, his hands sliding around her. The feel of his body against hers, his arms around her, and his hands spread almost protectively over her body made her hands shake, and she dropped her keys on the porch floor. The pause gave her a moment to catch her breath, to remember to take the next breath, and by the time she got the door unlocked she was reasonably firm. She shivered a bit as she opened the door, knowing what was going to happen, even admitting it to herself. There was going to be more kissing. She’d worry about it tomorrow. This lasted till Spike stepped inside and leaned back against the door to close it. In her mind, she saw him framed in that door numerous times, and numerous ways; slamming against some invisible barrier, stepping tentatively over it later, and staring up at her with a dazed expression from the foot of the stairs. Now he looked at her with wide, almost blank eyes, and she found herself feeling guilty for having wiped away all the emotion in those eyes. It annoyed her when it was there, but when it was gone, it made her feel empty. He looked like she’d hit him over the head and stunned him, which, she thought, wasn’t exactly wrong. She took one step toward him, then another. At the third, she was close enough to touch his face and that was when he reached out for her, his hand pausing in midair for a moment, before he pulled her the rest of the way. He buried his face in her shoulder, absorbing her trembling into his own body, while she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into his hair, slowly twined her arms around him. She wasn’t aware of how it happened, how gradually he lifted his head, how slowly his mouth was against hers, how she wound up against the door. All she realized was that his tongue was in her mouth, his hands were on her body, and it wasn’t enough. Then there was a step at the top of the stairs and she flinched back from him so fast he was left grasping the air. They both looked up to see Tara concentrating on the contents of the box she was carrying. Buffy braced her back on the door frame while Spike swallowed convulsively and jammed his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at Buffy. When Tara got to the bottom of the steps, he gallantly pulled open the door for her, but in stepping aside to let her past, he brushed against Buffy, and the door slipped from his hand and closed as he leaned down and kissed her. The rattling of the doorknob made them both jump apart guiltily, but Tara didn’t notice, and headed back up the stairs numbly. Buffy ran her hands over her hair as if it might reveal somehow that they’d been kissing. Upstairs, they could hear the sound of drawers being opened and closed, small thuds as belongings were organized. Buffy found that she was once again unable to look anywhere but at his chest, which turned out to be a mistake because looking at it made her remember how it felt against her. Her knees shook. I am the Slayer, dammit. With that in mind, she firmly walked down the hallway to the kitchen, only to find Spike had somehow reached the kitchen door with her and was regarding her with that knee-melting concerned look again. Water. A glass of water. That’s what my knees need. She moved very carefully to the sink, because it felt like if he touched her again, she would shiver till she broke.
Not till she’d poured the water into a glass did he come up behind her, and when he put his hands on her waist, she froze. Her eyes flew up to the window, but of course his reflection wasn’t there, and she couldn’t stand the sight of her face in the glass, alone. She closed her eyes against the sight, and he took that as an invitation to a kiss, tracing her collarbone with his lips, and then exploring the flavor of her earlobe.
Her knees buckled.
His hands tightened around her and just brushed beneath the soft curve of the underside of her breasts. A galvanic shiver went all the way through her, and she arched up to his mouth, her breasts suddenly filling his hands. He jumped, startled, and his hands tightened convulsively. A moan escaped her, and she covered it by twisting in his arms, grabbing handfuls of his shirt and pulling him hard against her. For several minutes, the two of them scrambled for proximity, pressing up against the counter, grinding into one another, until another slam of the front door made them jerk apart.
Spike sagged forward to drop his hands to his thighs and gasp, while Buffy sleeved her hair out of her face, and tried to steady her breathing. Only the sound of Tara going back up the stairs made her put her hand on his chest to stop the next collision. When Tara’s door slammed, they both flinched and fell at each other, meeting at the mouth and stumbling to the wall for support. She felt his hands on her face and somehow that made up her mind. She pulled away from him, and the sudden absence of her body against him made him look at her so longingly that she kissed him again. Then she turned and walked to the kitchen door. For a moment he thought she was ushering him out of the house. She had to kiss him again till they stumbled out onto the deck before he realized otherwise.
