All About Spike - Plain Version
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Chapter: 1 2 3 4
The Games We Play
Rating: NC-17 :)
Summary: The sexual adventures of Spike and Buffy
Timeline: This takes place after the handcuff scene and before the Bronze and the alley in DT
Disclaimer: Yep. I own it all, and if you believe that, then I have a bridge I can sell you.
Feedback: Please! email@example.com
A/N: Many thanks to Moose!
A/N2: Don't worry. I have plans for those scarves. I'm just warming up :)
"Do you want to play a game?"
I had been lying on my back, staring at the ceiling above me, gathering my wits, so I could, how did he say it? 'Kick him in the head and run out, virtue fluttering.' But first I had to get my strength back. His voice seductively cut through my post coital daze. I was annoyed to say the least.
I shifted my head to look at him. "A what?"
He smirked and I wanted to hit him. "A game love."
"What kind of game?" I spoke quietly, as if whispering would make this less real. He gave me a look that was pure sexual predator. He has a million looks and all but a few of them can reduce me to a puddle of goo within minutes.
He ran his fingertips from my shoulder to the back of my hand. A light touch. Barely caressing my skin. An involuntary shiver ran through me.
"Our kind of game." His voice had become deeper, rougher. It's a voice I find hard to resist.
"We have a kind of game?"
He smiled and leaned in to kiss my shoulder. Another shiver. "Oh yes love. And I guarantee that you'll enjoy it." I was sure I would, but…a part of me thought I should leave. We'd already patrolled and engaged in a round of 'post patrol relaxation.' I had an angry, hormonal sister and a magically addicted friend waiting for me at home. They wanted my time; they wanted to lean on me. They wanted me to make it all better. Putting it that way, why would I ever want to leave. "Alright." I whispered. "We can play a game."
He offered me a genuine smile and it made my chest tighten. I was proud that I could make him look like that, but it frightened me at the same time. That smile told me more than I was willing to admit. I was about to change my mind when he kissed me again. Ok, I would stay. "That's my girl." I decided to let that one pass, as I didn't think I could speak, even if the world depended on it.
He got out of bed and began rummaging around in some boxes. I tried not to look. Honestly. It's funny; I have no inhibitions during sex. I've let him handcuff me. Hell, I've even handcuffed him. But to watch him walking around, it seems too intimate. That's something you do with a boyfriend, not a…what was he anyway? Lover, sex partner, shag buddy? I wasn't sure, but I knew we weren't at that stage yet. Not that we'd ever reach that stage. At least I never would. To be honest, I don't know if he realizes the significance. He just has no modesty at all. I suppose if I were a man and had a body like his, I wouldn't mind showing it off either.
"A ha!" His exclamation startled me and I averted my eyes before he caught me. "Buffy." He sing songed my name, so I looked back at him. He was doing that bed crawl thing that melts me every time. I saw that he had something fisted in his hand. He noticed my inquisitive look and with one of his smirks, he lifted his arm and let the contents fall.
At first all I saw was black, but then I caught one in my hand and I realized it was a scarf. Several scarves actually. I ran it through my fingers. It was real silk, not the cheap, polyester blend. I wondered how he could have afforded these. Duh? Sometimes even I think I am a natural blond.
I surreptitiously looked for a label. If we are going to use scarves as foreplay, or whatever, then I would like to at least know which designer I will have to bow my head in shame in front of in the future. No label. I couldn't even see where one had been cut. Perhaps these were from when labels weren't put on things. This brought an ugly thought to mind. "These are new aren't they? I mean you haven't, umm, used these on, before?"
"No love. These are all for you."
"Why so many?" He smiled mysteriously and told me I'd find out. I wasn't sure if I should be pleased or not.
He lifted one from the pile and ran it through his fingers. When I did that, it was, well, running a scarf through my fingers. But when he did it, it was as if he were memorizing every fiber. Like the way when his hands run over my body, exploring every crevice and line. He is blind and I am his Braille text.
I was so absorbed in what he was doing I missed most of what he said. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing. Half the time I prefer not to hear what he has to say. He sighed. It wasn't one of the pleasant ones either.
His lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. I could feel his mood change. He's like that, so mercurial. His moods were like forks in the road. He could start off in one direction, and then switch to another, usually a less pleasant one. I'm afraid my inattention may have moved us off course. I fixed my eyes on him and slowly blinked. His face and shoulders softened immediately. I smiled inwardly; it works every time.
