DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: A disastrous first day with Holly left Buffy all disgruntled and tense, so Spike took it upon himself to loosen her up, leading to some talking and resolving about what's going on between them. Before things could get too heated, though, noise from Buffy woke Holly up and interrupted the pair…
He lingered longer than he wanted, every second that ticked by in the bedroom one more second he was away from the waiting Slayer in front of the fireplace. But Holly's eyes weren't budging, fixed on his face in solemn expectation as Spike turned from adjusting the curtains she'd been adamant were letting in too much light.
"Will you tell me a story?" she asked in a tiny voice.
He tilted his head, folding his arms over his chest. "You already got one, moptop. The first time you went to bed."
"I want another."
"And I want this bloody chip outta my head, but we can't have everything, now can we?"
Her gaze flickered to the closed door. "Do you not want Buffy to get mad at you again if you tell me another story?"
"Buffy won't---." Spike grimaced, shaking his head. This wasn't what he signed up for, damn it, and he especially didn't understand why it was the ankle biter had somehow latched onto him as the white hat in this scenario. Well, actually he did. He wasn't the one who'd almost accidentally choked the bint to death by trying too hard to be the pride of the party. That had been interesting to watch, to say the least.
"Look," he said, adopting a gentler tone, "Buffy's just new to this, and she's got this mad notion that she has to be ace at whatever she takes on, so she's tryin' just a tad too hard to please you. It's part of that whole Slayer, save-the-world complex she suffers from. Trust me, I'm workin' on breakin' that, 'cause it's bloody annoying, lemme tell you. But she's not so bad if you give her half a chance. And she only wants the best for you, pidge, so maybe you can cut her some slack."
She seemed to consider his words with a seriousness only a child could muster. "Do you think…maybe, she'll like me as much as she likes you?" she asked.
"What? No, Buffy doesn't…" But he couldn't finish the sentence, shock at the blunt declaration dissipating in light of the events Holly had interrupted. Buffy'd never said anything to him specifically, but it wasn't in her nature to get involved with someone on a whim spurred purely by physical attraction. Everything Spike had ever witnessed---even that Parker git in the beginning---had been about liking the bloke. And she'd been a bit less vociferous in her denunciations of him in the past few days. Maybe she did have at least an inkling in that direction.
"She'll like you more," Spike finally said. Better to not consider those kind of thoughts just now. They could be mood-breakers for the sex he had in mind once he was able to blow this room. "You're not a vamp."
For some reason, this made Holly giggle, and she burrowed down deeper beneath the blankets. She looked impossibly small in the giant bed, her eyes intolerably huge---rather like those soddin' Precious Moments dolls even Dru said were the devil's work---but the way she gazed up at Spike was something he hadn't seen since before he'd set about to cure his dark princess.
Adoration. Trust. Pure. Simple.
With a heavy sigh, Spike sat on the edge of the bed. "So. What kind of a story do you want?"
The living room was silent when he finally emerged from storyteller hour, and Spike's first instinct was that the Slayer had fallen asleep on him. Would she take kindly to being woken? he wondered, as he closed the door behind him. A smile curled his lips. Just have to make the waking up worth it, he decided.
But the room was empty when he turned to survey it, the flames a steady dance in the hearth revealing the empty expanse of floor. The couch was likewise deserted, but a quick glanced showed Buffy's shoes still resting haphazardly next to the front door, so that ruled out a venture into the great white way. Even the bathroom was dark through the crack its egress still allowed.
His head cocked as he listened.
Two heartbeats oscillated in the warm cabin air, the fainter of the two coming from directly behind him. The other, a quick calypso that resonated with a familiarity against his skin, made him smile, and slowly, Spike's eyes slid to the ladder leading to the loft.
Slayer wants to play.
Maintaining a stealth that had served him well over the years, Spike closed the distance to the bottommost rung, testing for creaks with his weight. Her scent was stronger here, and unconsciously, he leaned into the wood, inhaling the aroma that seemed stronger on one of the middle steps. She'd stopped there, he realized. Most likely either sat on the rung or leaned against it, probably to contemplate just what in hell she was doing voluntarily going to his bed.
Didn't matter, really. Buffy's desire still coated the wood as strongly as if Spike had his face buried between her thighs.
The arousal that had abated with Holly's story returned with a throbbing vengeance, eliciting a low growl deep within Spike's chest. With measured steps, he climbed the remaining rungs, stepping to the floor above with a determination that had dissipated in the child's wake.
