7.
A/N: This chapter contains sexually explicit material which some readers may consider objectionable. It is meant for an adult audience. In case there is any lingering confusion regarding the enema references, that is simply a cleansing preparation for anal sex and Buffy completed this procedure in the privacy of her bathroom at the beginning of part 6. If you think you may be squicked by anal activities, perhaps you should reconsider reading the next two chapters.
Buffy felt her heartbeat assaulting her face. She felt hot and delirious as if she had cried for the longest time. Spike observed her lazily. Splayed out on his thighs, soft and fresh and ready for anything. But was he ready for anything? For what might come?
At times like this he remembered the faint echoes of his classics training. Women were archetypes, not just in his preferred reading list, but also in his personal experience. He’d known the Bitch and the Whore and even glimpsed that rarer of the breed, the Madonna. A few of his acquaintance had been elevated to pedestals, there to be worshipped.
Cecily was one, now only an undeserving bitter memory. Drusilla had been a worthy object of awe and affection until their unceremonious and decisive split. Even Darla, as dangerous as she was, fascinated Spike. Above them all was his own mother, sweet and devout but also tainted by his darkness. He forced all thoughts of her from his mind whenever they roused. One day that may be reconciled, but not soon. He deserved that anguish.
The Slayer occupied no elevated position with him. She was not a Venus nor a sprite of earth, air or water. She was like him: a wolf, a blade…a beast of the night. She answered his questing touch with her own. Fingers, lips and body followed an unspoken behest. A wordless decree. Spike felt some small yet willful acknowledgement spread through his mind in her arms. Was it a sense of belonging? Permission? Welcome?
Buffy said nothing but he could hear her calling to him, beckoning him over a distance of mere inches, though it felt like a century. It made his dead heart stagger at the weight of this reckoning. He felt love for this girl; not the endless debaucheries of old nor the gluttony of blood swilling in his gut, but genuine sweetness and sincerity. What wordy William might well have swooned over.
Pushing those thoughts aside for the present, Spike grabbed a bottle of lubricant from the pile of items on the bedside table. “We’ll go slow.” Instead of proceeding he merely dropped the bottle beside his thigh and scraped his blunt finger tips down her back. Up and down. He then leaned in and brushed his lips against hers softly and slowly. A brief nibble followed and then a secret whisper. “How’s that sound?”
“Is this gonna take all night?” She hid her anxiety beneath bravado. That’s the minx he understood: the pushy, impatient, too soon bored slayer. Yeah, she was just like him. Of a kind.
Spike swallowed a nasty response and instead leered at her with a curling lip. He staved off throwing her to the bed and fucking her into a coma. She inspired that level of animosity in him, but he wanted something other than perpetrating an act. He wanted an accomplice. A willing accomplice. She was a mouthy little chit, this slayer, but he trusted his instincts in all things.
Buffy looked at him with impatient expectation. Being this close to Spike unnerved her. He smelled really good. Not exactly like chocolate but close enough so that cocoa like vibe of exhilaration bubbled through Buffy at his nearness. He’d kept his natural vampire assholishness to a minimum and merely assaulted her with what he was: one hundred per cent male.
One physical attribute annoyed her from this proximity. He had the longest eyelashes. Wasn’t that always the way? Some stupid guy got the killer lashes, pimple free skin, and girlish hips. Bastard. Cosmetics companies made a killing selling the latest micro fiber technology whatsits to females far and wide by convincing them that facial perfection should be their one and only goal. Girls can be such sheep. Mascara manufacturing was a demonic conspiracy, Buffy was sure of this. Still, it gave Buffy the extra edge of elongation that nature gypped her out of, so why complain?
Of course Spike would get the good eyelashes genes, all the better to piss Buffy off. It was the weirdest thing. Separately his parts were okay; maybe even quite nice. She’d never say handsome or lovely or beautiful because that would be evidence of a genuine mental disorder on her part. But for a vampire he was okay looking. He didn’t look dead. Again…bastard. Why the hell was that? Buffy could trowel on under eye concealer some days and still not cover the tell tale circles.
To tell the truth, Angel didn’t exactly look dead either; pasty for sure, certainly unwell, but not dead. Now Angelus looked dead and his hellish giggle curdled her spine, and not in that pleasant way. At all. Spike had a similar giggle but all it did for her was trigger the release of fluid from deep inside her body.
Tricky, tricky bastard.
Spike refocused his thoughts and brought the tip of his middle finger to her puckered entrance again. What he had planned required careful preparation. “I need to warm you up cause this way’s a little different than your pussy.”
