All About Spike - Plain Version
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RATING: NC-17 (maybe an overstatement, but adults only please)
SPOILERS: Follows after Dead Things.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don’t sue.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Stand-alone ficlet – My take on an apology that Buffy owes
but will probably never deliver on the show…
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask my permission first, just so I know where
it's headed. This is posted along with
a couple of other stories at http://www.geocities.com/cxyzjacobs/btvsfic/chrisindex.html
FEEDBACK: Yes please. firstname.lastname@example.org
Spike could sense the
presence waiting inside. The Slayer. Waiting for him.
Cautiously, he entered the
crypt, looking for her. She was here, but where? Wondering what he'd find,
Spike walked toward the lower cavern entrance. On the open trapdoor sat a
small square package wrapped in black paper with a silver ribbon and a tag that
read: "Spike". He bent over to pick it up, giving it a little
shake and then tearing into the wrapping. Opening the box, he found a
small metal key, a pair of spectacles, and a note that said, "I trust
you. Please forgive me."
A heavy silence descended
over the crypt as Spike climbed down into the cavern. There she was,
waiting for him. Handcuffed to the bed, stark naked . . . fully exposed.
Keeping his back to her so
that she couldn't see the intent in his eyes, Spike held the key she'd given
him, watching the flickering reflection of the torch light as he turned it from
side to side and then back again. He walked carefully around the bed,
toward the dresser, and lay the key down with a plunk of finality.
He turned to face her.
Staring into those wide green eyes, he could hear her plea as if she'd spoken
aloud. She saw. At last, she knew.
He removed his shirt, showing
her what she'd done, never releasing her from his gaze. Suddenly, the demon
emerged. He dove onto the bed,
crouching above her, yellow eyes flashing. Searching her eyes for signs
of fear, he reached out to touch her face, gently brushing her cheekbone and
along the sensitive skin beneath her ear, before pulling away.
Letting the mask slip, his
deep blue eyes accepted her mute apology with an understanding born of
kinship and love.
--- --- --- ---
Tonight she would let the poet have her, recognize the man who was such an
important part of the enigma that was Spike. No frantic pushing and
pulling, no violent thrashing and bruising of bodies and hearts. In the
silence of this night, they would make love.
Shyness overcame her as he
left the bed. Watching as he removed his pants and retrieved the key,
Buffy wondered how she could have been so blind to the gentleness, the loyalty
in this man. Her heart skipped a beat when he knelt next to her on the
bed, releasing her wrists and pressing his lips gently into the palm of her
hand. Freed of constraints, Buffy's hands crept under his arms, sliding
up the hard muscles of his back, to press closer against him. She raised
her chin, arching her back a bit, begging for his mouth on hers.
His eyes darkened at her
nearness as he lowered his head to kiss her. Pulling gently at her lower
lip, he tasted and teased, his tongue barely touching hers as her body
moved beneath him, urgency blooming in her belly. She moaned softly,
unable to keep silent, wanting more but unwilling to break the spell.
"So soft," he
murmured, brushing the barest of touches across the whiteness of her
breast. Very lightly, he touched his fingertip to her nipple and watched
her shiver. "Do you taste as sweet as you look?"
He leaned down and took a
nipple in his mouth. Buffy suppressed a gasp, feeling a wave of dizziness
pass through her as she watched his mouth suckling from her aureole, teasing with
his tongue, laving lazy circles across first one breast, then the other.
Only after he had attended to both of her breasts thoroughly did he allow his
hand to slide lower, to her waist.
"Buffy, look at
me," he said, wanting to see her eyes when his fingers found her. He
wanted to see her reaction this time, to watch her lose herself to him.
Only to him. Hand sliding over her flat stomach, he touched her very
gently, briefly, at first. She was trembling, nearly beyond herself with
desire. He had to hear it.
she whispered. "I need you."
He descended again to close
his mouth over hers, touching her everywhere, lifting her, fitting her against
his body. His missing half. She moved restlessly beneath him,
straining upward, trying to capture his fingers where she needed them
most. Groaning deeply as Spike finally parted her thighs, Buffy sent her
hands flying over him, tracing rhythmically over the smooth skin of his back,
chest, and arms, then lower, dragging her fingertips teasingly across the
sensitive skin of his inner thighs, leaving trails of liquid heat in the wake
of every touch. His thumb began to tease at her swollen peak, and hands still
moving, she lifted her hips, offering herself up to the worshipful stroking of his
fingers, pleading for more.
Fighting the intensity of his
desire, needing this to last forever, Spike pushed her hands away from their
exploration, lifting her buttocks and spreading her legs to cradle his head as
he moved down to lap at the center of her need in slow, rough circles.
Buffy jerked in reaction, grinding her hips, her response encouraging him in
his thorough exploration of her wet flesh. She arched up wildly as his tongue
teased mercilessly, in and out, there and gone, promising, but stopping short
of her deliverance.
"Now, Spike. Oh
pleeeease," she panted. Turning his blond head to one side so that he
could watch through heavily lidded eyes, he opened his mouth slightly and took
her over the edge with the sharp suction of his tongue. Losing all semblance of
control at the sight of her bucking wildly beneath him, Spike surged up her
body and drew her mouth into his, swallowing her whole with the demands of his
tongue, plunging himself at last into the waiting fire that was
Still shuddering from the
first orgasm, needing more, Buffy pushed his shoulders down, leaving his
mouth to attend to her heaving breasts as she lifted her legs over his
shoulders, taking him deeper, clenching around him until all sense of self was gone.
Time lost all meaning as they fell into a rhythm meant only for them.
Liquid fire and cool embers, moving together in the stillness of the
night. Delivering absolution, forging
bonds unforeseen, but necessary.
In the space of this moment
they loved, they gave, they forgave.
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