She was sitting on the edge of the bed, fidgeting just a bit. It wasn’t like her to be nervous with him. Not anymore, and not for a long time. Why now? Why was this whole issue seeming to take on more importance as each day passed? “It’s important to me,” Buffy said. “I’m not even sure why.” She wanted him to know, really know.
Spike stroked his hands down her arms, his scarred brow lifting curiously over blue eyes. “I love having sex with you. I love what you do to me. Every little thing you do to me. I’m pretty sure I make that clear. All the time. You can’t possibly think you leave me - what? - wanting? ‘Cause you don’t, love. Not in any way.”
“No! No, that’s not it. I know you love me, know you’re satisfied. I know that. But I want this. I need to do this. Please?” She leaned into him, tipping her head back to meet his eyes, a little flirtation filtering through her serious tone. “You know you wanna let me.”
He studied her expression for a moment, and she knew he was wondering what had brought this about. But in the next moment he ceded control to her. “Whatever you want, love. Anything.” Then softer, “Everything.”
She smiled. Her hand curved against his jaw and she pressed soft kisses to his lower lip. “I love you. God, I love you so much. I need to show you, make you see…,” her voice broke off, and she kissed him more thoroughly, letting her desire flow into his mouth, letting his come into hers. Oh, god, oh god. The man could kiss. Like… mmmm, oh god…
She stepped back just enough to break the contact with his mouth. Her hands moved over his chest, exploring, caressing. She had done this a hundred times. More. It didn’t matter. It was always a discovery. Smooth skin. Muscles. Sculpted. Hard and strong under her hands. His strength called to her on so many levels. Down to the oldest and perhaps the most basic - a female seeking out a superior male to be her mate. Survival of the fittest. And oh, he was fit, so very fit.
Buffy ran her fingers along his arms, then raised his hands to her mouth. Kissing their backs, touching her tongue to his palms. She brushed his fingers against her lips, tasting, sucking. Enjoying his reaction. Watching the pupils of his eyes enlarge, keeping her eyes glued to his. Soft bites to his fingers now, and he hissed equally softly between his lips. Those lips. Those lips. She leaned in for another kiss, tongue tracing his bottom lip with pleasure, tasting what was hers. Touching that lip with her teeth. Soft. She almost moaned. Mine. Mine. Spike.
“Just hold on to the canopy rails, and keep your hands to yourself,” she instructed him. A little playful that, when playfulness wasn’t really in her mind today.
She forced her mouth not to return to his. He could do things with that mouth; wonderful, erotic things that could make her shiver in remembered pleasure and renewed longing hours later. If she lingered too long at his mouth she’s be lost. Kissing alone could occupy them for hours. And had. Often. She loved how he kissed, how his mouth made her feel like the most beautiful, desired woman in history. Helplessly, she returned her mouth to his, allowing him to kiss her as he wanted to, deep, so deep. Allowing his desire to fuel her own. It was harder to pull away this time and for a moment she let her eyes meet his again, seeing the desire raging in them, knowing he was seeing the same in her own eyes.
“Buffy…” It was only a thread of sound, but she felt it slam through her, almost breaking her resolve. “Love, please -.”
She touched her fingers to his lips, stilling the plea. “No.” Her fingers traced his lower lip again. “No, not yet. We’ve barely begun.”
She let her mouth move over his chest. This was difficult enough, but safer, oh, so much safer than his mouth. She was going to seduce him. Arouse him. Make him, make him - god, what? Make him see. So much. So much. He meant so much to her. Everything. God, he was everything. And she wanted him to know. To understand. To believe. Did he? Could he? She needed so badly to give this to him. To give him… Herself. All of herself.
Her eyes returned to his again, and she smiled. The same slow smile she’d used before. She knew it had a powerful effect on him. She let her hand trail across his chest as she moved around his body to his back, nails barely scraping. His eyes followed until she was out of sight, and she could feel his body tense ever so slightly. Just for a moment. Her smile changed, went from seductive to understanding. He was a warrior, would always be a warrior, and sometimes he still had to force himself to expose his back, even to her. They had come so far. Farther than either of them could have possibly imagined. She didn’t know if there would ever be complete and total trust. Absolute. But they were so close it hardly mattered anymore.
