Chapter Thirteen
Anne came awake just as the pre-dawn sun started to filter in through the window. Disentangling herself with little grace from Spike’s arms, she hurried as quickly as her pounding head would allow to pull the curtains safely closed. With a sigh of relief, she turned back towards the bed, then choked back a giggle, which turned into a groan of pain from her head. Spike laid sprawled out on the bed, jeans around his knees, and his red shirt splayed open around him. Crossing her arms over her chest and enjoying the view, she remembered her own state and glanced down at herself with a grimace. She was only wearing her jean skirt, and it was pushed high over her hips. She was glad that Spike had the presence of mind to shut the door, or else Matt might’ve had the shock of his young life stumbling into the bathroom at the end of the hall.
Trying hard not to groan again, she moved towards the dresser. Opening a drawer, she dug aimlessly through the contents, stopping when she saw it. She brushed her fingers over the soft black cotton of the long forgotten friend, and smiled. Pulling it out, she gave it a good shake, and slipped it over her head. She had worn his t-shirt all through her pregnancy, and for the first year of Matt’s life, usually to sleep in. Then, one day, she folded it up and put it away, much like a child puts away his security blanket. She hadn’t thought she needed it anymore, the pain of losing Angel, and the aloneness she felt after Spike left had decreased with the birth of Matt. The older he got, the less she wore it, until the day she tucked it into the bottom of her dresser, never to be worn again.
She realized now, as she looked back at the sleeping figure of the vampire, that she would always need it. Need him. With another smile, she dropped her skirt to the floor, and went in search of a fresh pair of panties. Relishing the sticky soreness between her legs, she slipped the plain cotton thong over her legs. A sharp wave of arousal sliced through her as memories of the night before flashed through her brain.
She and Willow had gone to the bar that Mark had played, and then proceeded to drink themselves silly, laughing and giggling like school girls the whole way. She had regaled Willow with the one and only time she had seen Mark naked (by accident of course). He had given her a key, not telling her that he had a habit of sleeping nude. She had gone in to wake him and found that he had kicked the blankets off. She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for a week. And Willow’d had her practically rolling on the floor with her tales of Xander’s attempts to woo the new Slayer.
Then, when they realized they were both too drunk to drive Anne’s car, they’d shared a cab to get home. One look at Spike when she had walked through the door, or stumbled rather, she’d had to have him. Nothing was going to stop her, and she was just glad that he hadn’t protested too much. It was better than she remembered. Maybe because it was done out of want instead of grief. That one day had branded them, made them the other’s, whether they wanted to admit it or not. There was no life for her without him and Matt. The thought of losing either of them made her head swim, and her stomach turn dangerously. She couldn’t help wondering if he felt the same.
Walking slowly towards the bed, she let the desire overtake her again, washing away the sickness that had threatened with that last, terrifying thought. Moving as carefully as she could, she knelt down to unlace his boots, gingerly divesting him of the bottom half of his clothes. He didn’t stir while she did this, and the inane thought that he slept like the dead slid through her mind. Stifling the giggle that caused, she moved with the grace of a predator onto the bed, her eyes trained on the thick shaft resting against his thigh. She gently ran her fingertips through the coarse curls at the base, her eyes widening when he jerked. She looked up at him, and found herself pinned by the blue, swirling depths of his eyes. She could almost see forever in those eyes, and the way he was looking at her right now, like she was the only being on the planet, almost made her whimper. Everything was in those eyes, everything he thought, felt. William was in those eyes, forever laid out for the world to see if they just took a minute to look.
She kept her gaze locked with his, fascinated by the subtle darkening that occurred when she ran the tips of her fingers over the velvety soft skin of his now hard shaft. Still keeping eye contact, she fisted her hand around it, while bending over and barely sweeping her tongue over the tip. He hissed in unneeded air at the ghostly feel of her warm, wet tongue on his cool flesh. Blowing ever so lightly on the tip, she watched as those brilliant eyes changed to the dark blue of midnight. Her teeth nipped him next, and he nearly reared off the bed, eyes flashing yellow and a low growl rumbled in his chest. A smile of pure feminine delight curled her lips, and she experimentally flicked her tongue over the slit, tasting the salty pre-cum that had pooled there.
“Jesus, Buffy,” he gasped, his voice hoarse, his accent thick. Anne felt a rush of pleasure flow through her at his whispered words. She felt powerful, and in control, with him at her mercy. He made no move to stop her, or encourage her to do more. Just kept watching her with those bottomless eyes that saw straight to her soul, his unneeded breathing shallow.