“Well, duh.” Buffy quirked the corner of her mouth at him. Stupid vampire. She knew a thing or two.
“Right, less sex ed; on with the doing.” He squirted a small amount of lube onto his fingers and they returned to her tight sphincter. “Relax, pet. It’s gonna be good.” Spike kissed her softly and beckoned her tongue into his mouth. She was a delicacy to him, the sweetness enhanced by the forbidden nature of their union. In between tender tongue sucking kisses he whispered a challenge. “Gonna make you come like a blast furnace.”
“So you keep promising. Look, thanks to that little pit stop in the powder room, my insides are sparkling, so what’s the– Anhh!” Spike pressed the tip of his lubed index finger through her muscled opening. It was a bit of a surprise. “That’s…that’s…that’s…”
“That’s one finger.” Spike rotated his digit slowly, showing her the pleasure possible. It didn’t have to be about slamming and pumping, planting flag poles and all that territorial crap. Ecstasy could be tasted in teaspoons, tenderly teased from the uninitiated body of a vexatious and irresistible slayer.
“Tell me how that feels.” Spike slowly worked the tip of his finger, undulating it in a slow beckoning manner.
“Um, kinda weird.”
“Maybe you need some more lube, yeah?” Spike grabbed the bottle with his free hand and squirted more of the slick substance onto his fingers beneath her. “Too yucky for such a good girl?” His words were gentle, but the meaning was sharp.
She met him with her standard slayer indifference. “Hardly. I squished this spongy demony guy this week. And I do mean squished. Now THAT was yuh–” Spike slipped another finger into her body and started stroking smoothly in and out. With the added sensation, Buffy’s fingertips bit into Spike’s shoulders.
“Mmm, got your attention now, don’t I?” Buffy nodded and eased her grip on his flesh. “That’s two pet, you like?” His fingers moved into and out of her body with a growing urgency.
The weird part was the pleasure. There was pleasure. Her body reacted to that intrusion by opening and allowing. Buffy arched her back in an effort to elongate the sensations. Her tongue curled unconsciously in her mouth. The sensation was an exquisite naughtiness that made her chin tremor.
“Unhh…Unhh…Uh huh,” she spoke from a distance, lolling in this new found pleasure.
“Move your hips,” he encouraged. “Show me that you like it.” His voice had a subtle edge of goading to it. This was necessary. Buffy had a competitive streak in her that was unconsciously responsive to such challenges. The fact that she liked a bit of kink was no surprise to Spike, but it had to be drawn out with care and precision. It had to be a game, a dare. Something to risk. A reward to claim. A summit to conquer. She was so young, so green and yet so much like him: impulsive, brazen, and cunning.
Buffy began moving against his fingers, finding and accentuating her own experience. Fully flushed cheeks revealed her arousal and the edges of color trailed down her throat. Spike crossed his fingers and added the tip of a third. She gasped at that sensation.
“Too much,” Buffy stopped her hips and opened her eyes wide with protest. Spike stilled as well, but didn’t remove his fingers.
“It’s not too much,” he soothed with soft treacherous eyes. “It’s getting good. Give it a minute. You’re tight is all.” With that pronouncement Buffy squeezed her muscles against him. “Oh yeah, you feel that? Feel how you’re reacting? Give in to it Slayer.” Buffy leaned forward and dumbly licked his lips. He had no idea how deeply she wanted to give in to it.
“How?” A barely articulated word. A request. Her eyes met his, clear and focused. Spike grinned at her with sinister approval. He removed his hand and grabbed the condom box. He ripped it open and took out a foil sleeve of wrappers, tearing off two segments.
“Let’s see if you can learn the luxury of surrender, Slayer.” It was a heady challenge and he wasn’t sure if she would comply. Perhaps her slayer instincts were wound too tightly to ever give in. He had an inkling of what she’d be capable of. He’d felt that deep connection with her, even tasted her blood. He wanted that again.
They were both well acquainted with sex as a perversion of combat, but as an act of communication and intimacy? That was still new for them, and sexual surrender was all about intimacy. Giving over to the other, having faith and believing. Spike knew that mindset well. Everything in his existence had been a surrender: to the bullies at school, to his parent’s wishes, to Cecily’s rejection and then to the darkness of Drusilla’s fractured mind, Angelus’ unrelenting allure and Darla’s glacial indifference. And now Buffy.
Yes, surrender flowed both ways.
For Buffy, being the slayer meant having to grow a thickened emotional skin. The continuing mess with Angel confirmed it. She needed to be hard to be effective as a slayer. Beyond the reach of temptation. Impenetrable. But could that even be achieved? Trying for that detachment took a toll.
