Spike was finding his resolution to let Buffy initiate their next sexual encounter to be very hard to keep. Emphasis on the hard.
She was curled up against his side, seemingly oblivious to just how damn good she smelled. He had no idea what she was watching on the television, his focus solely on her. Occasionally, she’d shift, rubbing her body against him, and it was all he could do to stifle his groans.
Spike took as much as he could, but he soon knew if he spent another second on that couch with Buffy that he was going to snap. He got up, saying nothing as he headed into the bathroom and shut the door.
Buffy watched him go with a confused frown. Had she done something he didn’t like? He’d seemed fine, and then all of the sudden he was running off. It didn’t make any sense. If anything, the claim had been indicating that he was really enjoying her presence, and Buffy had expected him to make a move on her, not leave.
She reached out tentatively towards him, surprised to find that he was definitely feeling desire, though he also seemed to be actively trying to shield it from her as much as the claim would allow. Why was he doing that? And furthermore, why had he gotten up and gone to the bathroom like he had? She reached out a little further and got her answer. Oh…
Why was he doing that? Usually he just went all caveman on her with the whole “want mate now” routine. Granted, she’d told him this morning that she didn’t want to, but since when did he actually listen to her? He knew as well as she did that he could get her begging for it in minutes, so why take matters into his own hands, so to speak? Was he honestly respecting her wishes and giving her the space she wanted?
Because she did want it. Yep, she wanted space. Lots and lots of space…
But what if he wasn’t just giving her space? What if he did want sex but he just didn’t want her? Was he mad at her because she’d messed up his feeding habits? Or maybe he’d just already gotten his fill of her.
Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. Spike was supposed to want her, dammit. Even if she didn’t want him. ‘Cause she so didn’t.
She felt Spike’s orgasm course through his body, and Buffy shook right along with him. God, who was she kidding? She wanted him. She was a sick, sick puppy for wanting him, but she did.
Although really, it wasn’t her fault that she wanted him. He was, after all, gorgeous and quite talented in bed. Honestly, what woman wouldn’t want that? No, it was all his fault. He’d started it, what with how he’d taken her back in that warehouse and made her start craving him. And then the damn claim had just made it all worse.
And now he was just going to play with her, teasing her like he had before they’d gone to watch television, pretending he was going to kiss her and then not. That was just mean, making her start craving him and then doing…whatever the hell he was doing now.
Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, deciding she wasn’t going to play. If he didn’t want to have sex with her, well, fine. He could spend all day wanking off in the bathroom for all she cared, because that’s all he was going to get.
Spike came out of the bathroom to find Buffy still in that same place he’d left, her expression the very definition of “put out,” and he swallowed, knowing she’d again decided to let the pendulum of her mood swing very rapidly to “bad.” “What’s got your knickers all in a twist?” he asked, sitting down beside her on the couch.
“Like you don’t know,” Buffy huffed, scooting away from him.
Spike sighed heavily. She’d been fine before he left, so he assumed she must’ve been upset by what he’d done in the loo, the claim most likely making it apparent to her despite his best attempts to damper down the connection. “Look, Buffy, I have to get relief somewhere, all right?”
Buffy rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “I really don’t care what you do with yourself, Spike. It’s better than you pawing at me all the time.”
Spike’s jaw clenched as he did his best to keep himself in check. He was supposed to be getting her to warm up to him, and that wouldn’t happen if he was constantly fighting with him. “Good. Then we’re both happy,” he said, turning away from her and towards the television.
Buffy’s eyes widened. That was it? Wasn’t this supposed to be the part where he teased her about liking his so-called “pawing” and tried to coax her into a demonstration?
Not that she wanted him to or anything…
Spike folded his hands behind his head and stretched out his legs, looking every bit the part of satisfied male—satisfied without her! Well, Buffy would just see about that.
She waited a few moments before stretching her arms above her head, letting the small top she was wearing ride up to the bottom of her breasts. She turned her body from side to side as if she were working out kinks, knowing it gave an enticing view.
Sure enough, Spike watched her from the corner of his eye, trying in vain to mask his interest. Buffy smiled internally. She’d show him easily enough.
Buffy fought back a smirk before faking a wince, being sure to make it look as authentic as possible. She then turned to Spike, her eyes innocent. “I have this horrible knot in my shoulder that I just can’t seem to get rid of,” she said. “Do you think maybe you could do me a big favor and rub it for me?”
Spike swallowed quickly before smiling at her. So the little chit wanted to play, did she? He was just fine with that—especially since he was certain he could keep the upper hand. This was a game he knew he had much more experience with than she did. “Sure, pet. Be happy to.” He reached over, picking her up off the couch by her waist and depositing her in his lap.
Buffy squeaked, his move unexpected. “What are you doing?”
“Rubbing your shoulder like you asked me to, sweetheart.”
“But…but I’m in your lap,” Buffy said, pointing out the very obvious. She hadn’t counted on this. It was much easier to be the one doing the teasing when she wasn’t seated directly over his already-forming erection. Something about the feel of that particular bulge did all sorts of wonky things to her brain.
“It’s easier for me to get to your shoulder this way,” Spike said.
