15.
The hour was late when Buffy closed up the Magic Box. Giles was busy with a conference call to England so she thought she’d be a help. Just because she didn’t get a retail paycheck didn’t mean she’d forgotten the closing up procedures. Locking the cash drawer and turning off a few lights was far more civilized than the lard maintenance routine she once mastered at the Double Meat Palace. After his phone call, Giles bid her a good night and left.
As soon as she entered the room Spike was on her. He pinned her back to the wall and slammed his mouth against hers. Caught off guard, Buffy scrambled for a shoulder grip and pushed him away. Her lips buzzed with the unmistakable taste of alcohol.
“What’s going on here? Giles…gave you booze?” She couldn’t believe it.
Spike looked loose and relaxed, ready for anything. “Yeah, good lad your Watcher. Figure he felt sorry for the monkey in the cage.” Again he pounced. His mouth swamped hers, making his demands clear. Buffy pushed harder this time and they parted with a loud smack.
“You’re drunk.”
“Not hardly,” Spike licked the corner of his mouth and grinned. “I’d need about a case of that swill for drunk, but I am feeling good for a change, figure I could do you the favor. Fancy a bit of rough and tumble? Get the juices flowing?” His eyes glazed over with urgent desire. Buffy cleared her throat and gripped her stake.
“Spike, this isn’t–“
“Bloody hell,” Spike frowned sourly and stepped back. He ripped off his t-shirt, flung the fabric aside and opened his arms wide. “Right here, pet,” he jabbed his sternum with his index finger. “Pointy end first. Stake me or toss it. I’m tired of being in your fish bowl and I don’t bloody care anymore.” He stepped toward her with sexual menace. “I’m not big on patience and if I hear another tale of gallant Spike, the helpful vampire, I may just vomit. This is what I am Slayer, just what you see. I know it’s my evil duty and all to plot your timely demise, pick my teeth with your bones and all that rot, but the thing of it is, my mind’s been clogged up with–“
Too much damn talking. Rational thought no longer held sway; instinct shouldered it aside as Buffy’s body took over. She flung herself at him, cutting off the rest of his sentence. He caught her and pressed her up against the door. Their kiss was stunningly animal, mouths wide and devouring. Buffy hadn’t kissed him with that level of frustrated aggression in years, not since the walls tumbled down. They held each other in strengthening grips, not wanting the other to move away. It was pure desperation cutting through loneliness and fear on both sides.
Buffy gripped the stake until her fingernails pierced the wooden surface and then she tossed it across the room. It deflected off a wall and skittered to a tinkling stop.
Her fingers felt like flames on his skin. She pulled herself up his body and wrapped her legs about his thighs. The room filled with his continuous snarl as he thrust between her thighs.
A natural break in the kissing allowed Buffy a few deep breaths. A dazed smile spread across her mouth as she traced his lower lip with a fingertip. Her tongue followed close behind and then her teeth. Capturing his lip between her teeth she bit teasingly into his flesh. His eyes bulged in response accompanied by an iron grip on her hips. Within seconds an uncontrolled pelvic convulsion slammed into her and then Spike broke away.
“Fuck! You fucking pillock!” He stared at his groin with frustration.
“What? What?” Emerging from her own dazed state, Buffy assessed the situation: agitated, cursing Spike and no more smoochies. Trouble in River City. She stared at his crotch and things fell into place. He’d come in his pants. Okay, not the end of the world. He misinterpreted her expression.
“Yeah right, nice,” annoyance pervaded his voice. “Glad I could amuse you, Slayer. Take a bloody snapshot for your scrapbook. FUCK! I’m not bloody well fourteen.” His jaw tightened.
“Calm down.”
“You fucking calm down!”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like this is the first–“
“WHAT?!” Perhaps that wasn’t the wisest tidbit to share. Hazard flashers on. Proceed with caution.
“It just…happened once before, that’s all. No big thing.”
“Yeah, you can talk…” His scowl intensified. Vampire cockiness and overcompensation had failed him at an inopportune moment.