Her hands stroked across his back. God, she loved his back. Sometimes she thought she could spend hours just watching it. Watching how it moved. How the muscles flexed and rippled under the skin when he worked out or when they sparred. She gave voice to her thoughts, telling him how much pleasure looking at his back gave her. She wasn’t good at this. It was part of what today was about. Telling him. Talking to him. Letting him know. He was so good at it, so adept at verbalizing. God, the things he said to her! He had once referred to them as “little nasties”, but she never found them nasty or even dirty, only arousing. Sharing his erotic thoughts, whispering to her how good she felt to him, the intense pleasure her body gave him. He could do it so well. And god, she enjoyed it. Loved hearing it. The words, dark and lustful words, the images they brought. Hearing about the things that went through his mind, his very active imagination. All his fantasies. Soft murmurings that so often threw her over the edge into orgasm.
“Sometimes, I think we should videotape ourselves just so I can see how your back moves when we’re making love. When you’re inside me.” She felt him jerk ever so slightly under her hands, and she knew her words had surprised him, moved him.
Her hands left the smooth skin of his back for a moment. Just long enough to remove her bra. She brought the scrap of lavender lace over his shoulder and let it slide down his body to the floor. Then her hands returned to his back, and she pressed her bare breasts against him, moving so that the soft mounds caressed him as her hands stroked his shoulders. She smiled into his neck.
“Because that whole mirror on the ceiling thing would be worthless for us.” She arched her back, pressing her breasts more firmly against him, then pulled back enough to allow her hardened nipples to graze his skin. She allowed her voice to drop, to seduce. “Well, worthless for seeing the muscles moving in your back anyway,” she added. This time the movement of his body was much more noticeable, and she knew her words had not only surprised him but had sent a wave of erotic images through his mind.
“Buffy.” Her name was a moan this time, and considerably more insistent. “I need to touch you, love. Now.”
But she felt more in control now, behind him, away from the powerful pull of his eyes, the temptation of his mouth, and it was easier for her to deny him. Her mouth moved over his back, touching him with her breath. “No, baby. Just…wait.” Tasting his skin, moving against him, absorbing him through her open mouth. Restless hands moved around him, gliding over ribs, palms lying flat against his nipples, feeling them harden at her touch. “I love you. Love you.” It could be so difficult to talk sometimes, to get the air necessary to create sound. “You feel so good. So good. Your skin - so smooth, so cool. Perfect. And underneath - all that strength, all that passion. All there. Mine.”
The control was slipping again quickly, and she was having some trouble breathing with any normalcy. She wanted him so badly. Wanted to feel him come into her, feel him moving inside her. Deep. God. It was always like this. This incredible, overwhelming need, pulsing through her, driving her, making her ache for him, to be part of him. God, over and over and over.
She’d never last.
Her hands went to the fastenings of his jeans, fumbling a little with button and zipper. There. Yes. Forcing her hands not to touch him. Sliding the fabric down his legs and off. Listening to the sounds of pleasure he was making. Sensing the anticipation radiating off him. Letting her hands slide back up his thighs, fingers light. Using her nails just a little. Just enough. Feeling him strain toward her touch. Her body was undulating against his back now, her hips against his bare skin, pressure increasing. Circular motions, as though she was riding him. The cadence of her breathing had changed yet again, to soft gasping breaths that increased his arousal almost to the point of pain.
“For god’s sake, touch me. Touch me.”
He sounded almost angry, and oddly, that calmed her a little. Her mouth moved to hover over his ear, and both her hands slid between his thighs, cupping his sac gently. “Like this?” she whispered, and was more than gratified by his response.
His body bucked into her hands wildly, and his hissed, “Bloody hell, yessss,” assured her he was right there with her. Losing it.
And then her hands were everywhere. Stroking, sliding, giving him what he craved. Touching him in all the ways she knew he liked. Probing the slit just a little, using her nails in a feather light touch along the underside, caressing his sac. Straying momentarily across his chest, flicking a nipple, exploring his abs. Teasing until she could feel his need expanding, then her touch changed, intensified, closing around him firmly and bringing him, gasping, close, so close, to the brink.
