Banner by Tanit
Bake Me a Bloody Cake
*~*
“Bloody hell, Slayer, what is it now ?”
Realizing she’d been caught, Buffy quickly looked away from the irritated vampire sprawled across Giles’s couch like he owned it. The couch, by all rights, that should have been hers to sprawl on. After all, she was here to Spike-sit and had even resisted complaining – much – before agreeing to do it. Certainly, her graciousness should have awarded her couch privileges, right? Apparently not. Next time, she was so making sure that was a part of the benefits package before telling Giles she’d keep an eye on the bleached pest – the same bleached pest currently expressing his extreme displeasure over her eye-keeping.
From the chair in the corner, Buffy huffed and crossed her arms. “Making sure you don’t do anything evil.”
Spike scoffed disgustedly. “Hard to do much of anythin’ with your righteous, beady li’l Slayer eyes on me all the time.”
“My eyes are not beady!” Buffy protested, grumbling indignantly and returning her attention to her magazine, feeling Spike’s gaze lingering. When he persisted far longer than was necessary, she dropped the magazine and growled, “What?”
Spike snorted. “Oh, so it’s fine when it’s you watchin’ me? ”
“I,” she answered, crossing her arms and glaring at the smugly grinning vampire, “am not evil. Therefore, I do the watching and you do the . . . the not being evil because I’m watching!”
Spike raised a less-than-impressed eyebrow. “Stay up at night coming up with that drivel, Slayer?”
Why had she agreed to do this? Ten minutes on and he had already surpassed irritating and was well on the way toward aggravating. “Just. Shut. Up,” she grunted, scowling as she turned again to her magazine, which was only mildly interesting but certainly beat whatever ridiculous program the vampire was watching.
The insufferable bleached idiot had managed to get hold of the remote control, too.
Buffy did her best to ignore the continued staring of her malignant charge, though the vampiric attention made her usual vamp senses go on overdrive, the persistent tingling at the back of her neck making focusing difficult. She refused to look at him, to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his attempts at riling her were very much working, but even so she could practically feel his smirk burning into her forehead along with that ridiculously blue stare.
The memory of those blue eyes looking into hers as he held her in his lap, in the very chair she was sitting in now, brought a sudden and very much unwelcomed rush of wet tingles someplace completely other than her neck, and Buffy squirmed uncomfortably as she fought to suppress the effects of that flash of remembrance.
Stupid Willow’s stupid spell, she grumbled to herself, feeling her face flush bright red with embarrassment when she heard the vampire’s low chuckle, realizing he’d certainly picked up on her distress, whether from her suddenly racing heart or something else entirely too icky to think about. The thought that he could probably smell her pushed itself inside her head anyway and made her squirm a little more, though she was unsure of whether she was seeking the friction her body was screaming for, or trying to wiggle away from her current problem. She scowled in disgust at her rebellious body and its insistence that images of Spike’s emotive eyes and succulent, oh-so-kissable lips should cause the immediate and nearly overwhelming lustful feelings currently holding it hostage.
He was still staring at her.
And oh, damn it. She was staring back.
Leaping from the chair in a flash, Buffy hurried off to the bathroom, tossing over her shoulder a rather lame comment about too much coffee before shutting the door on the highly amused vampire’s laughter. Growling to herself, she caught a quick glimpse of her very flushed face in the mirror before dropping down onto the toilet, willing her body to smarten up.
There will be no lusty thoughts about Spike , she told herself, even as her brain continued to provide memories of spell-induced kisses and cuddles and entirely inappropriate touches in front of Giles’s unseeing eyes.
“Naughty slayer,” Spike purred in her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and nibbling, sending shivers down her spine and tingles of anticipation to her throbbing clit.
Buffy’s fingers continued to trace the outline of Spike’s cock through the strained denim, marvelling at its size and her own boldness. Of course, they weren’t doing anything wrong – they were in love, and about to be married! So Giles was technically there . . . as long as they were quiet, he certainly wouldn’t know what they were up to. No harm done if he couldn’t see, right?
“Kitten likes to play, does she?” Spike asked, trailing fingers down her arm and over the hand that continued to touch him. He reached for the button of his jeans and popped it open, the zipper following easily with a quick tug. Buffy licked her lips as the object of her attention jumped free of its confines and into her waiting hand. Spike hissed softly as she wrapped her fingers around his cool, rigid shaft, and as she tentatively began to stroke him, he rumbled, “Here kitty, kitty.”