Getting down the steps was hard and alleviated only by kissing at the foot of the stairs. Finally they separated and giddily tripped over each other, trying to move away, but that only lasted a few feet before they fumbled against one another yet again, meeting at the mouth and staying there for several struggling minutes. Buffy ducked away under his arms and almost laughed at the look on his face as he registered her absence. After a few steps he caught up behind her, wrapping her in a cocoon of arms and leather and shivering anticipation so that the rest of the walk was nothing but a kiss-fueled delirium.
At his door reality tried to assert itself again, but she fought it back. No thinking. No thinking. No thoughts. But no thinking gave her leeway to experience things she usually fought off with defensive reasoning, so it all became frighteningly immediate. No thinking. No consequences. No second-guessing. Not thinking meant feeling instead and what she resolutely pushed away was the idea that that concept was limited to bodies.
Inside his crypt, Spike was suddenly as nervous as Buffy had been, brushing newspapers off a table and kicking a discarded beer can away with an abashed shrug. She eyed the floor like some shy teenager at the end of the first date, watching as he ran his hands through his hair nervously in front of her, making curls appear. With one finger she touched a curly strand, then drew her hand down his cheek while he held his breath at the look on her face. The first kiss was as tentative as if they’d never kissed at all, the second eager and hungry. After that, it was impossible to separate them.
Not thinking meant that concepts like slayer, vampire, inappropriate, sex and mistake never surfaced in her brain. There was only sensation, of his hair in her hands, of his arms sliding all the way around her, of his hands cupping and stroking and caressing. He wasn’t that much taller than her, and their bodies formed perfect puzzle pieces for one another, everything meeting in perfect order and symmetry. Not thinking meant not analyzing, and she could kiss him and press against him without worrying about consequences, or past, or future, or even present. Finding the wall against her back suddenly would have frightened her if she’d been thinking; it would have made her realize how much they’d been moving, backing across the room, still kissing, twining around each other. But not thinking meant instead that she blinked first at the sensation of his erection against her belly, then slid her hand down his stomach muscles and cupped her hand around his cock. When he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip she could only stare at him in wonder, shivering at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, at the way his lips parted, at the look of pure, abandoned ecstasy on his face. Not thinking meant following her instincts, giving him a shove that tumbled him in an old armchair and gave her a moment to look at him, really look at him, for what felt like the first time in her life. Slowly, she climbed into his lap, one leg on either side of his thighs, not thinking, just feeling. His erection ground against the seam of her jeans, and he was gasping into her mouth. His hands grabbed at her and pulled her down on top on him, and she had just a little moment to be surprised at herself, to be startled, as she grabbed his face and tried kissed him hard. She had to toss her head back to catch her breath, to breathe, and she realized that his head was thrown back against the back of the chair, lips parted, eyes just a little glazed. She’d never really seen a man look like that at her, and something about it touched her. She touched his lips with one finger and he dropped his eyelashes for a moment, before sucking her fingertip into his mouth and licking the tip like it was candy coated. The gesture sent a shiver through her, all the way down her spine, making her nipples tighten and her legs weaken. The corner of his mouth curved up slightly, and all the blood in her body seemed to pulse between her legs. She settled back, batting his hand aside, nipping at his lips, and stroking his chest.
Not thinking meant being able to be rather startled at his body, because of course, there weren’t any consequences, any punishment. She could just enjoy, and it was a new sensation for her. He was so….lithe. She pulled his shirt out of his pants and undid his belt buckle, feeling his gasp with a surge of pleasure. There was no extra flesh on him anywhere, and the muscles in his stomach jumped when she pressed her hand against them and slid her fingers down past them. He was bracing himself against the chair, now, eyes huge and blue, hands clenched on the armrests, legs spread wide. Her ears buzzed and her skin seemed to be covered with goosebumps. She was the one doing everything; he was holding on for dear life, and he looked, actually, so innocent, so amazed, that she suddenly felt very bad in a very good way. Who was this person, sitting on his lap, licking kisses into his mouth, rising up just slightly so she could slide her hand into his pants? It couldn’t be her, she was a good girl, she was…Spike gasped hard and fast against her, and she felt the trembling all through his flesh…really fucking turned on. Then she touched his penis, and they both stopped breathing.
