Dreamscape

XII

A wave of disappointment always accompanied her upon awakening, tagged with an immeasurable pang of loss. She hated the sun. She hated knowing what awaited her when the dreams fizzed into nothing. She hated the sinking in her stomach and the way the warmth filling her insides was doused in cold. She hated knowing the hard body behind her would blink away until night fell again. She hated knowing she was going to be alone once the hands of sleep released her completely.

The arm around her middle tightened, coaxing a long sigh through her lips. God, she wanted this to last. She wanted this to last so badly.

“Buffy,” he murmured, soft lips grazing her shoulder. “I know you’re awake, sweetling.”

She inhaled sharply. Don’t disappear. Don’t disappear.

And then it hit—a tidal wave of recollection crashed, clouds parting as the night was returned to her. Spike dressed in a tuxedo. Spike disappearing in the room. Spike tapping on her window. Spike murmuring into her mouth as he kissed her for the first time—the first truetime. Spike cupping her breasts. Spike’s cock sliding against her soaking cleft. Spike inside her.

For the first time, she woke with a splendid sense of soreness she hadn’t known to miss upon every other wakening. Her thighs were tender, her insides still warm, her body cradled against his. Spike’s chest was pressed against her back, his arm hooked over her waist, his thumb idly stroking her stomach. He wasn’t disappearing because last night hadn’t been a dream.

Spike wasn’t a dream this morning. He was real.

He was still with her because he was real.

So accustomed was Buffy to the formation of tears behind her eyes she didn’t notice she was crying until Spike inhaled sharply and gently dabbed her wet cheek with his fingers. “What’s this?” he asked. “Sweetheart—”

“I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“Of course I’m still here. Where else would I be?”

Buffy fought the urge to twist in his arms. As much as she wanted to see his eyes and kiss his lips, a small, dark part of her psyche remained unconvinced any of this was real. She didn’t want to brave facing him only to have him disappear. “I didn’t think…”

Spike tightened his arm around her. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

A small dose of levity touched her heart. “Not even when my mother comes in here, demanding to know why I have a naked hottie in my bed?”

His teeth tugged at her earlobe, sending electric shocks through her body. “A hottie, huh?”

“Oh shaddup. You know you’re gorgeous.” She grinned and stretched against him, parting her legs without quarrel at the tender coaxing of his hand. Everything went molten when he dipped his fingers between her thighs. “Unnh…Spike…”

“You feel all right, love?” he murmured, his touch becoming bolder. In easy seconds, his fingers slipped between her pussy lips, gently exploring her pooling wetness. “No…achies?”

“Ohh…”

“I wasn’t too hard last night, was I?”

Just thinking about what they’d done last night had her close to spasming in his hand, and he’d barely started touching her. Buffy bit her lip and shook her head hard, her hips moving against him of their own volition. “N-no. Y-you…it was p-perfect.”

His lips were on her skin again without warning. “Perfect?” he replied, a purely male purr of pride tickling his voice. “Even this?”

He sank his blunt teeth into the mark his fangs had given her without warning, and before she could stop herself, a long, loud whimper tore through her lips. She exploded with ecstasy, need bubbling over. Her clenching thighs locking his fingers inside her pussy as she gyrated desperately against him. “Ohhh my God,” she gasped, biting her lip with a pleasured gasp. “Oohhh…”

“Baby likes daddy’s fangs, methinks.” He licked her sensitive skin with a sinful growl. Then, in a small voice, he softly implored, “You still love me?”

The idea that she could do anything but love him at this point was nearly laughable. “Oh yes. God yes.”

“Say it for me, baby.”

“I love you.”

“That’s my girl.”

His words only made her hotter. “Spike,” she whimpered. Logic was lost then. She needed to feel him. She needed him to ease the fire raging to an inferno within her belly. Damn the irrational objections of her otherwise rational mind that her mother was down the hall and would be stirring soon to go about her normal routine. Spike was in her bed. He was driving his fingers deeper inside her pussy and rubbing his cock against her, and she needed him. “Touch me.”

“I am touching you, kitten.”

“Need…more.”

Spike nipped at his bite mark, wet fingers slipping out of her aching body. “Need me inside you?” he asked softly, his thumb finding her clit and favoring it with a slow, tortuous caress. Every move he made against her sent a different electric shock through her veins. She was burning up and he was fueling the fire. Stroking her with slow consideration which betrayed his intent.

“Spike, please!”