Only the faint glow from the fire below illuminated the space, but Spike didn't need any more light to see Buffy sitting up nervously at the head of the bed. She was still dressed---a mixed blessing; as much as he would've loved to see a naked Slayer package waiting for him with open legs, it was going to be just as much, if not more, fun unwrapping her himself---and for some inexplicable reason, had made the bed before climbing atop it. A brief moment of panic overwhelmed him when he remembered the journal he'd stuffed beneath the mattress, but the nervous chewing of Buffy's lip was all the reassurance he needed that she'd gone nowhere near it.
"Took you long enough," she said. "I was beginning to think…"
When she clamped her mouth shut, Spike frowned. "Beginning to think what?" he prompted.
"It's not nothin'." He paused as the realization sunk in. "You thought I was just playin' with you?"
The guilt that flashed behind her eyes was the only reply he needed. Leaning forward onto his knuckles, Spike's weight bowed the end of the bed as he began to crawl up its length toward her, head lowered so that he could watch her through his lashes.
"Playin's what I had in mind," he said, his voice a rumble. "Just more of the full body contact sort. Think we'll both enjoy that a tad more."
He stopped when he reached her hips. His mouth was watering from the sheer ambrosia that met his nostrils, and before he could stop himself, Spike bent his head and sank his teeth into the soft junction of Buffy's thigh.
Even through the fabric of her pants, the sharp contact made her arch away from the mattress, her hand going automatically to his head to coil through his curls. To her credit, she didn't make a sound, and when Spike lifted his chin to gauge Buffy's response, he was met with her decisive gaze.
"Is Holly asleep?" she murmured. When he nodded, she slid her bottom down along the mattress until their pelvises whispered against each other, their eyes now level. "So, if I want this to last longer than Xander's attention span at a research party, I've gotta be quiet, huh?"
"As a mouse, luv. And, if you know what's good for you, don't be mentioning the boy again. He's a bit of a spoiler for the mood, don't you think?"
She didn't speak, only nodded in agreement before craning her neck to press her lips to his. A feather caress, her breath was hot and sweet as her mouth skated over his, and though it wasn't nearly as demanding as their kisses had been down in front of the fireplace, it left Spike trembling with desire when she fell back onto the pillow.
"Want to see you," Spike rasped as he swooped to taste the hollow of her throat. But when her hands came up to do undo her pants, he pushed them aside, locking her wrist in his grip for a steady second as he said, "My job."
Almost automatically, Buffy's arms fell lax at her sides, her eyes luminous when he sat up to see her. For a moment, Spike's throat constricted, the power of her beauty a tangible force that threatened to crush him, but he quickly hid his weakness with a smirk, reaching out to rest a hand on her flat abdomen.
Her muscles were tense beneath his fingers, the heat seeping through her clothing to leech into his flesh. There was a bare inch where her top rode up, exposing her golden skin, and slowly, Spike stroked what he could see, his thumb dipping beneath her waistband with a bandit's guile before resuming a silken path to the side of her waist.
"Have to admit," he said softly, lifting his other hand to deftly slide down the zipper, "didn't fancy you'd be quite so open to this." His palms spread to slide down the top of her thighs as he pulled the trousers down her legs, guiding her knees to part when they were free from the fabric.
"Not that I'm complaining," Spike continued. He tossed the pants to the floor behind him before returning his hands to her calves, gliding back up their length in a savoring of her skin. "Anyone ever tell you you're absolutely scrumptious, pet? The things you make me do, make me want…"
Slipping around her back and under her shirt, Spike's hands pushed it up and out of his way, exposing the delicate lace of her bra. Her arms rose unbidden to allow him to draw it over her head, but the only thing he could see was the lush landscape of her curves, the swell of her breast, the simple vibration along the rise where her pulse announced its presence.
It was hypnotic.
It was breathtaking.
And, more than anything else, it drove away all doubts that this dangerous girl was exactly what Spike wanted.
As he watched, it quickened to a lightning speed that drew his gaze upward. Buffy's aspect was taut with sudden apprehension, and her muscles were already tensing for flight.
"Scrumptious implies edible," she said. "And funny, but that look in your eyes makes me think you want to eat me, not…you know."
He knew he shouldn't. The severity of her tone, the seriousness of her face…it all screamed at him how not kidding she really was. But…it was her words, or rather lack of them, that drove him to first smile, and then chuckle out loud, and before he could stop himself, he was saying, "You can do it, but you can't say it? Didn't figure you for bein' a priss in the sack, Slayer."
"What're you talking about? I'm not here to become your new chewtoy! That's not what---."
Her rising voice stiffened his spine, and without thinking, Spike settled his hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. "Shut it, will you? I didn't waste my time putting the rugrat to sleep just to have you spoil it by bein' completely and utterly daft." His finger jabbed at his temple. "Forget 'bout my little leash problem already?" he demanded. "Can't hurt you even if I wanted to. So stop thinkin' like a Slayer for half a sec, and consider that maybe, just maybe, you might just amuse the hell out of me because you can do the deed but you can't say the bloody word. Ever think of that?"