Buffy’s mind began to race. Every bit of him felt so hard beneath her and she was beginning to think maybe she’d made a miscalculation. She needed to turn things back around in her favor quickly before she lost her control. “Okay,” she replied. “It’s just right…here.” She punctuated her words by tilting her neck, exposing the pale column to the vampire seated beneath her.
She smiled slyly when she felt his cock jerk against her backside.
Spike licked his lips as his eyes zeroed in on her neck. She ran her fingers down it, highlighting the pulsing of her jugular. “Spike…” she whined when he didn’t do anything for a moment. “Why aren’t you rubbing it?”
Spike closed his eyes for a moment, conjuring up an image of Queen Elizabeth in nothing but her crown. Shuddering at that thought, he opened his eyes again, his hands coming up to Buffy’s shoulders. He began to knead the muscles, noticing they were indeed tight even if he knew as well as she did that all of this was a ruse specifically designed to torment him.
Buffy couldn’t hold back her groan as Spike began to massage her neck and shoulders. The man certainly knew what he was doing. He leaned down, his mouth closed to her ear as he whispered, “Does that feel good, kitten?”
She didn’t have to fake her pleasure-filled response. “Yes…god Spike, that feels wonderful.” She arched back against him, her bottom rubbing against his denim-encased cock as she did.
Spike gritted his teeth, his erection springing back to life. Buffy was moaning and writhing in his lap, the unmistakable scent of her arousal drifting up to him. Spike fought to keep himself in check, even as he wanted desperately to throw her down and take her there on the couch.
That did it. Spike picked Buffy up, dumping her from his lap to the couch.
And then turned and walked away, slamming the bathroom door behind him.
Buffy’s mouth fell open. He’d had her writhing in his lap, putty in his very talented hands, and he’d chosen to go do that again? What the hell was wrong with him? Clearly he was still attracted to her if he could get that turned on just by her wriggling around against him.
But what if it wasn’t her at all? What if he was just getting turned on because he was male and that’s what they did, but he found the actual idea of sex with her repulsive now?
Buffy sat up, straightening out her clothes. What exactly did he think was wrong with her? If anything, she was too good for him!
Curiosity creeped over her, and Buffy reached out with the claim, her body tingling as she connected with Spike as he relieved himself. His mind was a haze of desire, his focus acute, one thought dominating everything else—the need for release.
Buffy’s hand trembled as it crept down her body, going to her jeans and snapping open the buttons. She pushed her hand down below her waist band, her fingers going immediately to her clit. Her own juices eased her movements as she rubbed herself hard, unknowingly in time with Spike’s strokes behind the closed bathroom door.
Even physically separated, they managed to come together.
Buffy laid against the pillows of the couch, panting heavily, her face flushed. Her hand trembled as she pulled it back out from her jeans and refastened them. She couldn’t believe she’d actually just done that. She frowned, smoothing back her hair. It was all his fault…again.
She turned her attention back to the television, deciding firmly to ignore him whenever he came back out.
Anything else would just bring her trouble.
*** *** ***
Spike leaned against the bathroom wall, panting hard. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Buffy was his mate, and his demon was screaming for him to take what was his, to make her submit to his touch. The demon didn’t care what Buffy thought of the man, only that she bring him the pleasure he craved.
But that wasn’t enough for Spike. Having a woman who desired him but didn’t love him wasn’t what he wanted. It had been hard enough going through that for a century with Drusilla, and already he had a feeling that with Buffy, it would be even more devastating.
He had been so close to giving in back on the couch. She’d been clearing flirting with him, and it had been obvious that she wouldn’t tell him no. But it wasn’t good enough. He’d had sex with Buffy in that sort of situation enough to know that it wouldn’t be too long afterwards before she started to pull away. Her flirting had been a game to her he could tell, though he still wasn’t sure of the reasons behind her playing it. Her logic really astounded him sometimes, and he had stopped trying to second guess her. Doing otherwise only led to headaches.
He needed to know that without a doubt, she wanted him. He’d thought at first that if he just took her enough that eventually she’d realize that it was more beneficial for her just to admit how much she enjoyed the sex and be willing to be open about wanting him. But no, that made sense, and apparently his Buffy was very opposed to such a thing.
He knew this was really all his own fault. He had miscalculated to begin with, not realizing just how stubborn Buffy could be. Maybe if he’d known she was Joyce’s daughter from the beginning…That woman had been one of the most stubborn people he’d ever known.
Although he supposed you didn’t live to be a twenty-seven year old Slayer being anything but…
Spike took a deep breath, trying to clear his head before he went back out and faced Buffy again. He couldn’t keep losing it the way he had been. He needed to be coaxing her to give in, not running off to have a wank like a schoolboy every time she rubbed her body against him.
She had to be getting close. He’d felt her connecting with him a moment ago and knew she’d been doing the exact same thing he had been—with the same results. She was clearly as worked up as he was, and it was only a matter of time until she’d had enough of denying her body and surrendered to him.
Spike sure hoped it was, or he was certain he’d explode. Literally.
Taking one more deep breath to compose himself, Spike walked out of the bathroom and rejoined Buffy in the couch. Neither of them said a word, taking opposite ends of the sofa and focusing their eyes on the television though neither of them had their mind on the program.
*** *** ***
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