The frank sexuality oozing from his voice and his whole demeanour made her entire body tremble. She was already wetter than she’d thought possible, and was growing impossibly more so as she locked eyes with Spike’s intense gaze, hand slowly pumping him as she took in the blazing lust and complete adoration in those endless blue depths.
Spike bit his lip against a threatened moan, while somewhere in the back of her mind Buffy registered Giles’s panicked query about why they had suddenly become so worryingly quiet. Ignoring her former watcher, Buffy leaned in to whisper in Spike’s ear.
“Touch me, Spike.”
A wicked grin his only reply, Spike’s fingers travelled with tantalizing slowness up her inner thigh, brushing firmly and deliberately against her aching clit through her pants before reaching for the clasp. He opened it one handed and slipped inside, Buffy shifting to allow him better access while ensuring she had ample room for her own explorations.
She gasped as his cool fingers delved into her curls, dipped into the wetness of her slit and slowly drifted up until they found her clit. He swirled around her swollen nubbin, soaking it with her juices and causing her to buck involuntarily against his hand. She stifled her moan of contentment by burying her face into his neck as he slowly circled her sensitive bundle of nerves with talented fingers.
Buffy groaned and tossed her head back, realizing belatedly that she had become so engrossed in the fantasy/memory that the fingers on her clit were her own, having slipped at some point beneath her skirt to add even more fire to her already precarious state. Recognizing even as she continued to touch herself that no good – save the obvious – could possibly come from this, Buffy submitted to the sensation, drifting back inward and allowing the memory to overtake her once again.
“Buffy? Spike? Oh bloody hell, would you two please stop whatever it is that you’re doing and answer me?”
Spike’s smirking lips and the sparkle in his eyes at Giles’s rising panic would have made Buffy giggle, had she not needed to clamp her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from alerting their unseeing audience to what was actually going on. The motion of Spike’s thumb over her clit and the two fingers slipping rhythmically in and out of her, hitting with each descent some previously unknown spot that rocked her body with potent bolts of exhilarating pleasure, had her spiralling perilously close to what promised to be one powerful orgasm. Buffy’s hand moved around Spike’s erection in a steady, increasingly sure stroke that made the vampire pant quietly and bite his own lip. The occasional soft moan escaped from each of them, and Buffy felt wondrously full, both physically and spiritually, sharing this special first with the man she loved.
“God, Buffy . . .” Spike purred in her ear, too low for Giles to hear. “Feels bloody good, love. My hot li’l Slayer.”
Not knowing what to say, Buffy locked her eyes on his and tried to convey how she felt without the words that always seemed to get in the way. The look of blinding love shining back at her from Spike filled her heart with bliss and she graced him with a brilliant smile, one he returned with alacrity. Buffy let her eyes fall shut and dug her free hand into Spike’s arm as the thousands of sensations surging through her threatened to topple her over with their intensity.
Buffy was still stroking him, even as his nimble fingers brought her to the edge. She teetered at the cusp for a long, heavenly moment before she fell, planting her face in Spike’s shoulder to smother her roar of rapture, not missing, even in the midst of her shuddering climax, that Spike had joined her in release. With a final cry, muffled into near silence by the wad of black cotton in her mouth, Buffy slumped bonelessly against the love of her life, who held her close and whispered in her ear precious endearments as she drifted in the weightless euphoria of their afterglow.
The back of Buffy’s head hit the wall behind her as her orgasm crashed over her. She was too caught up in the moment to care that she hadn’t bothered being quiet and the vampire in the other room that was the source of all her troubles had most certainly heard every whimper and moan. Breathing hard as she came back down, Buffy planted her face into her hands, mortified when the truth of her situation hit. She had absolutely no desire to face Spike again after what he’d undoubtedly heard her doing, but if she didn’t go back out, then he really would get up to something evil and she’d have totally shirked her duties. She was the Slayer after all. It was her job to keep the evil undead in line, and what excuse did she have for not doing so?
Sorry, Giles, I couldn’t watch Spike because I was locked in the bathroom after touching myself in tribute to our grope session from last week.
Yeah, that would go over really well.
Taking one deep, steadying breath, and then another, Buffy moved to the sink and washed her hands, then splashed cold water over her face in an attempt to cool herself down and ease away the scarlet flush of her cheeks. She straightened her skirt, flushed the toilet as an afterthought, and bravely stepped out of her sanctuary.