“What about your mum? Won’ she be waking up soon?”

“Don’t care. Need you.” She hooked her leg over his calf and jerked him forward so that the silky head of his cock was rubbing the crack of her ass. “Please.”

Spike swallowed hard and released a ragged breath. “You might not care, pet,” he said slowly, his fingers abandoning her clit as his hand slid up her flat stomach until he was cupping a breast. “But I do.”

Buffy blinked hard, her mind spinning. He was worse than any woman she’d ever known when it came to mixed signals. He’d just asked if she wanted him inside her and was now countering her rather humbling pleading with this alien concept that he cared about what might happen if her mother interrupted them. He was certainly the strangest vampire to have ever walked the earth. And he was tormenting her.

“You…unh—”

“Don’ want her interrupting what could be a very happy time for both of us.” Spike licked the bite mark again and pinched her nipple. “What time does she usually pop off to work?”

“Eight-ish.”

Spike lifted his head from the pillow to peer at the digital clock which rested atop Buffy’s nightstand. “’Bout an hour.”

“It might be later today.”

“Oh?”

Buffy grinned, stifling a quick chuckle. She wrapped her fingers around Spike’s wrist and, not so subtly, attempted to guide his hand back to her center. Fortunately, her vampire wasn’t the sort of guy who required much persuasion. Without putting up anything resembling a fight, he slipped two fingers inside her aching wetness, his thumb finding her clit again. It took a few seconds of exquisite torment before she remembered he’d asked a question.

“S-she d-d-drank,” she stuttered, thrusting herself against his hand desperately. “A l-lot.”

“Mmm,” Spike mused, his cock slipping between her legs again, rubbing her wet slit with carelessness that made her think he was only half aware of what he was doing. “Why?”

“X-Xander.”

She could practically hear him arching his brow. “Well,” he replied, “’s not like I can’t understand why your nitwit of a chum would drive a woman to drink, but—”

“There was a…a spell.”

“Mmm?”

“Yesterday. Xander…to…for Cordy. It…made girls…love him.”

His velvety head slipped inside her as though it had a mind of its own. “Girls?” he replied, his tone intentionally neutral. “Did you—”

“Yeah-huh.” Buffy tossed her head back against him and sighed when he was finally seated completely within her, her vaginal walls clamping hard around him, determined to draw him as far inside her body as possible. This was completeness; this was being whole. She was so vacant when he wasn’t with her. “Love spell. Gone. Wrong.”

“The wanker did a love spell?”

“Just…a…little one.”

The dangerous edge in Spike’s voice told her plainly she needed to clarify before she risked putting Xander’s life on the line. His body had tightened, and without warning the plunges of his cock into her pussy had grew raw and desperate. The objections and concerns that had lived on his tongue just a few minutes earlier had died completely. He was marking her again as his—rubbing her clit and nibbling a wet path down her neck. God, he was breaking her apart and piecing her back together, and she loved every second of it.

“Wasn’t for me!” she clarified, though her body was melting into a pool of endless pleasure. Jealous Spike could rear his head any day. She loved knowing she could make him like this. It was wrong and degrading but she honestly couldn’t give a crap. Spike wanted her—he wanted her to be all his. That was more than fine by her. “I…fell…crossfire.”

“Git better keep his bloody crossfire off my woman.”

At this rate, she didn’t care if her mother barreled in with Giles, her father, and the local priest in tow. Spike was staking his claim, and she was more than willing to be staked.

Which, yes, ironic. She’d mull that particular thought over once the fog had lifted. Once pure bliss wasn’t turning her insides into mush.

“Completely off.”

“You’re mine, Buffy.”

She nodded furiously, thrusting back against him, determined to recapture his cock every time he slid out of her body. There was no point in fighting it, if there ever had been. All of her was lost to him. Completely lost. He was pounding into her, his face buried in the crook of her throat as his fingers rubbed her clit so roughly she felt her skin go numb. It was hard and fast—the slaps of their bodies building toward a crescendo the likes of which would make the walls rattle. She felt everything. Felt his ragged, unneeded breaths against her skin. Felt the smack of his balls against her drenched flesh every time he drove himself inside her. The springs of her bed were wheezing and her headboard was making noises against the wall it had never made before. She should be appalled or at the very least terrified, but all she could summon was a gasp of his name.

Because she was his. She was completely his.

An indeterminate amount of time later, they were lying side-by-side on the well-loved mattress, gasping for air and staring at the ceiling. This was where good intentions went to die.