The skin on his cock was soft as satin, but almost too hard to be human. She traced veins and ridges, then cupped the head in her hand, gently, but he hissed and his whole body jerked. His arousal was intoxicating, and her hand inadvertently tightened. He grabbed the seat arms even tighter and she kissed him guiltily. She stopped feeling so guilty when he pressed his hand to the nape of her neck and kissed her back greedily, tongue weaving luxuriously with hers, groaning into her mouth, hips starting to move against hers. She explored his cock eagerly now, smiling as he froze momentarily with every new movement. Oh, such soft skin. She cupped his balls in her hand and he grabbed her wrist, then, to make her stop. His mouth opened to speak, and she pressed one finger to his lips. She knew what he was going to say, but she had no idea what would come out of her mouth if she even tried to talk. He was opening his mouth again, about to speak, and she found the slit on the top of his penis and rubbed it gently with her thumb, her fingers caressing the edge of the head in rhythm with her kisses. His head fell against the back of the chair, and his Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively. There was something so…vulnerable…about that helpless movement that she kissed where the muscles worked in his throat, mouth never really leaving his skin as she worked her way to his ear, finding his earlobe and sucking it into her mouth. There was moisture beneath her fingers now, and she used it to move freely over his length, her hand closing around the shaft and gliding from base to top. She kissed her way back to his mouth, tongue and pulse and hand on his cock all moving to the same hungry tempo. He sighed into her mouth, neck arching, eyes squeezing shut suddenly, hips jerking against her. She watched the long pulses take him, watched his face soften so that she suddenly didn’t know where to look because she wanted to look everywhere at once. He looks so…human. Even those cut-glass cheekbones seemed blunted, and his eyes were sleepy. There was nothing vampire about him now, only male, sated and breathless. Something occurred to her: I bet he feels human now, too. I did that to him. But he’s not. He can’t go back and forth.
She watched him gradually come back to himself, and with something like dismay, she realized that included some sort of embarrassment. He glanced down, shifted beneath her uncomfortably, and looked around, one hand flying to his disheveled hair, eyes dropping. They fell upon her hands, still gently holding his cock, her fingers spattered with his come. He made some soft noise of regret and yanked his tee shirt off, wiping her hands, muttering, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” under his breath, till her hands were clean. What on earth is he apologizing for? She thought. He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up, avoiding her eyes, shifting uncomfortably as if to get out of her vision. He was so abashed that she began to share his feeling, wondering if she’d done something wrong, wondering if he was shocked or disappointed. Had he not wanted her to touch him? Had she gone too fast? Suddenly she was the one who couldn’t meet his eyes. Acutely conscious of her own arousal, she stiffly got off of him and looked desperately for some excuse to step even further away. She found it when he got up just as precisely as she had, and found a tee shirt to pull on. He turned his back to her to unzip his pants and tuck the shirt in, and that was when she knew that something had been utterly, completely screwed up and changed. When he turned back to her, he jammed his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. She wondered exactly what she could say. The thought came back to her again. He looked human, so human. It’s probably not good to have that effect on a vampire. It’s probably not good to be a vampire in such a position. It’s not good to put a vampire in that position.
She turned and fled, the door slamming behind her. Vampire fast, Spike nevertheless met only the door.
At home, she ran up the stairs straight to her room, slamming the door and tossing her jacket over the chair. She kicked aside her shoes between the door and the bed and flung herself on the bed.
The muscles in his forearms, as his hands tightened on the arms of the chair. God, why had she done that? How long was it going to take her to forget it? She snapped over on her back and stared up at the ceiling. How long did it take to forget impulsively groping somebody who loved you? At least as long as she was still wearing panties that were, quite frankly, soaked, and clothes that smelled of his cigarettes. I can’t believe I did that. That was the first thing. I can’t believe I did that.
I can’t believe how good it felt, too. How he looked, how he reacted.
How he reacted.
That was when her brain went on strike. No more thinking for her. That’s the problem, she thought. I started thinking again afterward. Shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t do it, now, either.
