All About Spike - Print Version
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By Chris

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
FEEDBACK: Yes please.

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.

"Please, Spike," 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 Buffy.

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.