She didn’t know how other girls had done it, sustain a barrier between themselves and the world. Certainly it helped with the nastier aspects of her job. She could tell Giles and Xander and Willow the details of her exploits but no one knew her inner truths. How hard it was to swallow her fear sometimes and face the unknown. How quadratic equations, “Hamlet” and the molecular formula for water weren’t likely to figure prominently in her predestined future. Well, maybe the water thing could come in handy if there was demon made of fire.
Some kids at school were already talking about college preferences. Long term goals were dangerous for a slayer and being the slayer was dangerous for the ego of a teenage girl.
Spike made her feel things differently than Angel did. Spike was easy to figure out. He wasn’t interested in mind games or murky communications. He wanted flesh and action. His voice vacillated between cold cajoling and the heat of an electrical storm across her flesh. Sexual need stretched taut within Buffy like a parched plateau begging for rain. Spike was the thunderhead, and the driving rain.
Spike was refreshing.
“W-What are you doing?” Buffy surfaced from the loss of sensation.
“Something naughty,” a single eyebrow muscle flared in exclamation as Spike grabbed for a stake. He opened the condom wrappers and slipped them over the blunt end of the stake. Again with the waggling eyebrows.
“No,” she said abruptly.
“Why?” A straight face now, not giving an inch.
“Because that’s perverted and wrong.”
“Funny time to get righteous, Sister Ignatius,” Spike slapped her with a deadpan glare. “We’re two consenting adults.”
“Not so much with the adult thing yet, you know. Legally they could spank statutory all over your ass.” Birthday number eighteen was still weeks away.
“Hmm. I wonder what the scales of justice would say about your abiding interest in necrophilia.”
“What?!”
“Technically speaking of course…unless you’ve got some other nasty little philias you’re just biding your time telling me about. Is that it?”
“What. Ever.” Buffy rolled her eyes and refocused her argument. “But THAT’S perverted.” She pointed to the wickedly alluring and strangely antiseptic looking stake.
“Say’s who?”
“ME!” Spike couldn’t control his chuckle. “Hey!” Buffy’s mouth fisted into an indignant scowl. “I know perverted when I see it.” The great and powerful Slayer had spoken. Spike laughed harder at that statement. She had a way with words, this girl.
“Slayer, what do you think they used for dildos before plastic or rubber was invented?”
Her face widened with incredulity and the certainty borne of an impulse. “What? They didn’t have dil–” she stopped speaking abruptly and turned an attractive shade of tomato red.
Spike’s laughter subsided into narrowed eyelids. Entertaining little twit, she was. Such arrogance in such an alluring package. What this one knew of the world could fit into a thimble with plenty of room to spare. Wait, she probably wouldn’t even know what a thimble was. This was the way of the world and Spike knew it intimately. Absolute power often went hand in hand with blissful ignorance. It was a good thing her flesh package was so diverting, she might become seriously annoying. He held her gaze and wrinkled his nose at her.
“Ew,” Buffy spoke with an authoritative frown to cover her embarrassment. That wasn’t something they covered in history class or if they had, she’d been absent that day.
“Not ‘ew’, pet. More like,” Spike snuggled his mouth to her ear, “ahh, ahh, ahhhh.” He mimicked the slow sounds of her orgasmic sigh.
“It will hurt,” she countered, arguing from his lap but not moving off. Spike held up the smooth blunt instrument. He could plainly see the cogs turning in that puzzling slayer brain.
“Right. See all the sharp thorns? Try it. See if its perverted. I know you’re already thinking about it.” He paused and caressed her hips softly. “Look, if you don’t like it we’ll stop. We can always watch the telly.” Buffy snorted a response at that statement. She relaxed a little but was still apprehensive.
“Slayer,” he looked at her calmly. “It’s for fun, not anything else. Games, I know how you like to play.” He tickled a finger down her spine and his lips thickened with the tease. A slow sensuous rumble started in his chest.
“You want to be a naughty girl? It’s only me and you here. I can keep a secret, ‘specially one as juicy as this.” The feather light touch of his lips swept across her cheek. “I’ll make you come so sweet. I want you to know how you can feel. How free you can be.”
His eyes had a magnetic quality and Buffy knew if she didn’t punch that look off his face she’d agree to anything he wanted. Her skin buzzed as if it were charged with a current. Instead of forming a fist her palms found his biceps and then slid to his shoulders. Buffy swallowed heavily and relented.
“I want to know,” she whispered.