In the bathroom, she tore off her clothes without looking at them and tossed them on the floor as if they’d done something wrong. She turned the shower on and climbed in, but her energy seemed to desert her and she leaned into the water, turning her face up into the stream and staying there for long minutes. Soft skin, and hard flesh beneath her fingers, the feeling of…? The way he reacted to her touch, as if he were so helpless, and then…..? What was that? Power? Power over him? Power to make him helpless with hunger for her, except it turned out he wasn’t quite so helpless as she thought.
She couldn’t stay in one place with the memory picking at her, so she shut off the water and toweled herself off absently, eyes seeing a different room. She replayed it in her mind. He’d been so aroused and then, what, almost embarrassed? Of himself or her? Or for her? What was it? She’d never seen a guy act like that before. She never allowed herself to think of Angel, and the thought of Parker produced a wince. At the time, she’d characterized his reaction as pleasure, but had not recognized the smugness he’d felt at another conquest. Riley….Well….No help there.
The worst thing, she thought dryly, was that she herself was still turned on. She picked up her jeans and underwear and dumped them into the hamper. At least I am mature Buffy today, she thought. I can admit that I was turned on. Mature Buffy did not commit the ultimate immaturity, though…Mature Buffy only stuck her hand into a vampire’s pants, discovering in the process that Big Eyes weren’t all the Big Bad Wolf had to offer, and impulsively fondled him till he came, because he had such blue eyes.
She wrapped the towel around herself and suddenly sat down on the edge of the rub. Oh, God, I practically molested him. And the way he feels about me…Oh, God. Oh, God.
That’s it. No more kissing. I have to stop kissing him. Why do I kiss him? Why? There’s lots of guys I could be kissing if I needed to kiss somebody. Why him all the time? She got up wearily and listlessly brushed her teeth, then wrapped her fat fuzzy robe around herself, not bothering to drop the towel,jamming her hands resolutely into her pockets. Time for chocolate chip cookie dough. Was Willow up? They were overdue for a heart-to-heart. A girlfriend to girlfriend talk. God knows she needed to talk to somebody. With that in mind, she opened the door.
Spike was standing in the center of her room.
They both took deep breaths at the same time, and then Buffy opened her mouth to speak, and only a tiny squeak emerged. Spike scrubbed both hands though his hair and stepped forward, one hand hovering in midair. They both noticed his hand at the same time and he flinched and jerked back, jamming his hands into his pockets. Buffy took a deep breath, and then simply couldn’t say anything. What do I say? I’m sorry I gave you an orgasm. I’m sorry I really, really, liked it. I’m sorry that that’s what I’m thinking about right now. I’m sorry that I saw your stomach and I really want to see the rest…Uh, what?
“Buffy…” Spike said tentatively. She jumped at the sound of his voice. “I, uh…I…” He took another deep breath and visibly gathered his courage, staring down at his feet. With something like amazement, she took a step forward.
“Are you apologizing?”
His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. He was trying to form words, she could tell. He was trying to apologize to her, when she was the one who’d, well---she blushed anew. Vampires don’t apologize, she thought. It was such a stupid thought, but--- Just does not happen, so why is this happening? She wasn’t aware of moving, didn’t even know where the space between them went, but recognized his face in her hands. Then she kissed him, and she became aware of too many things at once, too much to catalog. Mouth and leather and his body. The long lines of muscle beneath her hands, against her body. They stumbled to the bed, and its edge hit her behind the knees and she sat down abruptly. Spike hesitated, taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair again, leaving her far too much time to contemplate his crotch. She stood up again and he took a step back. What, are we going to have tea now? She thought. He was looking down, obviously uncomfortable, so she had to tilt her head to kiss him. She could feel when he suddenly sagged with relief against her, his hands slowly sliding around her, light and cautious. Even so, it was enough to make her shiver, make her pull closer to him. When they stumbled to the bed this time, they both fell onto it.