Buffy was certain, as she took each reluctant step back toward the living room, that the first thing she’d see when she arrived would be Spike’s smirking face leering at her from the couch. Instead, as she passed through the arched doorway from the hall, she was met with neither a smirk nor a leer, but rather an open-mouthed, wide-eyed look of astonishment. The accompanying air of blatant desire nearly stopped her dead in her tracks, but she forced herself to tear her eyes away from the addled vampire and walk sedately past him. Her belly fluttered when she noted, as she settled into the chair that had played an important role in her fantasies, the button of Spike’s jeans was undone and the zipper only half fastened.
Crap.
Whatever edge Buffy had taken off with her solo bathroom tryst slipped away and another powerful surge of lust coursed through her as she watched, through her lashes, Spike fumbling to properly close his jeans. While she’d been . . . he had been . . .
Crap.
The magazine she’d cast aside in her haste to reach the bathroom lay on the floor near her feet, and Buffy scooped it up, grateful for the distraction. She could feel Spike’s eyes on her again, but she resisted the urge to look up and meet that smouldering gaze, resolutely forcing her eyes to remain focused on the article in front of her. Of course, beyond comprehending that the text was actually English, Buffy found herself quite unable to read it. Struggling to keep her breathing slow and measured, even as the fiery flutter in her belly moved lower, Buffy flipped through the uninteresting periodical, steadfastly sticking to the ridiculous ruse. Of course Spike knew. Hello, vampire?
What she needed, Buffy thought, was a distraction that would actually distract her from the sort of distraction Spike, and her unruly brain, had in mind. There was absolutely no way she was going to go there . . . again. It was one thing to use the memories of what happened under the spell to stoke her inner fire in moments of need – of which she’d had rather more than usual in the past week – and another thing entirely to want to do it again. She was innocent of blame for what had gone on, her actions not her own. In her right mind, she would never touch Spike. Buffy was quite willing to pretend that none of it had ever happened. Any part of her that thought otherwise was to be thoroughly ignored as simply a residual effect of the spell.
And thank goodness that ended when it had, before they’d had the chance to move beyond just touching to the harder-to-pretend-it-didn’t-happen sex promised by their kissing session on the floor of the crypt. But damn if being around him wasn’t bringing back, completely against her better judgement and with shocking intensity, all the feelings and desires she’d experienced while ensorcelled.
No , she amended emphatically, not all. Just the lust. . . yep, all lusty-Buffy here, no feely-Buffy at all. Bad enough just wanting the evil, soulless, beyond sexy vampire...
“Gah!”
“Problem, love?”
Buffy’s head snapped up to find Spike regarding her with those irresistible, smouldering blue eyes she’d been avoiding, smirking with amusement and not-so-casually framing those wicked fingers around the renewed bulge at the front of his jeans.
Buffy gulped, caught like a deer in the headlights, unable to turn away from him, body tingling all over with lively shivers of excitement. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. Managing to flick her eyes away for a second, Buffy spied the topic on the newly-turned page of her magazine and grinned in triumph.
Standing swiftly, she looked in Spike’s general direction – at a spot somewhere slightly to the left of his head – and replied, “Nope, no problem here. Problem-free Buffy.” Magazine in hand, she walked around the couch, heading for the kitchen. “I was bored, but now I’m going to bake a cake.”
Spike chuckled. “’S that what you’re callin’ it these days?”
“Shut up!” she called cheerily over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen, endlessly pleased with having found a cake recipe, of all things, in this month’s Cosmo.
Buffy busied herself digging through Giles’s cupboards for mixing bowls and ingredients, thankful that he seemed to have everything she needed. She rose from kneeling to grab the large bag of flour and set it on the counter, then glanced over at the open page of the magazine to find the first step.
“Do you even know how to bake a cake?”
Spike’s rumbling voice, ridiculously close to her ear, made Buffy gasp and jump back in surprise. She hadn’t even heard him follow her into the kitchen with his creepy vampire stealth, and in her shock she found her back pressed up against his chest with the very firm evidence of his desire pushing insistently at her backside. The moment of contact was electric, and she stood paralyzed, held in place by some unseen force, heart pounding, clit throbbing, chest heaving with the magnitude of this something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
Spike’s hands sliding sensually up her arms snapped her out of her immobility, and with far too much effort, she pulled away from him, bracing her arms on the counter as she willed her breathing to calm. Spike remained behind her, far enough away that they weren’t touching, but close enough that she could feel his presence and the tickle of his unneeded breath on the back of her neck.