“What do you want, Spike?” she whispered back, the dampness in her panties growing by the second. Another swipe of her tongue made the growl turn louder, and his hips surge up, begging. “What?”
“Please, pet,” Spike purred, feeling like he would die again if he didn’t feel her mouth on him, surrounding him, right now. The contrast of her heat against his cool length was driving him insane, and he needed to feel it all. The sight of her in one of his shirts moving him.
“Please what?” She continued to play with him, barely touching him with her tongue, brushing her lips against the shaft with whispered touches. Her hot, tiny hand surrounded him, holding him where she wanted. All the while, their eyes remained locked, as if the spell around them would be broken if they looked away.
“Take it in, kitten. I want to feel your mouth around me,” he gasped, coming the closest to begging he ever had in his unlife. She pulled back slightly, studying his face, the harsh planes of his cheeks, the smooth line of his jaw, the high slope of his forehead. Then, a wicked smile spread over her face, making him shiver with the felineness of it. He sighed in relief than nearly choked with pleasure when she finally eased her mouth over him. He finally closed his eyes, his head thrown back as she slid her tongue over the satiny skin of his pulsating member. It was amazing to her, that life could flow from this supposedly dead body. The doctor could never determine what had caused her pregnancy, finally deciding that Slayer and vampire physiology were just compatable. She had forbade Giles from looking for prophecies when she had finally called her mother and told her about her grandchild.
A thought struck her then. What if they had done it again? Neither had even thought about birth control the night before, and here they were getting ready to go again. What if they created another child?
An almost giddy feeling enveloped her then, and she sucked hard on him, her moan answering his. She ran her tongue over the underside of his shaft, just under the tip, making him writhe in ecstasy. His fingers convulsed in the quilt, and his legs were moving restlessly over the bed. She slid him all the way into her mouth, her tongue laving his skin as she went. When she felt him hit the back of her throat, she pulled back, allowing him to almost slip from her mouth, before doing it again.
Spike was sure he was dangerously close to exploding, her hot mouth and tongue burning him. Wave after wave of heat and want hit him, making him dizzy as she continued to devour him like he was her favorite treat. When she moaned again, the vibrating of her throat against him made his sac start to tighten, and he knew he was close.
“Buffy. . .” he tried to warn her, but his voice was lost when she did it again, sucking him so hard her cheeks hollowed out. He arched off the bed as he started to pulse in her mouth, her throat convulsing around him as she swallowed every shot of his cold semen. He growled loudly as the tremors rolled over him, and he saw stars burst behind his eyelids as he slowly came down. When she finally let him slip from her mouth, he reached blindly for her, dragging her up his body to claim her mouth with his, his tongue sliding in to taste the salty taste of his spendings. One hand fisted in her hair as the other sought out her heat, sliding past her panties and pushing two fingers deep inside. She gasped in his mouth, her hips rocking against his hand, pushing his probing fingers deeper still. His thumb circled her clit, turning her moans into mewls as the sensation built in her abdomen, slowly unfurling to explode brightly through her. Her scream was lost in his kiss, as she bucked wildly, her inner muscles clamping hard over his fingers.
While she was still riding the waves of her orgasm, he flipped them, managing to shrug out of his shirt. The kiss never ended, the constant thrust and retreat of their tongues in time with his thrust into her core. Whimpers and moans filled the room, a sensual music for their bodies to dance to. One strong hand gripped her thigh, pulling it up so he could push deeper, the tip of his shaft hitting her inner sweet spot, just as his pelvic bone hit her clit. She nearly sobbed as her second orgasm crashed over her, and she ripped her mouth from his to bury her teeth in his neck, trying to keep her scream inside. The feel of her blunt teeth in his throat, and her heat ruthlessly squeezing him sent him careening after her, and he buried his lips against her throat, the feel of his fangs sending her into her most powerful climax.
They lay trembling in each other’s arms, Spike’s tongue lazily drawing patterns in the blood on her throat. She nibbled lightly on the teeth marks she’d left in his alabaster skin, soothing it with kisses. When those eyes sought hers out again, she felt herself drowning in them, an unnamed emotion swimming in their depths.
“I love you,” he whispered. She felt joy bloom in her chest at his soft confession, the uncertainty in his eyes nearly breaking her heart. Raising a finger to trace over his scarred dark brow, she struggled for a moment to find her own voice, tears leaking from her eyes. He gently kissed them away, concern marring his brow.