For months before Prague, Drusilla had been more physically fragile than usual. She’d been too ill, for him anyway, but not too ill to torture and maim. As a result, they hadn’t been sexually intimate for close to a year. They had barely escaped Prague and her health plummeted dangerously in the aftermath. Even though Buffy knew the truth, Spike’s brain told him he hadn’t had sex in a long, long time. She knew his moods and what was coming. He was primed for a sulk.
Buffy thought quickly. She didn’t want him to disappear into self-pity or refocus his anger at her. She spoke up casually.
“Well, you still want to fuck or what? Because I’ve got things to–” With that Spike was on her again, hungry and insistent. Another kiss, this time a full facial onslaught. He held her torso in an iron grip. She returned his passion with equal force and then surfaced to meet two golden eyes. Spike was unaware of the shift.
“Sp…ike,” Buffy squirmed in his unyielding embrace.
“What?” She brought her palms to his cheeks and caressed over the muscular ridges. Her breath caught in her throat. The air scented with her arousal and her apprehension.
“Feel like biting today?” She tried for indifference but it wasn’t convincing. Anticipation alone had her close to orgasm.
“Always,” he smiled and nuzzled her closely. There was desire in his hooded eyes but for what she couldn’t be sure. Buffy took her apprehension in a strangle hold. Anything approaching fear would be an unwelcome addition to her current situation.
“Spike,” she could hardly hear herself over the clanging slayer alarm in her head.
“Already told you, Slayer. I want to fuck you, not kill you, and you can bloody well quote me on that.” His raw sultry growl settled well south of her rational brain. Their eyes locked as mutual need flowed between them. A flurry of movement followed. Limbs scrambled akimbo as they tried to shed their clothes without having to stop touching.
“Ever heard of a skirt, pet?” His current spate of fantasies always seemed to feature the Slayer in a ridiculously short skirt. Shit, she should have worn a skirt. Spike dropped to his knees as his frantic fingers and fangs tried without much success to unclasp her bra. She came to the rescue. Next came the boots and then her pants, skinned off her legs. Spike had to admit that tight pants weren’t half bad either. Then he was nipping at her crotch, chewing off her tiny panties.
Spike roared to his feet, kicked off his boots and shoved his jeans down past his knees and off his feet. Soon Buffy was climbing again and Spike was lifting her with one hand and guiding his solid length with the other. He couldn’t bother with foreplay as his need was too great. He simply stabbed into her with a snarl of torturous lust.
Shaking with desire, Buffy bit her lip. She was beyond ready for him. Her inner passage was overly swollen and convulsing. It was nearly impassable. Spike hissed at the resistance of her choking molten flesh and savagely thrust into her tight muscular channel. On the fourth push he reached full penetration. Buffy shook with a confined orgasm that was more a release of tension than a reflection of true sexual pleasure.
“Fuck!” Spike grit his teeth and tried to steady his footing. A gush of fiery lubrication eased their joining. It was already better than he had imagined. Easing his hips back and forth slowly, Spike began to move, sinking into the glorious cauldron of her depths. After the first orgasm, Buffy adjusted quickly. Her body had not forgotten his touch or his dimensions. She squeezed automatically around his breadth.
“Tight little pussy you got there, pet,” he whispered in her ear with a devilish grin and a deep thrust for emphasis. Buffy repositioned her arms over his shoulders, holding herself up against him.
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“I plan on loosening you up, Slayer…” His thrusts punctuated his speech. “Make you slick and easy…I’m gonna fuck you…until you beg me to stop…until you can’t come anymore…”
“Oh yeah?” she goaded mindlessly, gazing into yellow eyes made murky by his increasing desire.
“And you’re gonna come for me,” he continued, his voice scraping over the lust in his throat. “You’re gonna drown me in your come.” With that declaration he began to move in deep, spearing thrusts.
Buffy’s lungs began to spasm as she fought for each breath. “Yes,” she mewled and held a death grip on his neck.
The demon fled from his face as he kissed her. There was a sinuous passion on his lips instead of the destructive fire of mere minutes before. Spike pressed into her and with each stroke a sound surfaced from the depths of Buffy’s throat. Soon another orgasm rolled through her. The drift of his hips alone set her off. Gasping airy sighs of surrender and release punctuated the room.