Spike grinned, propped an arm behind his head and drawled proudly, “There’s no bloody way she din’t hear that.”

Buffy grimaced and wiped sweat off her brow. “I…unhnnah.”

Okay, so there really wasn’t a point in trying to talk. It was just embarrassing.

“You scream like a bloody banshee, love.”

Heat burned her cheeks, but there was nowhere to hide—that was, unless she wanted to bury her face in his chest. And while something told her he wouldn’t mind so much, it would defeat the purpose. Instead, she waited for her palpitating heart to roll to a calm, steady beat and for her breaths to return to normal rather than crushing her lungs.

“I love waking up with you,” Spike murmured after a few quiet seconds, his fingers weaving through hers. “I don’ wanna leave.”

Warmth flooded her from head to toe, but she didn’t reply. How could she reply? Even lying beside him in her own bed, surrounded by her things and encased in the seeming safety of her walls, she felt completely on his turf. The knowledge left her precariously hopeful. She’d only told him she loved him a thousand times. Spike knew her heart belonged to him; he knew she was thoroughly his. And here he was, snuggled at her side in the delicious aftermath of their lovemaking. She didn’t know what she’d expected in their morning after; hell, most of her had expected Spike to disappear before she awoke.

Amazingly enough, she didn’t recall falling asleep. The sensation of his arms around her, hands caressing her body, exploring her breasts and dipping between her thighs, remained with her all through the night. She’d thought she’d been dreaming. She thought everything had been a dream.

“We went right back, you know,” Spike said softly, squeezing her hand. There were times she was certain he could read her mind. “Second we fell asleep, we were in the room again.”

Buffy blinked. Hard. “We were? I don’t…I don’t remember…”

“Jus’ popped from this bed to that one. Knew it the second I couldn’t smell your room.”

Her nose wrinkled and she twisted her head to look at him, arching a brow. “My room smells?”

Spike grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “You. Your scent’s all over this room. A man could die happy here. I knew the second I was asleep ‘cause the room no longer smelled like you.” He paused thoughtfully. “But you were still with me. We were still…together. Jus’…I guess there was no point in enterin’ the room since we were together out here, too.”

Buffy frowned and mulled over what he was saying. There was nothing about this arrangement that made a lick of sense to her. “What do you think it is?” she asked softly. “We’re…whatever it was that kept us…with the…what do you think it is?”

“Brilliant.”

An exasperated sigh rolled through her body. “Spike—”

“No, kitten. I mean it.” He inhaled sharply and turned until he was perched on his side, his cheek resting against a closed fist and his eyes boring into her. He considered her for a long, silent beat, then tentatively raised his hand to her skin, curled fingers running the length of her stomach. “You…I know I was an insensitive arse when this began. An’ Christ, Buffy, I’ll never forgive myself for that. Never. I treated you like a…I was so bloody horrible to you. But you’re here. God, you’re still here.”

She shivered, her mind unwittingly flashing back to the night of the first true explosion. Back in October, after the most bizarre Halloween she’d ever known, when Spike had shoved her to the ground and fucked her mouth. He’d been so angry with her. So furious. And now he was in her bed, stroking her skin like she was something precious. Soaking her up with eyes intent on worshipping her.

So much had changed. So much had passed between them. So much.

“We didn’t know what it was,” Buffy whispered, her voice soft and her tone forgiving. “The dreams. The reason we were…together. We still don’t.”

“I should’ve,” Spike insisted softly, a shudder claiming his body as he leaned back against the mattress. “I should’ve known immediately.”

She frowned. She had the distinct feeling they were no longer talking about the same thing. “We…I don’t understand.”

“I wished for it.”

The words were so simple. So breathtakingly simple. He whispered them as though they didn’t mean anything. As though such a revelation wouldn’t steal the air from her lungs or make her bones shiver. At first, she thought she must have heard him wrong. There was no way the Spike she’d known in the beginning would have ever wanted anything like this. The Spike she’d known in the beginning hated her, not to mention this crazy thing they shared. The Spike she’d known would never have wished for this. Not in a thousand years.

And yet, in looking at him, she could almost believe he meant it.

“You what?” she asked ineloquently.

Spike was staring intently at the ceiling, his fingers curled around hers once more. The air between them had grown so still it almost seemed fragile.

