Chapter 3
Chapter Notes: Warning: There is some mild designer drug use in this chapter, but it’s not a big deal at all. No one is a junkie in this fic.
Spike sat in a recliner, smoking a cigarette and staring out the window at the skyline. He really did have a nice view and the entire back wall of his loft was nothing but a series of metal-framed square windows. Spike supposed the view would be better if his landlord ever took the time to clean the glass but the layer of grime seemed to give him a modicum of privacy for more intimate moments even though he was on the tenth floor. He didn’t even take notice of the red head on her knees with his cock in her mouth. He was thinking about her…about Buffy. The emotional attachment to that girl was unnerving and a few hours after she’d left his loft he went out for a drink and grabbed the first piece of tail that crossed his path. She was cute and horny and seemed to be the perfect fix, a great distraction to get his mind straight again. He didn’t have time for this, didn’t have time to think about some chit he met at a party. Yeah, she was bloody gorgeous and yeah, there seemed to be magnetism between the two of them but she was just another fuck, good as it was, and he really should stop thinking about it.
The redhead squirmed in his lap, drawing his attention back to the present. He snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray next to him and tilted his head, watching her. Buffy was probably no different than this girl, just looking for a good time and then she’d be on her way which was how he liked it. The one time he’d opened up to a girl in the past it ended badly and he came to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth it, not when he could seemingly get any girl he wanted. And this one, whoever she was, was on the same page. She was really going to town on him and he smiled a bit, brushing her hair out of her face.
“Don’t touch me,” she said furrowing her brow and sliding her hand up his cock. “What are you, my boyfriend?”
He snorted and linked his hands behind his head and smirked. He was just as irritated with himself that he’d tried to be tender. “Then I won’t touch you, pet.”
She sat on her heels and reached in her pocket and pulled out a tiny brown glass vial. She twisted off the cap and scooped out a small amount of coke and snorted it, then offered him some. It was just like a coke-head to treat themselves before offering out of obligation. He nodded once and inhaled, rubbing his nose as it started to sting. He watched her stand and take off her underwear before she climbed onto his lap and tore open a condom wrapper. His heart rate increased as the drug started work its way into him and he clenched his teeth, breathing heavily as she slid down the length of him. Gripping her hips, he slammed up into her and set a bruising pace. He loved how fast he could move when he was high, how he felt like some kind of superhero, fucking for hours and hours until his body crashed. He didn’t do it often but he supposed this was the best way to get the girl out of his system, the best way to remind him what he was and what they all were to him.
The redhead bounced on his lap and came quickly. She stumbled on her heels as she stood up and pulled her panties back on, not even caring that he was still hard. She smiled and said, “Thanks,” and left. He laughed humorlessly and dragged a hand down his face, sighing. Unknowingly licking his lips and sniffling repeatedly, he walked to the bathroom and drew a bath. He was edgy, mostly from the coke but also with the need to come. A bath might help calm his frayed nerves, though he knew he’d just have to wait out the high.
Spike sank down into the hot water, submerging his head completely and dangling his legs over the edge of the tub. He opened his eyes, studying the ceiling through the rippling water. After a few short moments, he sat up and wiped the water out of his eyes and started to stroke himself. He finally came when he thought of her and he slammed the side of his fist down on the tub, splashing water on the floor as he roared in frustration.
After he dried himself off he brushed his teeth and stared at the business card he’d tucked into the frame of his mirror over the sink. He was not going to call her. He spit out the toothpaste into the sink and placed his hands on the edge, lowering his head as he tried to will away the images of her. He was not going to call her. He turned off the bathroom light and walked into his bedroom, pulling a linen sheet off of a large 6’x4’ canvas that leaned against the wall. He was not going to call her.
Sliding on a pair of ratty jeans covered in a variety of paint from wiping his brushes clean on them, he walked around the loft collecting his supplies and stopped in the living room when he saw something peeking out from the couch cushions. Setting his paint thinner, brushes and art box down on the ground he walked over to the couch and smirked as he realized what it was. Buffy’s panties. He snatched them and balled it up in his hand and picked up his supplies again as he headed to the bedroom. He was not going to call her.