She kept thinking she owed him something, some statement, some explanation, but her instincts told her that would be a mistake. This was new and fragile, and she didn’t want to break it. One sarcastic word would be enough, and she thought she’d shatter. Too many new things to cope with, without him being one of them. If she could just kiss him forever, she could get accustomed to it, as long as he didn’t move, as long as he stayed right there, half on her body, one leg between hers. She’d forgotten what it felt like, kissing, forgot what it felt to be really kissed, to kiss someone till your spine turned to water, and your blood to quicksilver. She’d known he was a good kisser---they’d been engaged----but not like this. It felt like her body was suddenly remembering things that had been forgotten for so long they had almost ceased to exist. Her nerve endings were buzzing the way frozen things did when they started to thaw. He pulled briefly from her lips to shrug off his coat, and she rolled onto her side to meet him when he came back. They met belly to belly, and then she turned the tables on him by lying half on his chest and kissing him. She had to pull back and bury her head in his chest, abashed, because she couldn’t stop shaking. He wound his arms around her and she cautiously looked up, expecting to see the familiar spark of humor in his eyes at her vulnerability, but found only the Spike she had seen since her return. Got to get rid of that reflex, she thought, always expecting the old Spike to return and hit with her with some quip at her lowest point. He hadn’t done that in ages. She thought suddenly. It struck her that she was still stuck expecting Spike to act like, well Spike, and that he, at least, had moved on.
As she stared at him, he reached out a hand and cupped her face with it and she shivered. She edged closer, seeking his mouth, and with a little sigh subsided onto her back, Spike shifting with her, fitting himself to her. The little noises she made went straight through him. He braced himself up on one elbow and traced her lips with one fingertip. Is this real?
No thinking, she thought. But it was impossible not to. If he was showing her a face he kept hidden from everyone else, then he trusted her. But she didn’t have a secret face that no one saw, she was sure of it. She was Uncomplicated Girl. No thinking, she thought. But…she thought…Instincts. She reached up with both hands and stroked his face, bringing him down to her for a kiss, while he slid one arm tight around her. She pulled one hand free and took his hand, guiding it with hers to her breast.
She was still wearing a huge bath towel wrapped around her under her bathrobe, and the bathrobe itself was some heavy fabric that could have been used as teddy bear fur. Spike didn’t appear to notice till she dodged his mouth and looked up at him, amused despite herself. It took a second for realization to dawn, and then his lips quirked. His face slowly relaxed into comprehension, and he slipped his hand beneath the robe, molding it around her breast, then slipping further, beneath the towel itself. At the touch of skin to skin, they both jumped. He traced her nipple with his thumb, slowly, and the jolt went straight between her legs, firing an ache that lifted her pelvis against him. She was trembling beneath him, and he moved, swiftly, kissing her with his fingertips touching her face as if she’d shatter at anything more. She lifted her hands to his face hesitantly, and he closed his eyes as they touched him. The kiss became harder and he broke away, panting, shifting over her, dropping his head but keeping his eyes locked with hers, licking her nipple with one long stroke that hardened it instantly. Buffy forgot to breathe. It got worse when he dropped his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth. “Oh, Christ,” she muttered, and he sucked harder. Her hips jerked against him, and he ground against her hard, once, twice, three times, before he stopped, panting. The sensation was electric, and her throat went dry. Oh, God, she could hear him sucking her nipple, and that was almost as riveting as the sensation itself. When he switched from one to the other she shuddered violently at the loss of contact.