“Know your way round a cake pan, then, Slayer?” he repeated, peering over her shoulder at the gathered ingredients and equipment.
“Of course I can make a cake,” Buffy replied, trying for terse but ending up with husky, scowling to herself when the vampire snickered behind her. Putting in the effort to sound cheery and completely not bothered, she continued. “As long as I have a recipe, I’m a great cake-baker, and look,” she gestured toward the magazine on the counter, “recipe!”
Spike reached around her and pulled it off the counter, taking it back with him behind her to study. After a moment, he let out another snicker that promised nothing but evilness, and crooned in her ear, “I’d be delighted to help you test that claim, pet.”
“Huh?” Buffy asked. “What are you talking about?”
Spike thrust the magazine under her nose, thumb just beside the heading for the recipe. “Read it.”
“Better than . . . oh my god!” Buffy felt her face start to flame as the words, Better Than Sex Cake, jumped out at her in garish red from the glossy page in front of her.
Shit!
She was so screwed.
Slowly, Buffy placed the traitorous magazine back atop the counter, and with hands that were suddenly trembling, pulled the mixing bowl and flour in front of her. Spike still hovered just behind her, peering over her shoulder as she checked the recipe, organized her ingredients, and tried to pretend she wasn’t aware of him.
“So you’re gonna make the thing, then?” Spike queried.
He didn’t say it, but Buffy heard the question anyway. Spike obviously knew she wanted him – her body’s intense reaction to him from little more than eye contact was too damning a truth for even her brain to deny – and he was asking, subtly and yet very much not, if she was going to give in to that desire. Was she going to admit he was the source of her racing pulse and the sodden, throbbing ache between her legs, and more importantly, was she going to do something about it? Was she going to bake that cake, and prove with him the folly of its presumptuous title?
He nudged her backside pointedly with his erection, reminding her vividly that whatever was happening here tonight was far from one-sided. His lips brushed across the nape of her neck, raising every hair and shooting shivering tingles down her spine. They came to rest near her ear, planting a gentle kiss beneath it before parting to allow his tongue to sneak out and lightly trace its curve. “Gonna bake that cake, Buffy?”
His use of her name sent a sudden thrill through her, and she closed her eyes, briefly giving in to the sensation of it, and of his face now nuzzling her neck. Buffy took in a very deep breath, knowing that as soon as she spoke, there’d be no going back. “Yes.”
The moment she finished speaking, Spike was gone.
Buffy spun around to find him perched on the span of counter space between Giles’s ancient green refrigerator and the sink cluttered with remnants of Spike’s experiments in the betterment of pigs’ blood. Ignoring that bit of unpleasantness for the moment, Buffy narrowed her eyes at the ever-infuriating vampire with his swinging legs and pleased-with-himself grin.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded shrilly, annoyed at herself for the obvious neediness to her tone.
Spike chortled with amusement and tipped his head toward the accumulated baking paraphernalia. “Your cake, Slayer, not mine,” he answered, grinning wider when she failed to hide her scowl of frustration. “‘M gonna supervise.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly at his comment. “Supervise?”
“Tha’s right.” Spike shrugged, the innocence of the gesture belied by the lasciviousness of his tongue-and-teeth grin. “Someone’s gotta be around to lick the beaters.”
As far as suggestive statements went, that one was perhaps the lamest she’d heard in a good while. Incongruously to its pathetic, baking-themed nature, however, Buffy’s knees nearly gave out on her as her brain flashed first to an imagined image of Spike very literally licking a beater clean of cake batter, and then jumped, with an accompanying surge of desire, to that of Spike, cake batter moustache and all, licking a sticky path between her breasts, down over her belly and beyond. The insistent throbbing and fresh burst of wetness from fantasy-Spike’s intended target made Buffy groan aloud and turn hurriedly away from real-Spike’s laughing eyes and toe-curling grin.
God, I am depraved , she thought, as further visions of exactly what he could do with his battered tongue flitted teasingly across her mind’s eye.