His fingers were still caressing the silk. His expression turned thoughtful. "Did you know that silk is one of the toughest natural fibers?" He gave me his patented seductive look. "It takes a lot to tear through it."
At least I now knew what he meant to do. I wasn't nervous. Hell, I'd let him use metal handcuffs on me. Silk was nothing to Slayer strength, right?
I watched him tie one end of a scarf to the middle of another. Huh? I was hoping that this wasn't going to be one of his complicated plans because we all know how well those usually turn out.
He told me to kneel, face him and hold out my hands. Sometimes I think my free will checked itself at the entrance to his crypt. Perhaps that would explain why I offered not a single question or protest.
He wrapped the scarf in a figure eight around my wrists. I hypnotically watched him. The shape reminded me of when I used to skate. I wondered what the younger, more innocent version of myself would have said if I told her that the only figure eights in her future were the ones that were part of sexual games.
He finished at last and my wrists were tied facing each other. The silk ensured that my bones don't press together. It's the little details like these that disturb me. It reminds me that he has a century of practice. Not that I mind the practice, because, well, it means good things for me. What bothers me is all the women he has done this with before. How do I compare to them? Let's be honest, my experience is not all that great. Insecurity, thy name is Buffy.
He must have sensed my discomfort because he made soothing noises and ran his hand along my hair and down my back. After I calmed, he picked up the trailing end of the scarf and pulled me towards the foot of the bed. I walked, waddled, scooted? Whatever it was, it wasn't graceful. I felt my skin reddening in embarrassment. He didn't say anything, which was good, because tied hands or no, I could still wallop him. Perhaps he realized this.
By the time he got me situated, I was facing one of the end bedposts. He tied the trailing scarf to it. The knot was secure, yet he could slide it up and down to better position me. I didn't know how this would fit in later, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to know. In the end, he left my hands parallel to the bed.
From my vantage point, I could see where the cavern led off to the tunnels. The candlelight didn't reach that far so it was all shadows. For some reason that made me nervous. Anything could come at us and I would be unable to do anything about it.
Spike had moved behind me and was running his fingers through my hair. It should have felt nice, but it didn't. Wondering if something was going to attack at us reminded me that a killer was at my back. I shouldn't have been scared; we had done this before, or something like it. But I was. He could so easily sink his fangs into my neck like he did the first one. Or he could snap my neck like the second.
What was I doing? I could feel the panic beating its wings in my chest. How could I let him put me in a position like this? I began to tug on the scarves and to my utter horror, nothing happened. There was no reassuring sound of silk tearing. Where was my fabled slayer strength now?
He was shhing me and running his hands up and down my back. I continued to struggle and began to hyperventilate. He whispered platitudes in my ear. It reminded me of that movie with Robert Redford where he was trying to calm the rabid horse. When I first saw the movie, I thought it was neat. Now seeing it from the point of view of the horse, it wasn't nearly as nice.
"You just say the word love and we'll stop." He was using that soothing tone of voice that he used when I first came back and couldn't deal.
"B…but we didn't decide on a word." I let him tie me up and we hadn't decided on a safe word. How could I have done this? I tugged frantically on the bonds, but they weren't giving at all. Why couldn't I get free?
"Name it love and we'll use it."
Huh? What was he talking about? I think I tried to say that but it came out as a squeak.
His hands were still roaming over my back and shoulders. "A safety word love. All you need to do is choose one." He had moved to my side and was looking at me with his large eyes, his hand still on my back. When I didn't answer, he moved towards the bedpost, reaching to untie me. It was the concern I saw in his gaze and the willingness to untie me that finally cut through my panic. This was Spike. My Spike. He would never hurt me. We had built an uneasy truce with our bodies and I feared that if I let him untie me, something between us would be fractured. I didn't know why it bothered me, nor did I care to know why it mattered. All I knew was that I had to stop him. I blurted the first thing that came to mind.
"Armageddon." He looked at me quizzically. "The word is Armageddon."
He chuckled and I relaxed even more. "Armageddon it is. Shall we continue?" Should we? Why did he have to give me so many outs? Perhaps I should just tell him to untie me. Did I really want to travel down this road? Why should I care if it ruined our relationship since we really didn't really have one anyway? He had asked me the other day if I trusted him. I told him no. That was a lie. I trusted him more than anyone else right now. He should know that.