“I love how you feel. So hard. So strong. And your skin here. So soft. Like velvet - velvet over steel. God, it amazes me. Every time. When I feel you like this. The way you want me. To know you want me this much. Spike, you feel so good, so good.” She was glad she’d stayed behind him. It was so much easier to talk to him without his eyes burning into hers. “ I touch you like this, and all I can think of is how good you’re going to feel when you slide inside me. One stroke. All the way in. I always feel like I’m gonna come right then. That moment.” Her voice faded to almost nothing. “And, god, so often I do.”
She could feel his desperation now, hear it mounting in his voice. “Slayer… God, love you. So much. Need you. God, Buffy, Buffy. I’m gonna come, love. Let me…I wanna be inside you. One stroke - all the way in, like you said. Come with me.”
“ No.” For all she felt she could barely breath, that one word, at least, came out with surprising firmness. “Not inside me. Not this time.” Her hands moved, stroking him with love and her own desire. “In my hands. In my hands, Spike. Give yourself to me. ”
And, gasping and groaning, he did.
Pouring himself into her hands, allowing himself to, finally, let go. Thick ropes of milky fluid flowing into her palms, onto his stomach and chest.
“Yes, god, yes.” Did he groan the words or did she? Or did they speak together?
She was around him in a heartbeat, pressing herself against him, arms flying around his neck, as her mouth sought his wildly. He wrapped his hands into her hair, and their mouths crashed together, devouring each other with a mutual intensity that made lights explode behind closed eyes. Frantic need cloaked them, covered them. God, more, more. Closer.
Spike lifted her, and her legs went around his waist with wondrous familiarity.
“Inside you. Now. Right now.” Words drenched in need. Desire and lust pouring from his mouth, pouring onto her, pouring into her. Almost making her forget…
Buffy wrenched her mouth from his. “ No, NO.” God, it was hard, so hard. How did he ever hold back? How?
“No,” she said again. “Not yet.”
“What?” She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen quite that look on his face. Didn’t know if she wanted to see it.
“Not yet.” She forced the words out again, then again, “Not yet.” She let her legs unwrap themselves from him and slide back to the floor.
Dazed and confused. He was having trouble focusing, and those two words perfectly captured the look on his face. “Wha - why?” He couldn’t seem to manage more, and she smiled into his eyes, not answering.
Buffy sat down on the edge of the bed, letting her arms slide down his chest and wrap themselves around his ribs. Perfect height, she thought, as his still erect shaft slid easily into place between her breasts. She had continued to hold his eyes, but at the touch of her breasts against his overly sensitized flesh, he groaned, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. His hands returned to wrap in her hair again, and she allowed that touch now, as she began moving against him, slow strokes of flesh meant to arouse, entice. His hips moved as well, rolling against the soft, feminine mounds of flesh. Oh god, oh god. Soft. Hard. Feminine. Masculine. So good. How could it all feel so good?
Her mouth moved over his ribs, his chest, tongue tasting the remains of his last release, drinking him in. “Mine,” she murmured again. “You’re mine.”
“Yes. Yours.” His hands were guiding her head now, or were they just following her lead? She couldn’t tell, didn’t care. She just wanted her mouth on his body, wanted to taste all of him. Did he push himself into her mouth, or did she take him in? She couldn’t tell, didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Could barely think. Just taste. Taste and savor. I’m lost, she thought. I’m so lost in him. And it’s all I want. It’s everything.
He’d been uncommonly quiet to this point, but now words started tumbling from his mouth. Broken words and phrases. Words of lust, of praise, of need. “So good. You feel so good. Your mouth. God, swallow me down. Hot. Wet. Don’t stop, love, don’t stop. All of me. Take all of me.”
God, she’d give him anything. Wanted to. Needed to. Everything. She clung to him, hands caressing wherever she could touch as her mouth continued to enjoy the exquisite pleasure of his taste. Her tongue stroked, curled, twisted in a way that made him cry out to her, to the powers, to what or whoever might hear him, “Don’t ever stop. Ever.”
He was close again. Buffy could read the signals his body gave out. Hands clenching almost painfully in her hair, hips trying desperately not to thrust with a mindless intensity that could be painful. His sac tightened in her hands, began to draw up closer to his body.