Spike could feel her trembling under him and honestly didn’t know how much he should try. This is not happening. This is not real. Not me, and not her. She was so aroused, and if she hadn’t already made him come before, he would have at the way her body was moving. He slipped his hand further beneath the towel, to her waist, and not only did she not stop him, she pressed her hand against his for a moment before clutching handfuls of his hair and pulling his mouth harder to her breasts. Slowly, he slipped his hand from her waist to her stomach, stroking, gliding, caressing, but at the soft hair at the apex of her thighs, he hesitated, lifting his head, resting his hand upon that soft little stomach. Shaking himself now, he dipped one finger between her curls and found her so wet and swollen that he had to squeeze his eyes shut, hard. For a moment, all he could do was fight off the desire to spread her pussy wide open and suck her clit till she screamed. He could drown in her, lose himself in her, make her come till she was limp and sated, till that lost look disappeared from her eyes. His cock ached, constrained in his pants, and he cursed the button flies. He had to sit back a bit, swallowing. She was almost naked, the robe and towel open, but he still wore his jeans and shirt and for some reason it bothered him, seeing her all flushed and trembling, while he was dressed. He pulled the shirt off and hesitated, not even certain why. Her legs were around him, and he was afraid if he actually looked down and saw her pussy he’d come in his pants again like some horny pimple-faced teenager. Instead, he sought her eyes, and found them on him. She pulled herself upright, still with him between her legs, and touched his thighs cautiously, eyeing his face uncertainly. Her hands crept to his belt buckle, and opened it. He couldn’t stand her touch, he was afraid he’d explode again. He ripped his jeans open and she helped him shove them down, the two of them fumbling, getting in each other’s way. He got his jeans as far as his knees and gave up, easing her back on the bed, falling on her with something like desperation. He swallowed over a dry throat as he eased his cock against her pussy and pushed, eyes squeezing shut in the effort not to come. If he looked down, he’d see everything, his cock sliding inside her, her legs trembling, her hands against his stomach, thumbs circling on his abdomen, body shaking. When he finally was all the way inside her, he froze, breathing hard.
She stared up at him. His arms were rigid, muscles corded there and everywhere throughout his body. With his eyes shut and his lips moving, he looked like he was in pain. He began to move slowly, tendons twitching in his hips as he pulled all the way out of her, his cock shiny and wet. She gulped as he shoved inside her, mesmerized by the way his stomach muscles rolled under her fingers. Later, remembering, she would blush at the memory; lying with her legs spread open, watching him slide slowly into her. Later. Not now. When he was inside her as far as he could go, he opened his eyes, rubbing his hips against hers in a slight movement that hit her clitoris and made her stiffen and clutch his skin. His arms sagged, and he subsided on top of her, stomach and chest meeting hers, skin sliding against skin, hips working against hers. Gradually, he let his breath out, breathing again, thrusting slowly, lips opening in a gasp against hers, hands finding her face, eyes searching hers.
No thinking, no thinking, no thinking, not happening, not happening, can’t be happening, oh, God, he’s inside me, he’s inside me, oh, oh, oh, don’t stop, don’t stop, oh, God…Good thing not to think because she couldn’t make sense of it all. Oh, God, he was beautiful, he was so beautiful, he was making her feel beautiful too, as if everything that was ugly had stopped existing and there was just this, his body inside hers, not enough, not enough…She had to touch his skin all over, claim his body, climb inside him. The tempo changed with her urgency, his thrusts speeding up as he read her expression. His back flexed under her fingers, muscles rolling as he pounded into her, deeper with every stroke. Over his shoulder, she could see his ass, pumping between her legs, her feet bumping against his flexing thighs. Animal, she thought. Whether it was her or him, or both, she didn’t know. He was moving harder and faster now, but his mouth was impossibly soft on hers, and he seized her hands convulsively, fingers laced through hers, tensing and relaxing with his thrusts. She freed her hands to grab his face, feeling all the tension in her body gathering together into one tight ball of heat inside her. She ground against him frantically, and he clutched handfuls of the blanket and went faster. All the tension inside her exploded. She gasped into his chest, slick with her sweat, and felt him stiffen in his own orgasm, his back arching, reflexes jabbing him into her again and again. Aftershocks seized them both, and they both sagged into lethargy, panting, ending up with Spike lying on top of her, hips still cradled between her cocked thighs, head pillowed on her breasts. She panted at the ceiling, feeling him soften inside her, her muscles twingeing with fading spasms.
Slowly, their breathing returned to normal. She realized she was running her hands back and forth down his sides, and he was stroking her arms. Don’t move, she thought. Don’t end it. But he lifted his head and looked at her, and with something like dismay, she felt the move reverberate through her body. More. More. Slowly, gingerly, he pulled out of her, scraping tender flesh while she gasped and went rigid. “..hurt?” He whispered, dotting kisses onto her face. He shifted till he was at her side and she moved till they were once again pressed together, front to front.