“I wished for it,” he replied softly. “The firs’ night. Christ, you were so magnificent. The way you moved…”

Buffy shifted self-consciously. She remembered the first night she’d seen him. God, her body still tingled to think about what he’d witnessed before observing her vamp-dustage in the alley. She’d replayed that night over and over since the dreams began; she now knew the voice which had prompted her outside was Spike’s. Spike announcing someone was in the alley being bitten. She hadn’t confronted him with such knowledge, but she knew it was him. And she knew he’d staged it just to see how she moved.

Buffy knew him well enough to understand his way of thinking now. He’d seen her dancing with her friends. And if she knew herself, she was probably playing the part of the hard-to-get-but-seemingly-easy girl. Buffy liked to pretend she didn’t notice how men looked at her when she danced, but she was no fool. She’d already used her body to her advantage to drive Angel out of his mind by the time she first encountered Spike, and she’d done it by dancing with Xander.

If she was dancing, Spike would have noticed. He’d been there. He’d seen her.

“If you’re talking about the Bronze—” she began, only to be cut off by a dismissive wave.

“I’m not, though you were bloody unbelievable then, too.” He turned to her with a knowing leer. “But that wasn’t our firs’ night, pet. That was a teaser. A fucking delicious teaser, but not our firs’ night. Our firs’ night was at your school. When I first touched you. When I saw your eyes an’…God, I wished for this. You were so warm an’ bright an’ alive. You were unlike anything I’d ever seen or touched. An’ I wanted you. I wanted a chance to touch you like this.” Without warning, he slipped a hand beneath the blanket and cupped her breast. “I wanted to…taste you like this. An’ I hated myself for it. I was s’posed to have perfection in Dru, but I didn’t. I din’t know what perfection was until I knew you. So yeah, love. I wished for this. I din’t want to want it, but I did. An’ when we…that firs’ night…when you were there…God, I din’t know how to react. I didn’t for a long time. Until I knew I was hurting you. Until I…” He broke off, the words taking on a new life of their own. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he started speaking again. “You’ve ruined me, kitten.”

Buffy bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to—”

“An’ I don’ care.” He shook his head and smiled gently. “You’ve ruined me an’ I don’t care. I live for dreaming now.”

Her breathing hitched and her eyes again glazed with tears. All at once, the clouds parted and the light she’d been reaching for was suddenly kissing her fingertips. Her body warmed with elation. The lock she’d felt so securely bound around her future was abruptly loose, and she thought she saw something in his eyes. Something beyond lust. Something beyond what he’d given her.

Something she could have almost believed…

“Spike…”

He leaned over and gently brushed his lips across hers. “Buffy, I—”

The room exploded with several sharp knocks to her closed door, causing them both to jump and Buffy’s eyes to shoot wide with alarm.

“Oh God—”

“Buffy?” her mother asked, her voice muffled through the door. “Are you up?”

Apparently no amount of alcohol-imbibing could prevent Joyce from adhering to her normal routine.

She was frozen. Absolutely frozen. Her mind raced and her blood pumped but she couldn’t move. Spike was similarly numb, his hand squeezing hers so tight she was surprised she could still feel her fingers. It surprised her; she didn’t think he would be one to care one way or another if her mother caught them in bed naked together, but he looked thoroughly horrified.

It was the worst timing ever, but Buffy unwittingly found herself overwhelmed with love.

“Sweetheart,” he urged her softly—so softly she barely heard him. “Answer the lady.”

“Buffy?”

Buffy cleared her throat, her mind snapping back to herself. “I’m awake,” she said, her eyes shooting wide open when she heard how hoarse her voice was. Dear God, she sounded like she was coming down with the flu. Maybe Joyce wouldn’t notice.

No such luck. “Honey, are you feeling all right?”

“Fine. I’m fine. Getting up now.”

“I’ll start breakfast.”

Buffy sat still until she heard her mother move away from the door, and was slightly amused when she heard Spike exhale a much unneeded breath. When she turned to face him, he was even paler than usual.

“Bleeding hell,” he said without prompt. “I tell you, kitten…”

She quirked a humored brow. “You’re afraid of my mother.”

Spike shook his head, offering no apologies. “The last time I saw the woman, she was standin’ over me with an axe in tow. Not lookin’ forward to what she’d have to say if she caught me sullying her daughter’s virtue.”

“I’m of the willingly sullied.”

“Doesn’ make a lick of difference, kitten. Not to mums.” He sat up and frowned at the sunlight hitting the foot of the bed. “You better toddle downstairs. Maybe snag me some nosh while you’re at it.” He shrugged unapologetically when she scowled at him. “What? You’re gonna be down there anyway,” he observed.