With her back to the vampire, Buffy allowed her shaky-at-best veil of nonchalance to slip as it sunk in that she had all but agreed to have sex with Spike. Sure, she hadn’t actually said the words – neither had he – but the implication lay out in the open and both of them had caressed it. Try as she might to change her mind, to tell him she hadn’t meant it, Buffy knew that Spike would persist and she would give in. Her body had control tonight and it had its sights set on reliving that spell and then some. Buffy was torn between acceptance of the idea, that she could find Spike attractive and that it was perfectly reasonable for the two of them to do whatever the heck they wanted, since they both clearly wanted , and the little voice in the back of her mind, one that sounded suspiciously and oddly like both Giles and her mother, reminding her of her calling and sacred duties and the many, many reasons why relationships with vampires were a very, very bad thing.
Whoa there! Relationship?
Stuffing that frightening and highly errant notion away as deeply as possible, Buffy turned her focus to the matter at hand – the cake that started this whole mess to begin with. Well, perhaps it hadn’t started things – Buffy was pretty sure her flight to the bathroom had been the true beginning of the end – but it had certainly played its part in perpetuating this particular freak show.
Avoiding Spike’s eye, Buffy moved to the oven and started it heating, then began mixing the dry ingredients together as indicated by the recipe. Behind her, Spike was alternately humming and singing some old rock song, and Buffy smiled as she stirred. The sound of his voice, though too low for her to make out the words, was not unpleasant. In fact, like everything else about Spike and quite in contrast to the obviously poppy-sounding number, it had a purely sensual quality to it. That wasn’t at all surprising, considering the highly seductive nature of his speaking voice, but the melodic sound of the quiet singing added even more depth to its power. She couldn’t help imagining, as she added the cocoa and watched it slowly darken the dry mixture, that deliciously rumbling voice singing naughty things into her ear.
The singing halted when Buffy turned and headed for the fridge for milk and eggs. She caught Spike’s eye in the process, and it wasn’t the sheer, hungry desire she saw there stopped her mid-step, but the tender adoration entirely too reminiscent of the looks he had given her while under Willow’s spell. It was gone in a flash, replaced by that wetness-inspiring grin, but she had seen it, and couldn’t begin to fathom what that meant. She could handle his obvious lust. She wasn’t sure what to do about the other.
Feeling more than a little weak in the knees, Buffy retrieved the refrigerated ingredients and moved to return to her bowl. She was not surprised to hear the sound of Spike sliding off the counter as she turned her back to him, and when she resumed her cake-making, Buffy felt him hovering behind her. He hadn’t touched her, but feeling him there, feeling his eyes on her, renewed that shivery tingling in her spine that was partly her slayer sense, but mostly just Spike.
A wisp of air flitted over the back of her neck as she poured the milk into the bowl, followed by a soft, purely sensual growl. Buffy set the measuring cup down, breathing hard with anticipation. She felt, with the same supernatural senses that told her when he was watching her, Spike’s hands moving, fingers following the contours of her body without touching. The air around her felt charged, heated, and the ever-present flush of her face deepened, travelling down her neck with the nearly overwhelming sensation. Buffy didn’t know how he could effect her so thoroughly without even touching her, but she wasn’t about to ruin the moment by asking.
She stared into the bowl, milk and eggs and other moist ingredients soaking into the flour mixture while her own wetness soaked into her panties. When Spike finally touched her, hands setting down at her hips, Buffy gasped and braced herself against the counter. Behind her, Spike rumbled with soft laughter, as his left hand drifted slowly downward to toy with the end of her skirt. The right he slipped around to her front, fingers splaying low across her belly, and tugged her back against him.
“Best get stirring, love,” Spike murmured, fingers slipping under the hanging fabric. “Wouldn’t want that nummy treat to go to waste.”
While Spike began tracing feather-light circles on her thigh, Buffy took the spoon in her trembling hand and brought it to the bowl. When her tremulous motions caused it to knock against the glass, Spike tsked her and gripped her wrist in his right hand, guiding her and the spoon toward the bowl’s contents.
Buffy’s mind was whirling, and not with the slow, steady spirals of the spoon as Spike, still holding her wrist, guided each methodical turn. She felt hopelessly confused, completely frightened, and ridiculously turned-on all at the same time. She knew, in theory, what was happening here, and was more than a little surprised by the fact that she wasn’t more bothered by it. Spike was everything she was supposed to despise, not desire, and yet the way her body responded to the barest touch – or no touch at all – left little doubt that she did. A brief feeling of guilt settled in her stomach when she realized that, for all he represented the coveted normal , for all she was genuinely interested in getting to know him better, not once had Riley Finn inspired the same, intense feelings she was having now for Spike. She wanted this vampire with a fierce, possessive passion that came upon her out of nowhere, and the way the night was headed, she was going to get him. Therein lay the problem, as with each wave of lust coursing through her body in reaction to the slowly rising caresses of Spike’s fingers, she was reminded painfully of her very limited experience in the lovemaking department.