“Drink from me, Buffy. Please, drink me. Oh god, deep. Take me deep. You can’t imagine, can’t know…The pleasure, pet. It’s gonna kill me.”
Spike cried out again, losing himself in her mouth, spurting down her throat, over and over, then onto her breasts as she pulled back after a moment. She pressed her face against the hard muscles of his abs, feeling the quivering waves of release continue to run through his body. She was content, pleased with herself in a thoroughly feminine way. If she could, she’d be purring now. She rubbed her face against him, adding to the feline vibes she was feeling. He pressed her closer to him, hands alternately stroking and tangling into her hair.
“You’re so beautiful. So amazing,” he said softly, struggling to find enough air to speak. Hands brushed her cheeks, tracing the long line of her neck. “You’re perfect for me. The perfect lover.”
A soft moan escaped her. It was the voice. The one he used when they were making love. Softer. Deeper. Incredibly sexy. The accent changed a little too, became a bit more ‘upper crust’, more educated. She knew this voice was closer to his ‘real’ human voice, and she loved hearing it when they were alone. That voice was hers, like he was hers.
Buffy rose to her knees on the bed, and her arms went around his neck. Flowing, weightless. His hands touched her sides, curling at her waist for a moment before sliding around to her back, fingers splayed. God, she loved the way he touched her. What was it about his touch that made her feel so beautiful? So graceful? So totally, wonderfully female? How could he do that to her with just the tips of his fingers? His cool palms?
Her contentment was slipping away, being replaced by the physical craving to feel him inside her. She’d wanted to spend hours just pleasuring him, in every way she’d imagined, but now she was forgetting that, forgetting her mission, forgetting to tell him what she was feeling. Maybe she’d lost the ability. Her body conveyed her longing now, and her mouth whispered her desire to him without words. Her kiss was full of need, and he met it with his own.
Hard again, or was it still? The thought flicked through her mind when she tasted the lust in his kiss, felt it against her stomach. He never seemed to tire. She was convinced the active ingredient in Viagra occurred naturally in the blood he drank. She’d told him so one night. Of course, he’d been insufferably smug for the remainder of that night, but she hadn’t minded. In that department, at least, his cockiness was more than earned.
And he was aroused again. Ready. Willing. And, oh, yeah, able. Definitely able. He was kissing her, sliding the lace thong down her legs, moving her body, shifting the angle of his mouth. Testing. Finding just the angle to make her body arch closer to him, to make her hips seek the fulfillment his body promised. He was so perfect to her, so perfect.
Spike came down onto the bed, stretching her body out under him, sliding around her until he was kneeling near her head. Then his mouth was on her breasts, tasting honeyed skin. The first time he’d done this she thought she’d actually pass out from the pleasure. It was such a unique angle, this one, and the ones that would soon follow, unbelievably erotic to her. His mouth closed over a nipple, drawing strongly on it. The motion accentuated his cheekbones, and she was amazed anew by the beauty of his face. She loved those cheekbones, loved tracing them in candlelight, touching the hollows beneath them. The line of his jaw, the depth of his eyes, even the scar…
“Oooh.” Her moan was soft and low, drawn out. “Feels - ah - feels… Don’t stop, don’t - Spiiiiike. Good, good.”
“Yeah,” his mouth lifted from her. “Tell me, tell me what you -”
“Don’t stop!” Insistently she drew his mouth back to her, arching her back to thrust her breast more deeply into his mouth, and he laughed softly, intimately, at the imperious demand in her voice, and resumed his ministrations.
If asked, Buffy wouldn’t have been able to describe just what it was he did, just how his hands and mouth moved on her breasts, or what his tongue and teeth did to her nipples. Nor could she have articulately described the pleasure. But it raced through her, throbbing at nerve endings she hadn’t known existed. Some days she could hardly stand it, the hours until they were together, her breasts aching in anticipation of his touch. She knew, knew he could make her come with just his touch on her breasts, his mouth at their peaks. And he knew too. Oh, god, he knew.
Soft touch, stroke, tug. Light pinch, a twist. Oooh. Good, good, so good. Suck hard, teeth. No, don’t bite, not y-, oh yeah, yeah. Like that. Just like that. More. Harder. Spike, Spike, Spike, Spike, Spike. Orgasm rocketing through her. Love. Love you. Clasping his head to her. Using her arms to keep him close, closer, please, closer. Stay. Here, stay here.