“I love you, too,” she whispered back, her words so choked with emotion that he almost had to struggle to hear her. Wonder and awe softened his face, making him seem so young. Their arms tightened around each other, faces buried in throats once more as they both trembled, the force of their admissions making them weak.
After a few moments, Spike felt calm enough to raise his head again, and look into the shiny depths of her hazel eyes.
“How long til Matt gets up?” Confusion drew her brows again as she craned her neck to look at the clock.
“About an hour,” she said after she cleared her throat. Her breath hitched as he began to rock inside of her again, his blue eyes nearly black.
“Not nearly enough time for me to show you how much I love you. But, it’s a start.”
~*~*~
Mark raised his hand and knocked loudly on the door, snickering when he heard the mumbled curse on the other side. He crushed his cigarette out under his boot, and smiled wide when Willow opened the door, looking a tad worse for wear. She struggled to focus her eyes on him against the glare of the hot Arizona sun at his back, glaring at him for disturbing her from dying. The glare disappeared when he produced a large cup of coffee under her nose. She snatched it from him, then turned to walk back into the room, leaving him to follow. She didn’t care about manners at the moment, her head hurt too bad. Chuckling, he walked inside, closing the door behind him to shut them in the dark interior of the room.
“Good morning,” he said in a voice that was way too chipper for the hungover Willow. Grunting in response, she crawled back onto the bed, savoring the hot brew like it was ambrosia. “Somebody not feeling too well this morning?” She glared at him again, whimpering against the pain behind her eyes.
“Shut up,” she growled. He pursed his lips to keep the laugh back, not feeling like being turned into something small and slimy.
“Looks like you need a little hair of the dog,” he suggested, moving to sit next to her on the bed. She practically turned green.
“No, no hair of the dog. Drinking is bad. I should have learned my lesson the last time,” she grumbled.
“What happened last time?” He asked, raising his eyebrows in question. Her pallor changed from pale to a bright crimson when she realized what she had let out. Yes, drinking was definitely bad.
“Nothing,” she replied, most of her answer lost in the Styrofoam cup she held. One look at her told him it wasn’t nothing.
“What, did you do something really embarrassing?” he goaded, reaching out to pull one tiny foot into his lap and running his thumb over the arch. She hummed in response.
“Sorta,” she admitted, hoping to leave it at that.
“Oh, come on. You can tell me. I can assure you, I’ve done some crazy things in my twenty eight years. I don’t judge,” he said with a devilish twinkle in his eye.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know this,” Willow insisted, trying to concentrate on the feel of his hand on her foot, and not the hazy memories of the past.
“What, did you have indiscriminant sex? We all do. Not the most fun to be had, but, it happens.” She blanched at that, wondering if Buffy had told him. That was a little too close to the truth. He looked up at her then, and noticed the look on her face. “Ah, that was is it.” He grinned a little, delighted that there was a touch of bad girl lurking under her shy facade. He found himself imagining that liaison with him in the starring role with her, knowing full well that he wouldn’t have been able to leave it at just once.
“Why do you want to know so bad?” She sounded harsher than she had meant, and his thumb stilled in its ministration.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, sounding a little hurt. Sighing in disgust, she cursed the fragility if male egos.
“Look, it was Xander. Not exactly something I like to admit. I had just gotten dumped, he was still hurting from Cordy leaving, and we got drunk. I don’t remember much, other than waking up in the morning feeling like I had just slept with my brother. Not altogether a pleasant feeling,” she snapped, trying to pull her foot out of his lap. He tightened his hand over her ankle, waiting for her to meet his eyes. When she finally did, he started to stroke the soft flesh of her ankle.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed,” he said, sounding sincere. She felt her ire deflate, and offered him a tight smile.
“No, I’m sorry. It still kinda squicks me out, and I don’t like to remember it so much,” Willow told him. He smiled at that, running his hand higher up her leg. When she shivered, she became acutely aware that she was only dressed in a pair of old boxer shorts and a tank top. She had managed to change before falling into bed, and she had grabbed the first thing she could find. Heat coursed from the spot under his hand straight the very center of her. Her emerald eyes shot to his, and she saw the burning desire shining in their black depths.