He flipped open a bottle of Gesso to prime the canvas and set it on a small table. He inspected the panties in his hand and brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply with a warm smile, and then he turned the bottle of white Gesso over and squeezed it onto her underwear and started dabbing the balled fabric onto the canvas.
He was not. Going. To call her.
~*~*~*~*~
It had been three days since Buffy was over at Spike’s. Three days until she finally washed her hand free of his handwriting. In those three days, she often caught herself tracing the numbers on her palm. She did call him once but hung up after the first ring. It was stupid, really, and yet she couldn’t wash her hand…just in case. But day three came and she’d had enough. She’d had enough of thinking of him and realized that the numbers etched in her hand were probably the very thing that triggered her thoughts of him. And she thought of him constantly…thought of him while cooking dinner, while walking down the street, while working, while watching TV and while she masturbated. It seemed to be the only thing that could get her off and it was truly infuriating. She’d gone to some guy’s apartment the night before and it was almost laughable how bad he was. She hated Spike for ruining her life. She couldn’t reach orgasm unless she thought of him, couldn’t function without it.
She was craving him like a drug and she’d never experienced obsession like this before. And that’s what it was, she thought. Obsession. But why? What was so special about this guy with his 80’s punk eyeliner and black chipped nails, tight jeans and thin t-shirts with silk screen prints on them, or his heavy boots, his studded belts and chain collar necklace with the padlock on it…or his white spiky hair…he was just a guy. A very hot guy, yes, and a very talented sex partner, sure. But she knew virtually nothing about him except his name which was sort of cliché and silly when she thought about it, but oh so fitting.
Buffy was going crazy. It was the only explanation. Maybe she was about to start her period, even though she wasn’t due for another two weeks. But stranger things had happened…
She paced the floor in her apartment, twirling a stray lock of hair in her fingers and panting. Why did she wash her hand? Why, why, why? That was the stupidest thing she’d ever done! She didn’t even transfer the number onto something permanent, like a piece of paper! The chances of her seeing him again were slim to none and the fact that he hadn’t called her either didn’t even register. He’d be game for it, she just knew.
Just one more time…just once more, and she’d be done with this stupid obsession.
~*~*~*~
Spike was asleep, feeling especially lazy that day and staying in bed until well after noon. He’d spent the past four days drinking and stumbling home to work on his painting until he crashed. The sun was shining bright, its rays landing directly on his bed and making it impossible to stay asleep any longer and he shoved a pillow over his head and groaned. A harsh buzzing noise echoed through his loft and he cursed, knowing someone was downstairs calling for him. He walked naked to the intercom system by his front door and pressed the button.
“Yeah?” No one replied for a while and he pushed the button again. “Speak up! Speak up! Push the sodding button!”
“Spike? It’s uh…”
He swallowed and started panting. It was her. She’d come…
Buffy stood on the stoop outside the lofts, chewing on her thumb. This was ridiculous. She should turn around now and leave. He obviously didn’t want to see her and he still hadn’t said anything once she finally figured out how to work the stupid intercom and said his name. She sighed and took a step backwards and jumped when she heard the buzzing of the front door. She hurried to yank the metal cage door open before the ringing stopped and walked inside, standing still as it closed behind her. He let her in…and now she had to go upstairs.
Spike walked around his loft, throwing the linen sheet over his unfinished canvas and slipped on a pair of jeans, inspecting his loft for something, not really knowing what, but felt like he should be doing something as he waited for Buffy to come up the lift. He heard the accordion door clanging from across the hall and he stood by his door, waiting for her knock.
When it came, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath and opened the door. They stood there for a moment, simply looking at one another. She was nervous, clutching her purse behind her folded arms and looking at him with a slight blush staining her cheeks. Spike pushed his door open wide and stepped aside for her to enter, closing it when she crossed the threshold.