“Spike—”

“You better go now, love. Even if I could make it to the closet before she plowed in here to see what the hold up was, your room smells to high heaven of sex. She’d know somethin’ happened in here in a heartbeat.”

She didn’t smell anything, but it could’ve been due to the fact she’d been in the room all night and had already grown immune to whatever scent lingered in the air. “I didn’t know sex had a smell,” she said honestly. The dream-room had never smelled. Not one she’d noticed, anyway. But then she wasn’t too occupied with her nose when she was with him—unless she was making a point to note how good he smelled.

Spike grinned and kissed her. “You’re adorable. Go.”

Buffy rolled her eyes but she couldn’t hide her smile. Happiness unlike anything she’d ever felt was ballooning inside, and she couldn’t contain herself. “You’re really that afraid of my mother?” she asked, throwing her legs over the side of her bed and throwing the blanket off. She was self-conscious but forced herself to ignore it. Spike had seen her naked a thousand times. He’d explored every facet of her body with his hands and mouth; there was nothing left for him to see.

But at the same time, it had never been like this. She’d never been naked with him in the soft light of morning. She’d never awakened with him beside her. She’d never had a morning after. And Spike’s knowledge of her body didn’t prevent his eyes from indulging in rakish leers of her in full nude glory. He even had the audacity to pout when she shimmied into a pair of flannel pajama-bottoms.

“I’d prefer to have my manly bits intact an’ able to service you whenever you wanna be serviced,” he replied, and it took her a minute to remember she’d asked him a question. “Plus I was hopin’ you’d let me stay today.”

Buffy paused, the camisole she was in the process of sliding on suspended awkwardly around her breasts. “Stay?”

He grinned unrepentantly, his tongue doing a number to his teeth that ought to be declared illegal. What he could do to her without touching her—what he could do to her with a simple look—was positively sinful. “Think I can convince you to play hooky?” he purred. “Sun’s out, pet. ‘m stuck here all day long. You don’ want me to get bored, do you?”

Buffy swallowed. Hard. “Well,” she said slowly, straightening her camisole, “I am feeling a little…sick.”

He grinned. “Yeah?”

“Mom even said so.”

“’S what holdin’ in your screams’ll do to you. I still don’ see how she din’t—”

“Mom plus booze equals dead to the world,” she reasoned with a shrug. “Believe me; I lived through it in the Great Divorce of ’96. And for how hard my mom came on to Xander, she drank a lot.”

Spike arched a brow. “She came on to Xander?”

“I told you. Love spell gone wonky. The whole stupid town came onto Xander.” Buffy held up a hand. “Yes, I did. No, as I said, nothing happened. He was actually very gentlemanly. Once he realized I was…all with the love spell possessed, he refused to go near me.” She frowned. “But by then he was being chased by everyone. And Willow had an axe.”

“The redhead?”

She nodded.

Spike whistled. “Now there’s a frightening thought.”

Buffy smirked and nodded. “You’re telling me.” She turned to the door, favoring her reflection with a quick glance and wincing at the tussled state of her hair. “I should probably fix that before I go downstairs.”

“Your just been fucked hair? I find it rather fetching.”

“My mother won’t.”

“Which is why you should fix it.”

Buffy grinned wider and leaned over him, brushing her lips against his. It seemed so natural—waking up beside him. Talking to him as she dressed. Kissing him good morning. She wanted this forever. She wanted this to last.

She wanted to get her mother the hell out of the house so she could jump her vampire’s bones. The world ought to will itself away until there was nothing but her, a bed, and the man she loved.

The rest be damned.

*~*~*

Amazingly, her mother truly had heard nothing. Not a peep. Not last night and not this morning. Their conversation over breakfast was strained and somewhat awkward—Joyce for her discomfort with what had happened with Xander, and Buffy for the knowledge that she had a very hot and very naked vampire waiting for her upstairs.

Sometime over discussing the pleasant Sunnydale weather she managed to convince her mother that yes, she was feeling a little icky, and because of Joyce’s aforementioned shame, she agreed to let Buffy stay home with no argument.

As it was, Joyce couldn’t get out of the house quickly enough.

Which was just fine with Buffy, because she couldn’t get upstairs quickly enough.

She didn’t know what to expect when she returned to her room, but it wasn’t to see Spike sitting on the edge of her bed, naked and stroking his erect cock with eyes that told her she’d found him exactly as he’d hoped she would.