“Mark,” she began, finding her voice lost when his fingers grazed the inner side of her knee. He didn’t say anything, just kept up the light strokes, venturing ever higher, idly wondering if she was going to stop him. She whimpered when he reached the bottom of her shorts, feeling her nipples pebble in response. She watched in fascination as he raised her leg, and brushed his lips across her ankle. “Ah” was all she could manage as his hand continued forward while his tongue darted out to taste her skin. She hadn’t realized he had moved closer, her already cloudy mind becoming even more fuddled with his touch. When his searching fingers brushed against the cotton of her panties, her hips surged forward, desperately seeking his touch.
“Willow,” he gasped, raising to one knee, and turning his long frame towards her. She was laying back against the pillow, her skin hot and cold at the same time, her heart galloping in her chest. This was it, she knew somewhere in her conscious. This was her decision. Did she tell him to stop and walk away, or did she take a chance, and allow him into her life? Staring up into the black pools of his eyes, she suddenly realized that she had never had a choice. He was everything.
“Mark, please. . .touch me,” she breathed, sighing in relief when he did just that. Two long, guitar roughened fingers slipped past the barrier of cotton and plunged deep inside her tight, wet core. She cried out in pleasure as he stroked her, her entire body trembling as he brought her to a swift, long overdue orgasm. His name fell from her lips as she writhed helplessly against the bed. She cried out when he pulled his fingers away, only to hiss in a desperate breath when he quickly stripped her of her shorts and panties. Rearing up, she pulled her shirt over her head, exposing the creamy, rose tipped softness of her full breasts. He groaned in response, reaching one hand up to the collar of his shirt to pull it off. He stood to kick off his boots. She watched in avid interest as each inch of bronze skin was exposed. Hard planes, and long length defined him, from the tight muscled of his calves and thighs, over his flat, ridged stomach, to the well defined pecks. Her eyes widened when she finally allowed them to drift to the very obvious evidence of his want for her. Long and thick, she had a moments panic at whether or not she could take it. Then, his mouth was on hers and it didn’t matter any more. She accepted him between her thighs, feeling as if they were made to fit together.
He was pressed against her, his lips feasting on hers, his tongue urgent and demanding. The tip of his shaft rested at the opening of her tight entrance, his hands claimed her breasts, teasing and pulling on the nipples until they peaked even tighter, sending pulses along her nerves, making her moan. Her fingers tangled in the long length of his hair, then coursed restlessly over his back, her hips grinding against him, begging him to take her. He tore his mouth away from hers, to stare deep into the dark emerald of her eyes, as he slowly began to enter her. Inch by agonizing inch he slid inside, allowing her to adjust to his girth, struggling not to just pound into her until they were both a quivering mass of nerve endings.
She arched into him, urging him to move quicker, fill her more. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he lowered his head to capture a dusky nipple in his mouth, laving it with his tongue and gently grazing it with his teeth. She rocked against him, her beautiful dark warrior, wanting to be with him, inside of him, filling him with the same incredible feeling he was filling her with. She brought her legs up and hooked them behind his back, thrusting up with her hips, telling him silently that she wasn’t waiting anymore. He never ceased his feasting on her flesh, just moved to the other soft mound, while he began to move, his body taut with his fight for control. She was so tight, so hot, the taste of her skin so sweet. She ran her hands through his hair, and over his back, then up again, her body moving rhythmically beneath him, trying to race towards release. Responding to her urging, he pumped harder, faster, longer pushing them both closer and closer to the edge. She met him, thrust for thrust, soft moans and groans filling the air around them.
Suddenly, heat exploded around her, through her, and she keened long and high, his name almost like a prayer on her lips. With her moans echoing in his ears, and her body clenching around him, he roared against her skin, thrusting as far as he could, his shaft pulsing deep within her. They lay, wrapped around each other while the tremors ran their course, a peace like they had never felt before settling over them.
Raising his head to kiss her once more, he rolled them until she was sprawled against his chest, his already hardening cock still buried deep in her tiny body. She pulled away from him, and sat up, rising above him to take charge, feeling free and wild and desired. He sat back and let her control the depth and speed, his black eyes taking in her pale skin, the wild toss of her vivid hair, the deep green of her eyes. Bringing a hand between them, he stroked her clit through the russet curls at the apex of her thighs, relishing her cries of pleasure. His other hand steadied her as she began slamming against him harder, her head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy. She shuddered above him as she flew over the edge again, her inner muscles clenching hard around him, and sending him flying after her. Her name fell from his lips as he came inside of her, buried to the hilt.
Exhausted and sated for the moment, Willow slumped over his chest, her tiny body shaking as he wrapped her in his strong embrace.
After a few moments, his whispered question made her giggle.
“Hangover gone?”