“I’m sorry to bother you but—” he cut her off with a kiss. She dropped her purse on the ground and wrapped her arms around his neck, mewling softly when his hands rubbed the backs of her thighs and slipped behind her skirt until he found purchase on her ass. He sucked and nibbled on her lips, hoisting her small frame up and wrapping her legs around his waist. He took the long walk to his bedroom, moaning as she licked his throat and sucked his salty flesh into her mouth.
He pushed her shirt up and over her breasts and flicked his tongue over her nipples and tossed her onto his bed. She panted as he crawled over her and she reached up to touch him but he pressed her hands into the mattress and sucked on a rosy peak as she moaned and arched into him. He tugged her skirt and panties down her hips and knelt between her legs, staring down at her as one finger spread her folds and stroked upwards. She was locked into his gaze again, unable to focus on anything but him as he slowly leaned down and kissed her inner thighs. His forehead wrinkled as he looked up at her, tracing her labia with the tip of his tongue and finally pressing it into her slit. She cried out, craning her neck back as relief washed over her.
As his tongue circled and tapped against her clit and his finger teased her entrance, Buffy bit her lip and closed her eyes, almost crying with liberation that finally, finally he was here, he was going to make her come, he was going to fix this burning need inside her, going to make all this obsession go away. She felt his finger enter her, felt him humming and moaning as his tongue bathed her swollen flesh and finally looked down at him and smiled.
“You need this, don’t you,” he said with a coy smile as his fingers slowly pumped in and out of her. “Need me to take it away, make you feel.”
She couldn’t answer him as she was too far gone, too wrapped up in the heightening of her arousal as he sucked on her sensitive nub and fingered her into oblivion. It was coming, building quickly and she clawed at the sheets and thrust her hips into his face. He added a third finger and curled on the down stroke and she grabbed his hair and held on as she came. He milked her for everything she was worth, chuckling into her pussy as she cried out his name over and over and over. She whimpered when he pulled away, feeling the pang of loss and cold air on her sex and sighed happily when she saw him removing his jeans.
He licked her stomach and the underside of her breasts and finally kissed her, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth as he slid his cock into her. He wrenched his mouth away from hers as a raspy moan tore from his throat, collapsing on top of her for a moment as he relished the feel of her strangling his shaft. As he moved inside her he pulled her shirt off the rest of the way and linked his fingers with hers and teased her with tiny pecks and nips on her mouth, smiling when she raised her head to meet him. He sat up, pulling her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her collar bone as she moved on top of him.
Buffy closed her eyes, resting her cheek against his forehead, clinging to him as the pressure built, gasping and grinding intently against him.
“Stay with me,” he said between thrusts. “Just today. Please stay.”
She tilted his head up towards hers and shuddered as he rolled her nipples with his thumbs. She nodded and kissed him, making a tiny noise in the back of her throat. His hips rose harder, faster and he sucked on her bottom lip, locking those haunting eyes of his with hers as he said, “Come.”
She gripped his shoulders and cried out as a powerful orgasm shot through her body, intensified when his mouth and hands moved everywhere, his cock pounded into her and he looked at her in panic for a moment when he realized he wasn’t wearing a condom and knowing that he was about to shoot inside her. But she gave him the OK and he arched his back, gripped her hips and plowed upwards as he came. Wrapping their arms around one another tightly, they both hid their smiles and struggled to gain control of their breathing. She stroked the back of his head tenderly as he planted kisses on her jaw and neck
Buffy squealed when he lifted her up and stood, walking them over to a stereo. He set her down on her feet and turned on some music, grinning as he held out his hand. She took it and giggled as he twirled her around and pulled her against him and started to dance with her in his bedroom. As they held each other close and swayed to the music, Buffy closed her eyes, memorizing this moment. After today, she knew she’d never see him again; never see his perfect naked body illuminated by the afternoon sun, smiling at her like she was a gift. And that was ok because she’d finally experienced something real. For the first time, she felt like she’d connected with a person. She didn’t want to ruin it, and so she danced with him in his bedroom, laughing and clinging to his body, sighing as he kissed her palm before twirling her around again.