Buffy stopped short in the doorway, her throat suddenly dry.

“We alone?” Spike asked, his voice roughened with arousal.

She nodded numbly as her eyes fell to the mesmeric movements of his hand. She’d never seen anything so hot. So raw. Spike, the man she loved, seated in her room—on her bed—pumping his cock without shame.

“Wouldn’t you rather me do that for you?” Buffy’s eyes went wide the second the words rolled off her lips. She barely recognized her voice; there was no way it could belong to her. She wasn’t a wanton woman; she wasn’t the sort of person to be sexually assertive. It didn’t matter how much she loved him or how much they had already shared. Her confidence wasn’t built up that high; something had her completely possessed.

Not something. Spike. Spike had her possessed.

God.

“What do you think?” he rasped hoarsely, his fingers playing across his length. “Come here, kitten.”

She started forward, only to be halted by a raised hand.

“Your shirt.”

Buffy blinked and glanced down to herself, a slow grin spreading across her face. Perhaps this empowerment thing was a benefit. At the moment Spike was panting hard enough to make her believe he actually needed the air he was sucking needlessly into his body.

“You want me to take it off?” she replied, this time forcing herself not to pause awkwardly at the overtly sexual tone of her voice. There was nothing wrong with this. Nothing wrong at all. With Spike, she could be as sexual as she wanted. He wouldn’t mock her. He wouldn’t roll his eyes and make a derogatory quip. His reactions to her were so strong; so vivid. And ever since their first night together—the first night they’d truly made love—he’d been nothing but wonderful.

Spike nodded enthusiastically, his eyes focused on her cotton-clad breasts. “Wanna see your tits,” he all but growled, the hand at his cock pulling with newfound fervor. “Please, Buffy…”

“You saw them this morning,” she reminded him, fisting the material of her camisole and stepping between his legs. She could barely conceal her grin at his whimper. “They’re not that remarkable.”

Spike perked a brow. “So says you. They’re…delicious.”

“You’re such a guy.”

“Well, yes. Now gimme your tits.”

“They’re too small,” she protested.

He favored her with a narrowed look. “More than a mouthful’s a waste,” he replied. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

“Spike—”

“Buffy, please…ditch the shirt.”

Heat tinged her cheeks, but she was powerless to resist him. Buffy inhaled sharply and slowly raised her camisole over her head, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. Spike stared at her unrepentantly for several long seconds before raising his eyes to hers once more, a rakish grin stretching his lips. Then he leaned in and favored one of her aching nipples with a long lick.

“Like I said,” he murmured, grinning wider at her answering moan, “delicious.”

She should have been ashamed at how hard she was trembling, but she wasn’t. It was futile attempting to hide her body’s reaction, especially with Spike’s mouth suckling her nipples intently with alternating attention. He cupped her breasts and pressed her cleavage together, lapping at the peaks of her fleshy globes with a groan of appreciation.

“You’re so perfect,” Spike sighed, tugging at one of her nipples with his teeth, sending jolts of hot pleasure-laced-pain through her veins. He released her with a sultry lick, turning his attention to her neglected breast. “So bloody perfect.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. Don’ argue with me.”

Buffy flushed, her hand belatedly reaching for his cock. She moaned when he moaned at the feel of him against her palm. And very quickly, she realized stroking him wouldn’t be enough.

“Spike…”

“God, Buffy…”

“Let go.”

How it was possible for a man to pout while sucking on a woman’s nipples, she didn’t know. “Why?” he demanded around a mouthful of breast.

Buffy swallowed hard. Putting her intentions into words was still not her strong suit. “You’ll see.”

For whatever reason, she’d expected a fight and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he released her. She didn’t let herself mull it over else she’d lose her nerve. Instead she dropped unceremoniously to her knees, perched between his legs and eye-level with his cock.

Spike sucked in a breath. “Buffy?”

She grinned with confidence she didn’t feel, her fingers encircling the base of his erection, her left hand sliding upward to cup his testicles. She loved the soft weight of him in her palm. The way he shuddered at the slightest touch. The way his eyes swallowed her with anticipation and desire. There was nothing like it in the world, and if she had a thousand years with him, she would never tire of it.

“I’ve been wondering,” she heard herself say, trying desperately to ignore how hard her heart was pounding, “if you taste as good here as you do in the dreams.”