“Yes,” she muttered. “But..” But it felt good, her mind whispered. God, what is wrong with me? She was sore but at the same time it felt like her nerve endings were on full alert, ready for more. She checked his face cautiously, suddenly nervous. This was the point it always went bad, when guys reverted to type after the romance, and she didn’t think she could bear it if Spike suddenly went back to being the poster child for sarcasm.
She studied his back greedily as he sat up, groaning, and shoved off the jeans that were still around one ankle. With a sigh, he looked back at her, palming her face with one hand, and looking at her so soberly that she blinked. He looked just as bewildered as she felt, and suddenly, she felt sarcasm was not forthcoming. No going back. On the other hand, worse than Spike reverting to, well, Spikehood, was Spike as he had been the last few weeks. She didn’t know what to do, what to think. New Spike had given her the feeling that he was always at her back, protecting her, and it had been…nice. But it was also disturbing. Spending all that time around him had led her to notice things she might not have had she not suddenly had so much time to notice. The way he was with Dawn. The tenor of his voice. The tone he used when he spoke to her. Old Spike at least had the virtue of being predictable; lob off a few cutting remarks, respond, parry, thrust, and fight. Still worse than that, actually, was a guy who displayed no signs of taking off, leaving her with no idea of what to do, what to feel.
What did you do when guys didn’t take off?
Was there a guidebook? What did you do? Talk? About what? Cuddle? It just stood to reason that if good guys could turn bad after sex, why wouldn’t a recently-good guy go back to old habits after orgasm? Angel certainly had. It couldn’t help the brain, after all.
Her instincts weren’t helping. Her instincts were telling her to see if she could make that soft look come back on his face. Her instincts really wanted to see if she could get him to suck her nipples again, to touch her all over and kiss her till she was dizzy. She wanted to touch every inch of skin and watch his penis harden in her hands. She wanted to kiss him and taste his tongue again, feel his skin slide against hers. She wanted to watch him thrust inside her while he struggled to keep control of himself. She wanted his skin. Guiltily, she looked into his eyes.
Spike watched her worries flit across her face, then disappear beneath a flush. She had such an expressive face at times….like when I’m inside her--- part of his brain thought. This is not happening. This did not happen. It had been too fast, too furious. He wanted to savor her, touch her, taste every molecule of her skin, because he just might wake up. Or she’ll never come near me because I go off like a rocket every time she touches me. No staying power. His earlier fantasy returned, and he nudged forward, brushing her lips with his own, just once. She sighed happily and wriggled closer, and he dropped all pretense and pulled her tight to him, pressing himself between her legs without even being aware of it. Want to make you scream, he thought. He kissed his way down her throat, then back up to her earlobe before a long detour to her mouth, kissing her wet and long and slow. She was undulating under him already, her thigh muscles tensing and relaxing against his hips, and he slid his hand down the top of her thigh, thinking to himself that at least kicking his ass all those times had given her those Slayer muscles. Slowly, he slid down till he reached her breasts. She had small breasts but her nipples turned a pretty rose color as he sucked them, and the way she arched and rolled beneath him suggested it felt as good as it looked. He sucked harder, and she shoved her pelvis against him so hard that the head of his cock actually slipped inside her. Her hands found his buttocks and tried to pull him inside, but he had other ideas. He grabbed one wrist and pressed it to the bed with one hand, then the other. Her pussy was pulsing rhythmically around him, and he fought back the urge to plunge inside her and lose himself in her depths. He’d felt the flinch when he pulled out of her, seen the look in her eyes. He’d made her sore, not something he wanted to think about. She tried to pull her wrists away and he shushed her.”Ah, ah, ah,” he whispered, lifting his head just enough for one ripe nipple to slip out of his mouth. “No hands.” She shivered.