She lay frozen beneath him, each muscle coiled in preparation for argument. Then, slowly, one hand came up to pry his from her mouth. "You looked at me like---."
"---you're the most tantalizing morsel I've seen in the last decade?" Spike finished. "Yeah, I did. 'Cause there's nothin' more I want right now then to taste you all over, pet." He fell forward, hands on either side of her head while his mouth ducked down to skate along her jaw. "In case it's escaped your attention, I'm a bit orally fixated here…" Now, his tongue was lapping at the soft spot just beneath her ear, swallowing down the tiny tidbits of her that he could, feeling her body begin to relax again beneath him. "…and all I can think of, and all I can see, is how amazing you're goin' to be when I can finally get my mouth where I want it."
All the tension was gone. "And where's that?" Buffy whispered, and the shakiness in her voice betrayed her desire even more than the languor of her limbs.
Spike didn't answer. Instead, he slid back down the length of her body, glorying in her stifled moan when his clothes scraped against her sensitive skin. When he reached her pelvis, he didn't stop, letting his hands take the silky fabric of her panties in a liquid motion as they continued down her legs, leaving her wet and exposed and waiting in hungry anticipation of what might happen next.
"Take your bra off," he ordered huskily, resting his hands on the inside of her knees to push them to the side.
Her arms lifted to do as he instructed, but then froze as a playful glint appeared in Buffy's eye. "What happened to that being your job?" she asked innocently.
He grinned. He had to. The sheer taunt in her voice was like ambrosia, and certainly not a tone he ever expected to be on the receiving end of, especially in light of her most recent over-reaction to his good humor. "Hope it's not one of your favorites then," Spike warned as he began to reach for it. "'Cause if I'm the one who takes it off, it's not goin' to be wearable again."
Buffy's hands moved so quickly, he couldn't help but laugh when the garment went slingshotting over his head. It took only a moment for her to join him in the mirth, but when Spike bowed to run his tongue along her inner thigh, she choked on the sound, her fingers digging into the blanket they rested upon. "What…what're you…going to do?" she said.
"Thought that was obvious," he replied. He planted a row of tiny nibbles along her skin, leading closer and closer to her pussy, each bite creating a new quake that undulated down Buffy's thigh. "I'm goin' to eat you."
"That's…that's…that's…crude," she panted. Her breathlessness was getting in the way of forming coherent thoughts, and softening what he wasn't entirely certain was meant to be bitchiness, but she did nothing to prevent his trek toward her sex, even going so far as spreading her legs even further to allow him easier access. "You're a…pig, Spike."
He smiled, his mouth hovering above the wiry curls. "That's my Slayer," he breathed, and then darted out his tongue to draw a long swipe along her outer lips.
Buffy's hips bucked from the bed at the contact, but she surprised him by staying silent, not even moaning when he pushed her back down and parted her labia to begin a more deliberate exploration of her folds. He was careful to avoid her clit, however; that was a treat he was going to hold out from her for as long as possible.
But could he keep it from his own desires? Spike thought as he let his fingers join in the game. She tasted even more delicious than he'd imagined, and he knew he could spend an eternity between her thighs if he was given half the chance. It was obvious she had never had oral sex before; already, Buffy was beginning to tense in anticipation of an impending orgasm, and it drove Spike to pull back, not willing to let it be over so quickly.
Prats don't know what they were missing. Bloody nectar of the gods, she is.
When he felt Buffy's hands tangle in his hair, drawing him closer with a strength he couldn't---and didn't want to---fight, Spike dove back into her heat, this time heading straight for her clit.
A quick flick across the tip, just to let her know he was more than aware that it was there…
…and then, he sunk a single finger into her pussy, nearly coming in his jeans when her inner muscles sucked and tugged him even deeper. It almost pained him to have to pull out, but he was quick to add two more to his thrusts, returning his mouth to suck at her clit at the same time.
Buffy's breathing was a ragged symphony to the rising pounding in her blood, and it---more than anything else---urged Spike to quicken his slides into her depths, to alternate his sucks and flicks with hungry nips between blunt teeth, so that both of them were rapidly riding the crest of their excitement. When he felt her pussy tighten around his hand, he curled his free arm beneath her ass to draw her even closer to his attack, biting down even as he sucked hard at her clit.
Her thighs locked around his head when she came, though moving away from her succulence was the last thing Spike could envision. Drinking down her juices, Spike reveled in the pliant flesh beneath his hands, all life and death and power and vulnerability wrapped up in Slayer skin that gleamed pink and gold in the dim light. How had he gone so long without this? he wondered as she shuddered around him.