Spike openly gawked at her, apparently very much taken aback by her forwardness. That was fine. She was pretty much astounded, herself.

“Buffy—”

If she hesitated a second longer she would lose her nerve. Buffy dipped her mouth and drew his sensitive belled head between her lips, her forefinger running a long, tantalizing path root to tip.

“Oh God,” Spike growled, fingers weaving through her hair. “Oh my God. Buffy!”

She murmured around him, inching his length further into her mouth. He tasted so good. So good. So thoroughly male. So hers. Right now, right here, he was hers. And she loved it. She loved the feel of his skin against her tongue. And though it was silly and the complete reverse of anything resembling feminism, the sensation of being filled with him, giving him something without asking for anything in return, moved her beyond reproach. She wrapped her tongue around him, determinedly exploring every delicious inch as she sucked him in deeper. By experience she knew she wouldn’t be able to take him in all the way. He was too large and she was so small. Perhaps with some practice she would be able to loosen her throat up for the task, but honestly, Buffy loved the sensation of having him both in her mouth and in her hand at the same time. She loved the way she could suck on him as she squeezed his balls and stroked the stretch of his cock that she couldn’t swallow. She loved the harmonious whimpers he cast into the air and the way his hips thrust forward, trying to claim more of her mouth. Trying to claim everything.

He couldn’t conquer what he’d already won.

“Oh my God,” Spike moaned, his fingers lovingly massaging her scalp, his breaths rolling off his lips like small, heartfelt prayers. “You…”

Buffy met his eyes, her skin burning. Never in her life had she thought she’d ever be looking at a man from this position. Never had she thought she’d be brave enough or have enough love for any man to take him into her mouth. And watching him as he watched her, as his eyes clouded over with passion and her name was granted new life off his lips, she found she was falling further into an abyss from which she never wished to free herself.

“So hot,” he gasped. “No idea how hot this is, do you? Watching your mouth…swallow me. Lick the underside. Oh yeah…”

Her tongue ran several laps along the underside of his cock, her eyes refusing to leave his. “Like this?” she whispered between licks. “Do you like this?”

“God, Buffy…”

“I like this.” She brushed a wet kiss across his leaking head, the hand at his balls favoring him with a tender squeeze. “I like doing this for you.”

A strangled chuckle tore through his throat. “’m the luckiest bloke in all the land.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I, pet. Any gent who lands a woman with a gift for sucking cock an’ the added perk of enjoyin’ it—”

Buffy released him in shock, half scandalized but thoroughly aroused. “Ugh. You’re such a…a…”

“Guy?” he supplied obviously.

“Pig!”

Spike blinked at her. “Well…yeah. Thought that much was covered in the ‘guy’ thing.” He used his hold on her head to direct her mouth back to his cock, his silky tip imploring her lips for entrance. “’m a nasty, rude son of a bitch, baby. An’ I have a goddess at my feet. What’s a man to do with that?”

She scoffed with an air of superiority she didn’t feel. Her insides were burning. His words. His taste. Her love for him. Everything was playing against her. She couldn’t pretend to be offended when all she was in truth was turned-on. “Practice self-restraint?” she offered, her tongue exploring the dip in the head of his cock, the hand wrapped around his root starting to stroke him in earnest. “Mmmm.”

“Oh fuck.”

She loved the drops of precum he fed her, and she made small yummy noises to make sure the sentiment conveyed.

And boy, did it convey. It conveyed so much he was bucking off the mattress, his cock pushing desperately past her lips and deep into her throat, his hands grasping her hair as though he feared losing balance. “Can’t…can’t…restraint…when you…make those sounds.”

She giggled around him, and the vibrations of her mouth only made his moans grow in volume and intensity.

“Jesus, pet…where’d…you learn—”

Buffy slid her wet lips up his length again, taking her sweet time, lingering at his tip once more just to drive him mad. Served him right. He knew exactly where she’d learned this. Where she’d learned everything. “You.”

“Oh…right.”

His voice was so far gone she nearly giggled. Instead, her tongue indulged a long swipe of his slit before taking his cock fully back into her mouth. Back and forth, back and forth, the hand wrapped around him mimicking her movements as her other rhythmically massaged his balls. She felt him tensing in her palm. Felt his body tighten as his weighty gasps reached their peak. And she knew exactly what would drive him over the edge.