I nodded and he began feathering light kisses on the back of my neck. My arousal, which I had thought was dead, began to seep languorously through my body.
"Are you really, really sure?" He re-asked the question against my neck. His lips felt like butterfly wings on my skin. I shuddered involuntarily and made up my mind. I nodded again. I felt his lips transform into a smile. "Good girl,' he said.
His hands, which had been caressing my back, began to roam into other areas. They moved down my arms to my silk clad wrists, they caressed my sides, the front of my thighs, the back of my thighs. He, I imagine, deliberately avoided every erogenous zone, but it didn't matter. The slight touches felt so good that my muscles relaxed even more under his ministrations.
That was when he started talking. Oh, when he spoke, his words could be snarky, rude and offensive. I often wanted to hit him. But here, when our defenses were down, and we were naked, his words wrapped around me, they lulled me. Was it the words themselves, his accent or his voice? I didn't know, and honestly, I didn't care. All I knew for certain was that when he spoke, here, like this, he created magic.
"Have I ever told you how much I love your body? When we're outside, you're all muscle and strength, but here, you're soft." His fingertips trailed down my chest between my breasts and along my abdomen. My muscles clenched, willing his hands to move lower, but he circled up my sides and along the sensitive underside of my arms. "But I can still feel the real you. All this coiled strength. You're like an untamed tiger, ready to strike anytime, and only I can quiet you. "
My mouth opened to make some sarcastic remark but his palms grazed my nipples and all that came out was a gasp. I think he did that on purpose. His hands left my breasts. Bastard. I moaned and thrust out my chest, hoping he would get the message. He did. His hands caressed the underside of my breasts.
"I love your tits," he murmured in my ear. I shuddered. I wasn't entirely comfortable with his wordplay. The word tits seemed so vulgar, yet it suited him. The way he said it, his voice roughened with desire, excited a part of me. "They're so lovely. Like ripe peaches. And your nipples, like ripened berries." Ok, not very original, but with him, it's all in the inflection. He moved his hands back to my nipples, his palms moving light circles. He could say anything he wanted as long as he didn't stop.
"I love to watch you fight when you're wearing one of those little strappy tops. Your tits jiggle and your nipples harden." I thrust my chest out again hoping for more contact. His palms were driving me mad. "I just want to throw myself on you and suckle you til you scream." I moaned and pushed my back against his erection. I was gratified by the catch in his breath. "Sometimes I wonder if I can make you come by touching your breasts alone." He pinched my nipples between his fingers and the feeling was so intense that I screamed.
"Oh God Oh God." It was a litany from my mouth. "Oh please more. More. I need more." His fingers tugged on my nipples and unbelievably, I could feel it starting. The tension moved from my fingers and toes towards my center. How could this be happening? He hadn't even really touched me yet. Maybe it was the residual adrenaline from earlier. Maybe. But really I didn't care. All that mattered now was that I was on the verge. I writhed, rubbing my ass against him. He pulsed against me. He was breathing, panting, matching my own rapid breaths. "Can you feel it baby?" His voice was rough in my ear and his fingers, oh his magic fingers, were plucking and pinching at my nipples. The pleasure was pain, yet not. "Come for me love. Come for me like this. Just my hands on your luscious tits. I want to hear you scream." His mouth moved to my neck, sucking the skin between blunt teeth and his fingers gave my nipples a vicious twist. It was enough. I fell off the edge, the pressure releasing on a long moan.
I was boneless, my dead weight pulling at the bonds. His arms, still around me, were the only things holding me up. That was…wow. I never knew. It was just incredible. I was suddenly very happy I'd stayed.
"You liked that did you?" I made a noise that sounded a lot like a purr. I could still feel his erection at my back. I pressed back and smiled when he tightened his arms around me. "My tigress, my kitty." I couldn't help it; I giggled. He made a humming noise against my back and caressed my stomach with his hands. I let my head fall back against his shoulder. I twisted towards him and smiled contentedly. He leaned in and kissed me lightly.
"That was so nice." It was an understatement, but how could I tell him? How could I explain the effect his hands and voice had on me. How quickly I lost control. It had never been like that before.
"Nice?" His voice was sardonic. "I was trying for something a bit more spectacular." He sighed dramatically. "I guess we'll have to work on that."
I was intrigued. "There's more?"
"Oh my little kitty." His hands moved to my hips and pulled me against him. "We haven't even begun."
Continued in Chapter 2
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