Chapter 5
Spike drew nearer and nearer to her. Even like this she was magnetic. He felt his own arousal crackle in her midst. Killing could wait, that need was no longer foremost in his thoughts. The prowl was a succulent delicacy all on its own. Suddenly the possibility of fucking a slayer thundered through his body like a siren’s call. She was pathetic to be sure, but her scent told him the truth. This one was ripe for the picking.
“What do I want?” he said gently as his lip whisper touched her temple. Spike had been rigorously trained in the warfare of seduction. Darla and Angelus had been rigorous taskmasters. “Interesting question, love. Seems to me it requires some thought.” His eyes pierced hers with an inviting gaze.
Buffy wriggled slightly in his grip as she started to tremor internally. A gentle deep voice. The faintest touch of lips. The presence of a man. All of these things had been forcibly banished from her mind.
She felt her heart between her legs, the slow growing beat of desire. Then the heat of shame at what had aroused her suffused her mind: death in leather skins, an immaculate dye job and banal black fingernails. It was death wearing the likeness of a man with a low sultry voice of pure animal seduction. Spike inhaled audibly, crinkled his nose and grinned with satisfaction, knowing he had aroused her.
Full points to Spike for possessing the ghost of testosterone past.
“Don’t,” Buffy turned away in embarrassment and tried to push him off. He caught her head with his cheek and lowered his mouth slowly and deliberately. Steady calm lips tickled against her blushing cheek, stalking her lips with purpose.
“Don’t what, love?” he soothed with expert precision. He was a talented spider and knew how to rein in a tasty morsel. “Don’t this?” he asked rhetorically as his arms encircled her back. “Don’t this?” he tilted his growing erection into her pelvis.
Buffy caught her breath. “Don’t this, Slayer?” he moved his hands to her bottom, cupping her closely. Buffy opened her mouth to respond and he briefly covered her lips with his. “Or was it that?” he whispered into her stunned face, teasing her with seduction.
He looked upon her with an expression of conceited fascination. In her exhausted state she replied not with fury but with a tinge of pink on her blushing cheeks. It had been a long time since he’d seen someone blush so delicately and more than a lifetime since he’d caused someone to react in such a manner. There was a sweetness to her honest response that touched him. This was not a slayer in his arms, but a girl who had been wounded and left untended.
Aware of her own awakening arousal she shifted against him uncomfortably. He felt so solid beneath her fingers. She looked at his chest and the front of his throat as her head began to spin. “What was the question?” she asked through her haze and raised her face to his. Soft lips covered hers again, raspberry-blueberry lips with a trace of whiskey and a scant whisper of blood. It wasn’t that unpleasant a combination.
Sinuous flesh sampled her lips, pursuing and retreating, asking and answering. For Spike it was a practiced rhythm, a polished artistry. Buffy pursed her lips in response just as he withdrew.
“Oh that’s nice, Slayer,” his voice vibrated at a deep level. “Maybe we should be asking what it is that you want, love.” He looked at her lower lip and sampled it. Her upper lip trembled in response. “Don’t worry pet, I don’t leave things unfinished.”
He kissed her upper lip and then covered both lips again gently. An image of Drusilla’s mouth appeared in Buffy’s mind. These are the lips that kissed that, for like, a century…oh god. Spike’s tongue traced the outline of her bottom lip.
Her lips tasted of sweetness remembered, a plump tangle of sun ripened fruit, all melons and mangoes; the haunting effigy of swollen flesh on the vine, craning and bruised for its readiness.
He tasted her strength also. The slayer aura was a forbidding and alluring elixir but there was something else he couldn’t place. It was almost the taste of fog, an opaque thickness rolling off of her tongue and lips. It was permeating her, a density of unknown nuance and tempo.
Spike was quite taken by the soft warmth of the Slayer’s lips and the heated promise of what lay beyond. He tried to think if he’d ever kissed a human for this long before. He couldn’t remember ever doing that. The bulk of his experience had been fang centric: biting, sucking and chewing, but kissing had its merits. Merely teasing and tasting the slayer’s lips was worthwhile all on its own.
Never did Spike anticipate that kissing his sworn enemy could be so delicious, but then he always did gravitate toward the dangerous end of the spectrum. Angelus had punished him severely many times for such conspicuous behavior but things had changed. Angelus was tucked away good and tight in a hopefully enthusiastic hell dimension and Spike was free and clear to roam and make merry at his leisure. Leisurely, yes he would be leisurely. He would be quite thoroughly leisurely with this one.
The image of lying chained and spread-eagled as Drusilla skewered him with sharpened rebars while she berated him for allowing Angelus to be taken from her was fading fast. Maybe they truly did need a break.
Their tried and true formula of reprisals and retribution was beyond hackneyed. It was merely a dog-eared script they clung to, not knowing any other possibility. There was finality in her tone during that grotesquely unpleasant torture session, and Drusilla had been uncharacteristically clear headed during it all. Spike figured he could always track her down in Brazil for a little comeuppance if he chose to.
She often turned up there seeking a certain Fungus demon named Phil who was a particularly attentive listener. Brazil was a possibility, but later, much later.
Spike’s cock jumped at the sensation of the slayer in his arms deepening their kiss.