The rhythm of that melody ended when he suddenly pulled out of her and set her on her feet. Confusion colored Buffy’s face for a moment before he turned her to the wall. She caught his eye and smirked. She knew what he liked. A rush of new sensation flooded him. Spike wanted her every way he could imagine.
Buffy had just enough time to reach for the wall and arch up on her tiptoes and he was inside her again, pounding with renewed abandon. She stayed with him through each bruising stroke. It was a sensation unequalled in his experience, a rapture of previously unknown proportions. Spike floated on her scent as it intensified. Her arousal was a heady steam and he knew he was already drunk on it.
Buried to the hilt in her body, Spike seized upon one thought. Maybe he had enjoyed being tamed by this one. Perhaps he’d even pursued it. All he knew was that he wanted this sensation to continue. Spike wrapped his arms around her torso and held her tightly against him. The sound of their mingling flesh squelched a steady beat.
“You always this wet?”
“Mmmh.” Buffy moaned, drifting somewhere beyond the sea.
“I like it. I like how it sounds, how it feels.” Spike slid his fingers around her hip and found her clitoris. Buffy gasped in reaction to his fingertip snare. “Bet I know what you like, too…this.” His fingers knew exactly what to do. It wasn’t chance or something left over from Drusilla. No, Buffy liked it like this. With each stroke of his fingers the certainty solidified. This is what made Buffy come like thunder and the rain.
Spike lifted her until she was no longer touching the floor, but held in his embrace as he zeroed in on her pleasure with his fingers and hips. Buffy’s forearms provided some added leverage against the wall as she pushed back to counter his driving force. Her orgasm rumbled like a tiger stalking prey, hovering in wait and then the sudden pounce of adrenalin and desire and clarity captured.
With a blast of effort from his throat Spike collapsed into the wall, bracing a forearm for needed support. Buffy threw her head back against his shoulder. Lungs desperate for air complained through a crescendo of shivering breaths. She hooked her arm around Spike’s head, pulling him nearer. Something rumbled through Spike that was both familiar and alien: a sound, a vibration, a horrible pause pushing him beyond the brink. Their mutual need synchronized as Buffy barely whispered.
“Yes…”
The demon sank his fangs.
Then there was no floor, no walls, no past, no future…nothing but the here, the now. The truth in liquid form. Buffy howled and jerked in convulsive spasms but she did not struggle to free herself. This was a surrender she embraced completely, a gift for him alone.
The pull of his lips took her down, down, down into the shadow lands, into the quiet lands. Spike’s hips surged onward, embracing his release with a savage howl of declaration, its meaning unmistakable. Mine. Only mine. The sensation in his belly swelled to monumental proportions, filling all the dark corners of his being.
Mine, all mine.
Buffy slumped in his arms and lost consciousness. Her immobility caught his attention. An internal dictate made its demands known and Spike stopped and removed his fangs from her. A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over him and he slid helplessly to the floor, taking Buffy with him.
Welcome darkness opened its arms and embraced him. Spike’s mind filled with the swirling torrent of half remembered words and grainy, scorched images like fragments found in the aftermath of a fire. Ghosts from a past torn away drifted in an indifferent parade past him. He saw smiles, glinting eyes, fists flying, angry expressions and the curve of flesh intertwined. Snapshots only, they were but brief flashes of faded light.
Spike opened his eyes and gathered Buffy into his arms. A quick check reassured him that she was still breathing. Nuzzling her tenderly, he licked the blood and serum oozing from the puncture wounds. Buffy roused briefly and pulled herself up to his lips. She kissed him with reverent affection, soft and sleepy.
“Mmm,” she offered a drowsy grin. “I always know how to shut you up.” Buffy snuggled closely, her head to his chest.
A few seconds went by before Spike was clear enough to try for words. “What…the bloody fuck…was that?” It wasn’t hearts and roses, but it was pure Spike.
“That was us, Spike. Get used to it.” Now that was something Spike would have very little trouble doing. It was an arousing proposition. His cock stood at attention ready for more. Spike snarled softly and gazed into Buffy’s relaxed face. Rhythmic buzzing noises exited her nose with adorable regularity.
She lay fast asleep in his arms.