2.
A few seconds went by before she realized this was no apparition. Buffy’s eyes went wide and a deep intake of breath filled her lungs. Her quiet room was invaded by the clatter of an errant garbage can and the hiss of a cat some distance away. These sensory determinants spoke clearly. She was awake. This was really happening. Her secret thoughts coalesced into the opaque figure in her sights.
“Spike,” Buffy spoke in astonishment and looked into his glowing face. He was really here, in her room, in Sunnydale. In the flesh. There was that face, those eyes perusing her body in measured appreciation and that mouth curling slowly with pleasure. Oh god, those eyes, narrowing slightly while taking in this most delicious of sights.
“Slayer.” His voice rose from molten depths. It couldn’t just be from his vocal chords. Spike eased his coat aside and sat casually on one hip at the edge of her bed like he belonged there. His invitation to the house still valid. The look on his face was one of consideration. With such a buffet before him he paused, not knowing where to start.
A slayer was always a feast to be savored. She was a bouquet of sights and scents for a weary vampire and the evening was going well. His gaze trailed over her form at a leisurely pace. Skin, hair, tender curves and scented shadows. A low almost imperceptible rumble sounded from deep in Spike’s chest. Beyond conscious thought, Buffy arched her back slightly and rubbed her knees together in response.
At last Spike made an overture. He raised his left hand and delicately trailed his index finger from her hairline down her nose, lips, chin, and throat. It wasn’t as showy as fists and bruises — and this girl bruised beautifully — but it was strangely satisfying. One fingertip traveled a slow sensual serpentine down her mid line, a feather light signature on flesh and fabric. He continued between her heaving breasts and she caught her breath at the sensation. As his finger dipped the hollow of her bellybutton repeatedly he turned his eyes to hers. When at last his fingers approached her elastic waistband, Buffy spoke.
“Angel’s back.” It just popped out of her mouth. No reaction from Spike. His hand slipped under her pajama waistband.
“Yeah?” he sounded calm and indifferent. “You two kids kiss and make up?” There was some measure of sarcasm in that statement. His fingers brushed over her pubic hair. “Open up,” he whispered and raised his chin.
“Spike, stop. Angel’s back.” Spike stilled his hand.
“Heard you the first time.”
“So…s-stop,” that was not the voice of a girl who wanted him to stop.
“Tell me love,” Spike continued smoothly, admiring the satiny fabrication of her pajama bottoms. “What does the old bugger being back have to do with this, hmm?” He tickled her clit precisely. “Come on,” Spike goaded with a hush, “show me how much you missed me.”
The air was thick with seduction and the potent aroma of an aroused slayer. Erect nipples were a pretty obvious indicator of her body’s decision.
“Stop,” she protested even as she felt her internal restlessness demand satisfaction. Spike absorbed her arousal in an exaggerated inhale. The throaty rumble returned as a sigh of recognition and anticipation.
“Stop me love,” he challenged with eyes thick and hooded. “Those are scarves, not soldered steel. Stake me, Slayer. Throw me out your bloody window.” Okay, there was that. Buffy craned her neck and saw her weakly shackled wrists. Why was she still pretending to be restrained? It was a game. She remembered Spike’s games. Seconds of erotic thought lengthened and her hands stayed where they were. Spike continued his greeting.
“I know mommy’s away, so no fears of discovery. Think of it Slayer, it’ll be so good. You do remember how good we are together, right?” Spike raised an eyebrow in question. “It’ll be better than that ni–“
“I love Angel.” There it was again, awkward and impulsive speech. It was the futile truth. Although, again, not really relevant to current circumstances.
Angel was a beautiful idea she clung to in spite of the truth. He lived forever in her mind, a perfect specter of perfect love; of what she once thought she wanted.
Reality was a different matter altogether. Angel wasn’t that perfect boy. Slowly, Buffy was coming to the realization that he had never been. It was only a fantasy she held in her head. The mangled righteousness of fevered teenage fancy.
Spike never had such impossible ideals to live up to. There was never any doubt of what Spike was, so there would never be any surprises. Buffy never thought much beyond a dusty end for him. That was the drill: once a vampire, eventually a pile of dust. It’s not like that scenario had altered significantly, not really.
However, Spike now occupied a part of her body and stubbornly refuted her presumptions. He lived in her gut as a visceral presence she’d felt since she left that motel room. She could recite the familiar mantra of “he’s evil, always was, always will be,” until she dropped, but another truth lived inside her. It was a delicacy she silently craved; the truth of what they found in that small room and evil had no part in it.
Her ears soon filled with his derisive snicker. “Slayer. I’m not here for love, or like or even friendly for that matter,” Spike leaned closer to her face, filling her field of vision. “I just can’t get the taste of your come out of my head.” He curled his tongue slowly for affect.
Buffy’s breath caught again with that response and a faint gasp sounded from her throat.
“Okay, an amendment’s in order. The taste of your sweet come and that sound, so…mmm…promising. Been dreaming about my tongue have we?” Spike eased his fingers between her closed legs. “Open,” he lulled softly.
He didn’t add the ‘sesame’ part, but the result was just as magical. Her body obeyed his command. Buffy sighed and spread her legs wide. His fingers entered her already slathered and convulsing passage.