He had no answer to that. He only knew he wasn't about to let it get away without a fight. He didn't care what Buffy's thoughts on Sunnydale were.
She couldn't think.
She couldn't breathe, for that matter, not when her entire body was still reeling from the Orgasm of Where-the-Hell-Did-That-Come-From. Nobody had ever gone down on her before; she and Riley had barely made it past second base before his manhood wigged out on her and split for the safer ground of non-Slayer sorority girls. And as for Parker and Angel…well, the less said on those two, the better.
She'd been curious, of course. Willow had told her about it once when she and Oz had been experimenting, but Buffy had begged off on knowing too many details because thinking of a guy she saw so often with his face between…OK, not even finishing that thought.
Not finishing any thought because the power of free will had completely escaped Buffy's control.
This was so not going how she'd thought it was going to. It wasn't bad---oh god, far, far from it---but she'd given up trying to predict just what was going to happen when Spike was around. She supposed part of it was her fault. She'd gone up to the loft with the thought that it was further from Holly's door; if they made noise, they'd be less likely to wake up the kid. And when the vampire took so long to join her, she'd set about to tidying just to keep herself from chickening out, though she was kind of glad he hadn't actually pulled back the blanket to see that she'd just straightened it out on top of the still-askew sheet beneath it. Buffy'd even considered stripping down to nothing just to surprise him, but that had smelled of desperation, even to her.
Maybe it was because she was really only familiar with traditional, vanilla sex. Even with Angel, as wonderful as that night had been, it had been about love and feelings, not about lust and desire. OK, some lust, but not like this. Not like Spike. Spike had set about devouring her with a hunger that was both exhilarating and terrifying, hence her temporary freakout when she thought he was going to try biting her.
Even now, he stayed nestled between her legs, his silvery hair glowing against her tanned skin, his tongue still luxuriating in the fluids that were coating her thighs. Unconsciously, Buffy's hand stretched down to flutter through his disheveled curls---did I do that?---and she was greeted with desire-darkened eyes that seemed to bore straight through her.
"She lives," he commented with a sly smirk. His voice was rough, serrating across her skin with a drowsy pull that made her clit start to tingle again, and Buffy's throat tightened as she tugged at him to sprawl atop her.
"You know," she said, and squirmed when his zipper grazed across her mound as he adjusted his weight along her body, "the old Buffy would just kick you out of this bed and say, 'Get yourself off, Spike.'" When his eyes began to narrow, she expertly scissored her legs around his hips and flipped him to the side, leaving her straddling his still-straining erection, her hair falling over her shoulder to tickle his cheek. "Good thing you've got the new, improved Buffy, huh?"
The corner of his mouth lifted. "What happened to me not bein' beneath you?" he teased.
She pretended to pout. "You don't want me on top? Fine. I'll just---." She was cut off with a squeak when he yanked her down to slam his lips to hers, stopping her from where she'd been ready to dismount, and driving his tongue deep into the hot recesses of her mouth. It was a demand for possession she didn't ignore, returning his ardor just as fervently, just as willfully, until the need for air dictated she pull away.
"Your turn," Buffy panted. Before Spike could question what she meant, her hands were on his waistband, fumbling with the stiff denim until the tip of his cock sprang free, and she slowed as she worked the jeans away from his hips.
She'd seen it the previous night, of course. She would've denied it until she was blue in the face, but watching him sleep, stretched in silver radiance atop his sheets, all sinewy splendor with muscles she'd only gotten a hint of during Willow's spell, she couldn't help but feel her pussy instinctively contract, squeezing her thighs together while she imagined what he would feel like inside her. He'd shattered that spell as soon as he'd opened his mouth, but it didn't detract from the lingering desire, especially when he stood and she felt his erection brush against her stomach.
And now here it was again, defiant and determined as it jutted from the dark hair between his legs. Spike's eyes were intent, but rather than touch him as she knew he expected, Buffy grabbed his hands and pulled him into a sitting position, meeting the puzzled lift of his brow with a smile.
"I said, it was your turn," she said, and slid around behind him so that their bodies mirrored how they'd been sitting in front of the fireplace. A deep inhalation before she grabbed the hem of his tee flooded Buffy's senses with his smoky scent, and as soon as his skin was bared, her lips were on him, licking and nibbling along his shoulder blades as her hands slithered around and across his chest.
Because she had to taste him. She had to touch him. What he'd done to her…she wanted that again.
But not until she gave him a taste of his own medicine.
To be continued in Chapter 21: Here Comes Santa Claus…