Not done. Never done. How had he moved so swiftly when she was cradling him to her? He was moving her body again, hands gliding over her limbs, lifting her legs. Oooh, yes. Ankles resting momentarily on his shoulders, sliding further behind his head. Hands, his hands. Magic hands. And oh, such clever fingers. Not yet, no. Just a brush. Teasing, promising. He lifted her hips, holding her, fingers digging into her flesh as his breathing roughened. Hands roamed over soft flesh with firm strokes, and she tried to read his intense expression.
“What is it?” she whispered. Something was on his mind, and she wanted him to share, but didn’t want to push him, rush him.
“All that power, all that strength in this tiny little body.” He took her hand in his, studied it. “Look at that. You’re so small, so fragile to look at, so…” He brow furrowed as he met her eyes, then smoothed out again, his gaze going back to her body. “If the powers had created someone just for me, they couldn’t have - there’s nothing they could have --” He seemed to be having trouble completing the thought, and she reached up to touch his face, bringing his eyes back to hers, and smiled at him. “You’re everything, Buffy. Everything. Strength, power, soft touch, passion. Woman, girl, slayer, lover. Everything I could ever have wanted, dreamed of. Everything.”
He bowed his head, eyes fixed intently on his hand as it stroked her thigh. “I love you.” He raised those brilliant blue eyes to meet hers. “God, I love you so much.”
“You’re mine,” she told him. She went on, her voice softer, almost hesitant. But she did go on, she did. They both knew. She just needed to say it. Say it. “Spike… Spike, you know, don’t you? You know it’s time.”
“Yes.” So quiet, the intensity in the one word thick, heavy. Complete agreement. Eyes focused on hers. Strong. Sure. “Yes. Tonight.”
“Yes. God, yes. I love you. Love you. I want it all. Everything. You. You.”
“Mine.” Passion. Possession. Satisfaction. Need. “Mine.”
One stroke. All the way in. Oh, yeah. She was his. His. Deep, so deep. He was so deep, felt so good. How could anyone live through this? Stand the pleasure? The unbelievable, mind numbing, ohmygod, endless pleasure?
No gentle stroking tonight. No drawn out, endless pleasuring of her taut body. This was possession. Spike was staking his claim, moving in her with sure, powerful thrusts that had her keening wildly. Her body was clenching around him, squeezing him to the point of pain, holding him to her, staking her own claim.
Hard, harder. So deep. Strong. His body was so strong. Mine. Need. I need to, to tell him. Need him to know, to understand, to…I love him. Love him. God, please, please. Spike. Need it all. Him. Need him. Closer. Ohgodohgodohgod, please. Closer. Just a little… Closer. Mine. Never close enough. Never enough, can never tell him. Tell him how much… He’s everything. Everything.
Worlds exploding. Cries of ecstasy. Hands seeking blindly. Reaching, touching. Finding. Hands coming together, palm to palm, fingers entwining. Clenching. Tight. One. Pleasure so great it was beyond words. And it went on and on and on and on.
Awareness returned in a wild tangle of limbs. Buffy wriggled fingers and toes just a little, stretched a leg, then relaxed. Really relaxed. Total relaxation mode. God, she felt so good. She touched Spike’s head, her fingers running through blond curls, smiling as the hair refused to return to its’ pre-great-sex state. She loved that spiked bed hair look. She and Dawn had been working at it, at him, trying to convince him to let his hair go just a bit. Nothing too radically different. Couldn’t rush these things, you know. After all, he’d been wearing the same basic outfit for, what? Twenty years? So the Summers women were proceeding with baby steps. She sighed. Spike could be so stubborn. Damn stubborn vampire. Her smile softened, grew more tender.
His head lay on her abdomen, face buried against her. One hand was still entwined with hers, while the other traced lazy patterns on her hip. Buffy continued to play with his hair with her free hand, and she could feel the cloak of contentment settling firmly around them.
Spike lifted his head and his eyes met hers. So blue. So gorgeous. T
hey gazed at each other with complete understanding and agreement. Sure of each other.
Oh yes. Yes. It was most definitely time. Tonight.
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