“Very nice, Slayer. Oooh, I see you have missed me. Maybe I should give you a primer on masturbation, love. It can be a helpful tool.” A nasty smirk completed the picture. A resounding shudder filtered through Buffy’s body as if each cell were chanting, “yes”. This was precisely what she needed, minus the snide asides that is, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Shut up,” her quiet voice held no acrimony. She was merely voicing her well rehearsed line. Spike would have been disappointed if he failed to twist her knickers enough to tell him off.
He leaned further forward over her chest, bracing his weight on an elbow on her pillow. His face nose to nose with hers. Two fingers thrust deeply within her. He was in no hurry. The heel of his thumb joined the party, kneading gently over her clit.
She couldn’t control her responses. Her hips pulsed into his hand as he caressed her with luxurious subtlety.
“Mmm, that’s right…Kitty’s gonna purr, aren’t you kitty?” Buffy clenched her jaw. She wasn’t going to give an inch.
Who did he think he was, coming into her room, touching her like this? It was a school night for pete’s sake! Spike licked his lower lip in appreciation of her stubbornness and added another finger. She’d surrender, of that he was certain, but her instinct toward defiance was irresistible.
Buffy’s mouth contorted in pleasure from his continuing finger play.
“Just say it,” he taunted softly.
“No.” Buffy tried to clench her mouth closed, but she began panting loudly.
“Yeah, that’s it. I need you slick and wet. I got plans for your sweet pussy. Care to hear them?”
“N– ooh”, Buffy arched her head unaware that her response no longer sounded vehement. She licked her lips and looked into his eyes.
“I’ve been thinking about you, love. About this. You have a way of worming yourself inside a fella. I need my fix. I’ll try to take it slow, but a man gets his hopes up when he gets such a nice welcome as this.”
What nice welcome? Oh yeah. The invite thingy. Buffy realized she missed her opportunity to insult him by telling him he wasn’t a man. She was slipping. Time was she’d have flattened him with several stinging rebukes by now. She did have an excuse though, Mr. Magic Fingers had distraction down to an art form. What the hell was he doing down there? Arpeggios?
“I may get a bit…exuberant, Slayer, so I need you lubricated good and proper like. Don’t want anything to hinder my sincere intentions…and I intend to make you come and come and come…” His voice trailed off. Why wasn’t he kissing her? Jesus, it wasn’t going to be long. Buffy gripped the metal bars of her bedstead in preparation.
He was doing that weird talking her into submission tactic. It was annoying to say the least. Annoying, yet oddly proficient. That voice and those fingers, indecent and insistent. Spike altered his attentions slightly and aimed relentlessly for an internal fullness. He’d make her gush again.
From her scent he knew that she’d had no other lovers but him. That pleased him no end. Not that he thought she was serious slut material by any means, kinky for sure, but definitely discerning. Spike figured he’d forgive her that brief interlude with the lump that is Angel someday.
He needed to make sure any residual effluence from Angelus was out of her system. If Spike knew anything it was that Angelus was a detriment to anyone’s sexual confidence. Angel’s scent was present but faint. Spike doubted she’d been closer than five feet to him.
“Admit it…say you missed this…me.” A different slippery angle.
“No way, I didn’t miss any– Ahhhh–” Buffy’s forehead buckled as her resolve disintegrated. A sound rose from his fingers. A sloppy squelching sound…a purely erotic soundtrack to which there was no defense. Spike worked at continuing that sound.
“Doesn’t matter pet. Your body’s doing all the talking for you,” his insistent voice took over her mind. “You bloody hear that? That’s your body telling the truth. You’re gonna come and cream all over my fingers.”
“I won’t!” she said stupidly, just to be negative. It was a ridiculous bluff. Who was she kidding? It was going to be loud and grasping and soon. And why was he still wearing clothes? She was ready for him now.
Spike began giggling playfully. “Well I sure missed you Slayer,” he kissed her cheek softly. “Can’t tell a lie.” He whispered into her ear.
“Come.”
Her climax came as if conjured forth from the ether. She could not subdue her cry of pleasure. Her body convulsed and arched, stabbing her head back into the pillow. Just as he predicted a gush of fluid covered his fingers. Buffy closed her eyes not wanting to see the smug look of confidence on his face. She simply wanted to enjoy her release.
“Thatta girl,” he praised and removed his thickly coated fingers. “Want a taste?”
Buffy shook her head and watched with fascination as he licked her residue from each finger. She’d licked chocolate icing from her fingers in the exact manner, overwhelmed by the texture and sweetness. He thought her goo was that delicious? Chocolate icing good? That thought was disconcerting to say the least.
Buffy waited dutifully for shame to overwhelm her for letting Spike do this to her, make her feel wanton and swollen with expectation. Shame, however, was not cooperating. Shame opted for a good night’s sleep. This was an interesting development.
“Good. More for me.” He slurped loudly and sensuously never once breaking eye contact.
Buffy slipped her hands from the scarves and whisked off her pajama pants. She tugged off her unneeded camisole and flung it onto the floor. Her hands went back to the metal bars and gripped them. She spread her legs and looked into his smiling, dancing eyes.
“Again,” she whispered. Spike licked his lips and slipped his coat from his shoulders. It pooled softly on the floor.
“Whatever you say, love.” Spike’s tongue entered her mouth as his fingers found her waiting for him, slick and hungry again.