Disclaimers: If they were mine, they'd yell at me.
Spoilers: Fourth season stuff up through Wild At Heart.
Summary: Willow goes looking for a way out of her head.
Ratings Note: NC-17, complete with imagery some may find disturbing. No, really.
Acknowledgments: Inspired by Niccy's "Waltzing in the Moonlight," audienced and midwifed by the lovely and talented Dawn Pares and the Spike.
Willow avoided Mrs. Harris' eyes as she thanked her for the lemonade. She'd forgotten the sugar again. Watching Xander's mother struggling to drag herself out of her addictions was far, far harder than watching her wallow in them.
She'd lasted longer on the wagon than usual this time, probably in the hopes that Xander wouldn't leave again...
Willow knew it was really only a matter of time for both of them, though.
"So... Xander's downstairs?"
"Um-hmm!" Brittle-bright. "With that foreign friend of his... what's his name? Billy?"
Spike-sitting again... Damn. She'd wanted a chance to talk to Xander alone. "Oh, OK... um..." Earplugs, she'd just give Spike some earplugs. Xander bought them by the case when he could. "I'll just be going down there, then. Um... thanks for the lemonade, Mrs. Harris..."
"Sure!" There were tears spilling down Mrs. Harris' cheeks, apparently unnoticed. Willow did her best not to sprint downstairs.
Eleven steps, just like always, last two creaking monstrously... they had made hide and seek more challenging, and spooky. Back when that was something to be wished for. It had been too long since she'd had the chance to really speak to Xander, and Willow wanted to believe he could distract her for a little while. She'd had too much time to think just lately.
There was a well-abused pack of Uno cards in her purse, and three Three Musketeers bars.
Later, if Xander was up to it, they'd share the third for Jesse... it had been too long since that, too.
Only one light was on -- the massive and somehow grand bit of kitsch Xander had come home with:
A present from a co-worker named, improbably, Rock. A lamp in the shape of a 3/4 lifesized naked African -- possibly Zulu, she wasn't sure -- warrior. The spear was tipped with a lightbulb.
"Rather compelling, isn't it? I mean, of course it's tacky, but it's so..." Spike's voice gave her a jump -- Xander had apparently placed him in the shadows.
"Well, yes, but that's not quite it. Causes vague feelings of inadequacy, I can tell you that much. I suppose I should be glad it's only --"
"Where's Xander?" The ghost of a blush in her cheeks, a fleeting rush of shame, need, loneliness, Oz, Oz, Oz --
Tiny sigh from the corner, slightly too self-aware to be classifiable as long-suffering. "My erstwhile jailer has been kidnapped by Anya. He didn't put up much of a fight."
"He left you here *alone*?"
"Oh, it's all right, he left the TV on and all. I'm growing rather fond of this new Batman... though I suppose you weren't really concerned about *my* welfare."
"Well, don't get me wrong, I understand how a sociable demon such as yourself might get a little bored on -- no, no it really wasn't about you."
Chuckle from the shadows. "Who taught you to be so *reflexively* polite, child?"
"I'm not a child --"
"But don't worry, he put some duct tape around my ankles before he left."
"Willow, are you in pain?"
"What are you talking about? I mean, that's a rather personal question, don't you think? Just because my boyfriend left is no reason to assume I'm like this big open wound to go poking and prodding around in I mean what is this, a fishbowl?"
"Er... no?" Spike scraped and hopped his chair into the light, tilted his head curiously. "I was just talking about physical pain. Physical. Believe me, there are few things I'm less interested in discussing than lost *love*. It's a bitch, though, isn't it?"
Willow relaxed a little, smiled ruefully. "A big hairy one, and no I'm not in pain. Why do you ask?"
"You're not a child, it's true, but you're still very young... you have your monthlies, and I understand that can be painful for a young woman."
"Wha -- ? OK, see, *that's* way too personal."
"Is it? Then I apologize... it's just that you smell... wonderful."
Willow took a step back, grimacing. "God, Spike, that's disgusting even for you. Look, I need to speak to Xander. You need to stay tied up. Do you think you could keep your mouth shut until he gets back?"
"Anya had a pair of handcuffs... I'm thinking he might be a while, luv."
Willow pinched the bridge of her nose, a rather satisfying gesture she'd picked up from Giles. There were any number of situations it fit. "I really didn't need to know that."
Awkward half shrug. "Just thought I'd let you know."