That’s my girl, he thought. He bowed his head and sucked her nipple hard, feeling her muscles tense around him. The head of his cock was still inside her and he rubbed just slightly against her, feeling her trembling as he did. What a girl. He moved to her other nipple, licking and sucking and teasing, nipping just slightly, sucking so hard his cheeks hollowed, unconsciously thrusting the length of his cock against her wet and swollen flesh, feeling the little movements in her body increase. He switched back to her other nipple and bit gently, and that was when she jerked against him, arching into a climax. He pulled out of her and slid down between her legs, kissing her belly, letting go of her wrists, stroking her legs with light fingers. He kissed his way from her thigh to her knee, then back again, and planted kisses all around her soft curls, delaying as much for his own sake as hers. This wasn’t happening, so he had to make it last as long as possible in case it never happened again. He kissed the inside of her other thigh, licking it like a cat, then finally made his way deeper between her legs, and gently spread her open. At the first touch of his tongue, she went rigid, but as he continued she melted, freeing her wrists and grabbed handfuls of his hair. Her hips rocked against his mouth as he sucked her clit and then she simply went limp, spasms shaking her whole body. He pillowed his head on her stomach, and when she stopped shaking, he began kissing his way down again. He stroked her clit long and and slowly with his tongue, jabbing in time with her movements, listening to her panting little breaths. He could feel her climax all the way through his body, shaking his nerves, making him catch his breath.
He fully intended to go again, but as her eyes cleared and focused, he found himself drawn to them. She was lying spread open before him, wet and sated and trembling, but as they stared at each others’ eyes, he found himself fighting the pulsing in his cock, the urge to dive into her. The unreality of it all hit him again, and he closed his eyes, fully expecting to find himself back in his crypt with a bottle of Jack Daniels at his feet, waking up with a hangover.
Then they both heard the steps coming down the hallway, and Buffy jumped up, tangling in the covers and her robe, her face horror-stricken. They both leaped in opposite directions, Buffy to the door, Spike backward off the bed, hitting his head on the floor, and dragging the blankets with him.
Willow tried to open the door as a matter of course, but found it locked. Odd. “Buffy?”
Buffy stared at the door, heart in her throat, hands clutching spasmodically on her robe. Naked vampire in room? Uh…Uh…Think, there’s an excuse! Her brain was frozen. What just happened? If I can’t explain it to myself, how do I explain it to Willow? She stared at the door. The handle jiggled. She stared at the door some more. The door continued to be closed, and she breathed for the first time in centuries. Oh, God, had Willow heard them? Was that why she was being tactful? Then it struck her, and she stepped cringingly to the door, expecting it to leap open any instant, to reveal a stunned Willow on the threshold. Even before she got all the way across the room she realized it was locked. I never lock it, she thought. How did that...? He locked the door. He locked the door…When? She stood stock still as the unpleasant implications hit her. Why? Willow knows we talk, Dawn knows we talk--? They wouldn’t care if they found us talking, except of course we weren’t talking…And we never stopped, for him to lock the door, so he must have locked it when I was---It was one thing to do something impulsive and stupid, but the image of Spike locking her bedroom door while he waited for her to get out of the tub so he could use those big blue eyes on her made her shudder with Parker flashbacks. She tightened the belt of her robe viciously around herself. That’s why--- She tried desperately to rethink events, to figure out what had started where-- Did he plan to--? After all, I did stick my hand in his pants and---But still! Her heart slowly deflated in her chest. He came here to get me into bed.
No, he didn’t.
He locked the door. Wouldn’t you?
No, because I didn’t know that was going to happen.
Don’t be coy.
I’m not coy.
“Yeah, Will,” she answered listlessly.
“Buffy---do you…?” Willow gulped. “Do you want to talk?”
Spike peered up over the bed; Buffy was flushed again, he saw, and he also saw it was not a good flush. Oh, shit, what now? How on earth could a woman be irritated after that? She was averting her eyes from him, too. Oh, shit. For a brief moment, he clung to hope: it’s Willow she’s pissed at.
“I’ll be down in a second,” Buffy said quietly. She jiggled the door knob again, just to be sure, and carefully composed her mask. She stared at the door for several seconds. Without raising her eyes to him, she turned and headed to the bathroom, tripping nervelessly over his discarded boots as she did. “You’d better get dressed.” She paused at the door, tightening her belt yet again. “You better leave.” Before he had a chance to do more than open his mouth, the bathroom door clicked shut.
Continued in Chapter 2