Lovemaking?
No! No no no. Lusty, sweaty, sexy . . . sex. Just sex! No lovemaking! Gah!
In tandem with her mental cry of exasperation, Buffy groaned and dropped her head back. Spike’s circling fingers reached her upper thigh, and of their own volition, her legs drifted apart, bare feet sliding soundlessly on the smooth kitchen floor. The answering chuckle in her ear flared the fire in her womb, and the next sound to escape her parted lips was undeniably more of a moan. Fingernails lightly scratched the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and Buffy inhaled sharply, holding her breath while he explored. His touches remained soft, a brushing of fingertips or a gentle scratching of nails, and Buffy felt herself going mad from the building tension. She knew he was deliberately drawing things out, and part of her wanted to smack him and tell him to get on with it, while the rest of her thought she might just orgasm from this alone. Despite the coolness of his fingers, his touch sent tremors of heat shooting up from his caresses and straight to her throbbing clit.
His fingers brushed across the front of her panties, too lightly to bring even the slightest relief to the unbelievable need for friction, and Buffy grumbled in frustration. Predictably, Spike chuckled, a rumbling laugh that vibrated from his chest and through her body, and with his hand resting at her pubic bone, ground his erection eagerly into her ass.
“Oh God,” Buffy gasped, wondering if it was possible for a person to actually die from lust alone.
Breathing heavily, Buffy let her eyes fall shut while Spike’s fingers traced the elastic along the top of her panties. The fingers drifted down in the crease of her leg, following the lines of her underwear but touching her skin, this caress as fiery, and as teasingly light, as all the others. He repeated this motion, drawing his fingers back up before slowly drifting down. Buffy could feel Spike’s breath on her neck and was partly surprised that he was breathing at all, but mostly thrilled at the thought that he was breathing for her.
Just when Buffy thought Spike would continue the teasing up-and-down touches that were simultaneously pleasing and taunting, his fingers drifted over top the lace of her panties in a tickling, swirling motion. He cupped her with a curved hand, one finger pressing unerringly against her clit, and with a groan of mixed pleasure and frustration, Buffy bucked her hips forward. Spike thrust against her backside with a soft growl and then nipped with blunt teeth at her neck.
“What’s goin’ through that head of yours, Summers?” Spike whispered, the one finger now circling her clit through the lace, while he continued to guide her stirring motions with his other hand.
But Buffy found herself with a suddenly tied-tongue, as the ever increasing pressure of Spike’s circling fingers set her pulse racing and her body alight with surges of long-awaited pleasure. Spike’s continued attention to her neck, an exhilarating mixture of kisses, licks, and nibbles, made her breath quicken and her eyes fall shut from the forbidden thrill. It was not lost on her that she had a vampire at her back, albeit a fangless one currently lusting after something other than blood, with full access to her neck and everything else. A small portion of her brain demanded that she pull away, put an end to this blasphemy before things got even more out of hand. The rest of her, however, desired this too much to stop.
In the bowl, the batter was more or less mixed, but Spike kept her stirring slowly. The circling of his fingers moved away from her clit, and he chuckled at her mewled protest.
“Didn’t answer me, pet,” he murmured, slipping his fingertips beneath the lace. “What’s goin’ through that pretty li’l head o’ yours?”
“I . . . I don’t . . . know . . .”
Fingers slowly sliding down her smooth skin, the bulge of his cock nestled in the crack of her ass, Spike blew a cool breath into her ear, chest rumbling when the motion made her shiver and moan. “Thinkin’ ‘bout what you want me to do to you?” he suggested, as his fingers reached the margins of her trimmed patch of coarse curls.
“Mmmhmm,” Buffy answered, sucking in her breath as his fingers slipped even lower.
Bypassing her swollen, throbbing clit, Spike slipped two fingers into her slippery folds, coating them with her wetness while he teased her opening. “Ooh, Slayer,” Spike cooed, the pleasure at finding her so completely soaked evident in his voice.