A few minutes passed in silence while they watched cartoons, enough time for Willow to muse on what sort of spell could be used to turn a person into a mildly self-adhesive and sentient ink. An image of herself, then, dipping an elegant fountain pen into a pool of Oz, and then writing her correspondence. Would he feel himself as letters? Would he remain self-aware even as he spread to a hundred, a thousand different places on checks, postcards, exams?
Would he be able to read her letters to him as she wrote them?
"I want one of those."
She shook herself out of it, with some difficulty. "A stuffed Pikachu? I think you've been watching too much Kids' WB, Spike."
"Probably, but those kids next door... think of the look on their faces when they find a gutted yellow furpillow nailed to their tree. Cure 'em of the obsession right then and there. Their parents would love us, you know."
It *was* an oddly pleasant image... "You can barely tear open a blood bag without getting a migraine. I think tree-nailing is just a little bit beyond you at this point."
Another sigh, more heartfelt this time. "You never know what you have until it's gone, eh? But you could do the nailing. You look like you could use a good nailing... of something to a tree, that is. You'd be surprised how soothing it really is."
Willow snorted quietly, shook her head. "No thanks, Spike, though I appreciate the suggestion."
"Oh, c'mon, don't tell me you've *never* wanted to nail someone to a tree. It's a natural human urge, right up there with messing up good things for no reason at all."
"See, but it's just too messy. They'd scream a lot, for one --"
"And probably pass out --"
"And bleed to death long before they've suffered satisfactorily."
"Well, I'll give you that one, Willow, but lemme tell you -- they *never* suffer enough."
"No?" A small breaking inside, some shattered skim of ice inside her and Willow realizes, for the seventh time today alone, just how much time she has spent contemplating revenge.
"Not ever... not if you loved them."
Regrets and fear, of herself. The ball of lead in her stomach pulled her out of true, tugging her into herself where it wasn't nearly empty enough.
"Oh, look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to depress you... look, why don't we talk about something else?"
"Weren't you going to be quiet?" It was barely even a question. Willow's voice made her wonder if she were tired.
"Well, no, I really wasn't. Sociable demons like myself and all that... Mrs. Harris just left."
"There's no one around but us."
"Is that supposed to be a threat?"
An elegant utter lack of gesture, an ironic look. "I just meant you could talk if you wanted to. It's not as though I'm headed off anywhere."
"Amazingly enough, you're just not who comes to mind when I need a shoulder to lean on."
"What, I'm not good enough?"
"Well, I... actually no, you're right, you're *not* good enough. As a matter of fact, you're evil."
"Point taken, I suppose... could you come a little closer, then?"
She shifted forward without thinking, only to shudder when Spike inhaled deeply, eyes closed, lashes restless on his cheeks. She could see that his entire body was straining against the ropes, and she could see that he was struggling not to move the chair. Not to spook her. Willow was still perched at the edge of the couch when Spike abruptly opened his eyes.
His gaze was hungry and pained. "Thank you." His voice was a low husk, a close cousin to the voice Oz would use when he was trying not to growl against her skin. Her reaction to it was thus nothing but predictable... she blamed the conditioning, the endless positive reinforcement of callused hands on her thighs and Oz's drugged focus on her scent.
The look in Spike's eyes was close enough, and getting closer. Willow shook her head, taking in the absolute security of Spike's bonds. No one around, no one to see, nothing but a little of... this. Distraction, yes.
"Do you... do you want more?"
Flash of surprise on his face, quickly erased by something a little (beautifully) desperate. "Yes."
She stepped forward then, not thinking, facing only forward. Spike disappeared from her perspective as she got closer, replaced by dusty tools and still-packed boxes. The only thing Willow was sure she could smell was Xander... it was soothing.
Soft but eminently noticeable bump. Spike's face against the front of her jeans, pressing closer... the seam teased her, but not enough. Spike's deep inhales made her shudder again, and again. Spike pushed his face against her, shifted awkwardly in an obvious attempt to get between her legs... Willow spread her legs and stood on tiptoe, earning a low groan and more rough little pushes.
Closer to where she needed them.
She felt Spike change between her legs, felt the ridges with a series of short, helpless gasps. The thought that Spike knew exactly how to use the face of his demon felt risque to Willow, even given the facts of the situation. It made her want to laugh a little, and blush.
"Take your pants and undies off. Now. Please."