She sucked him as deep as she could—until she felt him brushing against the back of her throat—and began contracting her muscles around him. Swallowing hard, eagerly, demanding. She wanted to taste him so badly. Here, in a world not guarded by a veil of sleep. She wanted him to explode in her mouth. She wanted him to lose his precious self-control. She wanted him to lose himself completely.

“Oh my GOD!” Spike howled, the grip on her hair nearly becoming painful, but she ignored it. She remained focused on the wide, desperate look in his eyes and the involuntary thrust of his hips. “Ohh…fuck…so good. Feel so…baby, I’m gonna…”

She squeezed his balls again by way of granting him permission, and that was it. Spike roared, his demon tearing through his human guise as he spilled himself in her throat. And God, he was delicious.

Okay, so it wasn’t the best thing she’d ever had in her mouth. It didn’t make him any less delicious, and she definitely wouldn’t mind making this a daily treat for herself. She loved his taste simply for the fact it was him. It was Spike. In her room. In her life. In the real world. He released a thousand praises into the air, watching her with loving eyes as she drank everything he had to give her.

Buffy honestly had no idea how much time had passed. Eventually, his penis slipped out of her mouth, but not before she graced him with another soft kiss. Her head found his thigh, and she rested there. Enjoying the quiet. Enjoying the way he panted in recovery. Enjoying the tender feel of his fingers stroking her scalp with absent adoration.

She’d never come closer to feeling he might actually love her than she did now. Sitting with him, sharing the pleasure of his orgasm even if her pussy remained drenched and aching for his touch. Her needs weren’t important now. She’d given Spike what she wanted to give him.

Apparently, though, Spike hadn’t received the memo. There was no warning—nothing to alert her the mood had changed. One second he was sitting passively, and the next thing she knew, she was the one on the bed. She was on her back, her legs in the air as he tore her pajama bottoms off her body. Then he was on his knees before her, spreading her thighs apart.

“You din’t bring me brekky,” he said, almost accusingly.

“S-sorry?”

Spike nodded, his eager fingers spreading her pussy lips apart, baring her swollen, tender clit to his hungry eyes. The smile on his face told her plainly he’d found something he’d rather eat.

“You better be,” he replied, lowering his head. “I have a wolfish appetite, love. Might take a while to fill me up.”

His tongue plunged inside her sopping hole without warning, thrusting once, twice, then licking a wet path up to her clit. Then he sucked her into his mouth and moaned, laving her and making her so dizzy with pleasure she didn’t realize she’d screamed until the ringing in her ears began to fade.

“Hope you don’ mind,” he murmured, releasing her needy pearl with a wet plop. “I intend to eat my fill.”

Unsurprisingly, Buffy didn’t mind at all. Not one damn bit.

*~*~*

It was a day unlike any she’d ever had. And by the time night began to fall, she knew saying goodbye would break her completely.

How could she part ways with him now? Now when she’d had him in reality? How could she return to the way things had been? How could she go back now that she’d tasted everything?

How?

“It’s not forever, love,” Spike promised her, though he refused to meet her eyes. “We’ll…Angelus an’ Dru…we’ll take ‘em down.”

“We will?” she murmured, feeling very small. She was trying hard not too look at the open window. In seconds, he would have to slip out of her room and back into the night, and she didn’t want to think about it. She wanted to keep him here. She wanted to relive the day over and over again.

God, saying goodbye was going to kill her.

“’Course we will,” he replied. Then he was standing right against her, his fingers under her chin and guiding her up to meet his eyes. “Think I can go back? I told you, love…you’ve ruined me. I live for dreamin’. I’ll keep living for dreamin’. I’ll have to now…jus’ until we can have this.”

“You want this?”

Incredulity filled his eyes. “Buffy, please—”

“All the time? After…after it’s over…you’ll still want—”

Spike’s nostrils flared. “Of course I bloody will. Of course I will. I love you too bloody much to let this go. You hear me? I love you. God help me, Slayer, I love you.”

And then he was on her, consuming her lips with his, and swallowing her euphoric sobs as her body sagged against him.

Thoughts numbed. Her body exploded.

He loves me. He loves me.

There was nothing she could do but cry as he kissed her. As he showered her face with his lips and whispered his confession into her hair over and over again.

“I love you. I love you, Buffy. I’ve loved you for so long…”

Her arms flung around his neck. She couldn’t let him leave. Not now. Not ever. She’d just found this; she wasn’t about to give it up. Not for her mother. Not for Giles. Not for Angel. Not for anyone.

This was hers. At long last.

She wasn’t giving him up.