Another rub against her clit, muted viciously by her jeans. The sound of her zipper made the hair at the back of her neck try to rise, made her both want to look around to make sure there was no one to see and face resolutely forward. She chose the latter, pulling down the zipper tooth by tooth, less teasing than enjoying the feel of her own thumb against her mound.
Of Spike's skin against her knuckles.
A cool, rough tongue slipped between her fingers, coiled at the small brief webbing and made her shiver and fumble a bit. She could feel Spike's silky skin stretched taught over the ridges, and wanted it back against her.
Willow finally just yanked her jeans and underwear (plain, faded cotton, now... the others were at the back of the drawer again) down past her knees, felt her breasts brush against the top of Spike's head and became helplessly aware of her own tight, stiffened nipples.
Suddenly Spike fell backwards to the floor, leaving Willow half-crouching above him, tangle of pants slipping down to her ankles. She heard something crack she sincerely hoped was the chair. "Wha --"
Brief grimace followed by a jerk and an unmistakable pop of bone into joint. "C'mon, luv... sit on my face."
"You... pushed yourself to... you want me to --"
"Absolutely. Get over here."
Willow stepped out of her jeans, felt a draft over her legs, prickling at the mild stubble there. She felt a glaring need to tug her sweater down lower on her body and ignored it as best she could, walking over to where Spike lay, placing one foot to either side of him and closing her eyes.
"Oh, that's lovely, Willow, just... mmm. Now ditch the plug and get down here."
It seemed she hadn't run out of blushes... Willow removed the... plug as quickly as she could and moved just far enough away to shove it beneath the top layer of Xander's trash. She felt open and terrifyingly exposed. Unnaturally wet and messy. Incongruously powerful. She paused, looking down at Spike.
Ran one finger over her clit and further, and then forward again. Spread her legs and rubbed at herself in a manner she normally didn't prefer, but which she thought might be... better for him to watch.
"Fffuck... you know, Willow, I've always liked you."
She smirked through her blush, and moved her hand. One more slow, hard rub and she brought her hand back out again, painted red at the fingertips. Xander was suddenly eclipsed by the scent of iron and some less identifiable tang. She closed her eyes and flicked her tongue out once, shivered at her lack of true reaction.
She straddled Spike without any further hesitation, shifting above him until she felt his tongue slip up inside her and then froze, waiting. Several quick thrusts, good and frustrating. She tried to squeeze herself tight around the invader, craving more sensation, and felt rather than heard Spike's groan.
And then he was sucking at her, hard and inescapable. Moments of pain, flashes, really as the pressure waxed and waned. Willow wondered if the implant was keeping him from being too rough, and wondered if she regretted that. The pulse of it was maddening and she thrust against his face. Heard his head slam against the floor, but neither of them paused.
The suction only emphasized her emptiness, made her want more. But Willow know she wouldn't be able to make herself go quite that far and so she simply ground a little faster, and brought her hand back down. Pinched at her clit, twisted the way she thought a lover might, and then harder. She felt sweat bead up on her forehead, her back, between her breasts.
She imagined a thousand pairs of eyes on her, more shocked than accusing, smiled and let her head loll back, beginning to finger herself in the fast shuddery rhythm that was nearly instinct. Spike continued suckling, occasionally flicking his tongue out, teasing at her opening. She could feel his swallows as tiny presses upward, sense his lack of breath as a sweetly disturbing tug just behind her navel.
The realization that she never actually had to move pushed her over the edge with a jagged little shout and a full-body shudder. Suddenly the suction increased to the point of pain, and she felt her body jump in the rapid and tantalizingly cruel aftershocks. Spike was moaning into her flesh continuously in what she knew was mostly pain... there was nothing to fear.
Soon enough he released her, head slamming back against the floor. Willow stood on shaky legs, letting out panting half-moans and still aroused but unable to seriously imagine doing anything about it just then... she was far too raw.
She eased her panties and jeans back on before turning back to Spike, heaving him upright again and avoiding his eyes until she had been to the bathroom, returning fully protected and with a handful of damp paper towels. He was smiling blearily, and not all the flush in his cheeks scrubbed off.
Willow could still smell a hint of herself on him when she was done, and decided to leave it there. She compromised by giving him a piece of gum, making him smirk.
And then she flipped on the evening news and settled in beside Spike to wait for Xander, smiling quietly.