Fingers finally moved to her needy clit, and Buffy gasped at the contact. Spike clearly recalled their encounter under Willow ’s spell with as much detail as Buffy, for he did not take time with explorations into what sorts of strokes or motions she’d respond to most. Instead, nimble fingers set straight away to the half-circles and twisting pinches that had her moaning and thrusting into his hand in no time.
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this since the spell, haven’t you?” Spike said, his voice low and sensual, lips just brushing her ear as he spoke. “Been lyin’ in your bed at night, pretendin’ it’s my fingers touching you, makin’ you sweat and sigh as you try an’ hide what you’re doin’ from the little witch in the next bed.”
That he was more or less correct only heightened Buffy’s full-body arousal, leaving her lightheaded and panting as she squeaked out her affirmation.
“Naughty girl,” Spike continued, the fingers on her clit moving in slow, steady circles, perfectly timed to the stirring of the batter. “Dreamin’ of demons when there’re men ready ‘n willing. But there’s been nobody but me an’ your own sweet digits since the spell, am I right, Slayer?”
“Yes . . .” Buffy breathed, gripping the counter in front of her with white-knuckled strength.
“Do you imagine my voice, Buffy?” Spike went on. “Whisperin’ in your ear as you touch yourself? Is it my face you see when you scream your release into your pillow?”
Her head was swimming, coherency lost as she struggled to form a reply. All she managed was a strangled, “Guh!”, followed immediately with a moaning sigh as Spike’s talented fingers continued to generate heated, tingling waves of pleasure, while his voice in her ear and the nature of his words made her body shiver deliciously.
“Was it my fingers touchin’ you in the bathroom?” he wondered. “You rememberin’ what we did in that chair? How you moved those sweet hips against my hand while you pumped my cock in yours?”
His blunt teeth nibbled her earlobe, then nipped at the sensitive place just below it. Buffy shuddered and gasped, and Spike growled approvingly. She felt the growl rumble down her spine even as she heard it, close to her ear, while he continued to nibble.
He fell silent then, turning his attention away from his evocative words to focus on her neck. There was something incredibly erotic about the predatory nature of his motions. While undoubtedly his intentions were sexual, Buffy recognized that, for vampires, and apparently for herself, the two concepts were more closely related than she could have imagined. There was as much sexuality to the hunt as there was an element of the hunt involved in sex.
Spike had nibbled his way down to where her neck met her shoulder, and after dropping a kiss there he trailed a path of small kisses back up toward her ear. His fingers stilled their motions and she felt his lips hovering, preparing to speak. Her clit throbbed with unanswered need as he whispered, “What’s it like, Buffy, when you touch yourself?”
He pulled his hand out from under her skirt and Buffy grunted in protest, but a finger placed over her lips, smelling of herself and slick with her juices, silenced the complaint. Spike traced the line of her lips tenderly, then walked his fingers down her neck, past her shoulder and along the pebbled flesh of her arm. Wrapping his hand around hers, he deftly pried loose her grip on the counter and brought both their hands, his firmly atop hers, beneath her skirt.
“Is it better, when it’s your hot li’l hand?” Spike wondered, extending two of her fingers beneath the same two of his, flicking her slick, swollen clit with the borrowed digits. “Or do you crave that bit of cold reminder of what it is you really want?”
Still stirring the batter, Spike moved Buffy’s fingers beneath his, guiding her in stroking her own flesh. “Do you do it like this? Fingers slick with your arousal, movin’ over this needy little nubbin? No toys for you, not with those capable hands.”
Oh my God! She had thought it spectacular with Spike’s fingers and his words teasing and stroking her into trembling pleasure, but the addition of her own fingers, firmly anchored beneath Spike’s guiding hand, added to it an entirely new level of sensation. Once again, she thought she just might perish from this alone, but oh, what a way to go.
Perhaps sensing her favourable response to this latest trick, Spike rumbled in approval and nipped again at her ear. “Does it make you hot, Buffy, rememberin’ me bringin’ you off in front of your Watcher’s blind eyes?”
“Oh . . . God . . .” Buffy moaned, thrusting against their joint hands while Spike thrust just as eagerly into her backside.
“Could hear you in there,” he purred. “Every sound, every panting breath. Whispering my name .”
Buffy’s head fell back, meeting his shoulder. “Spike . . .”
Spike nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply, drawing her scent into his body. “Breathless and needy,” he murmured, abandoning the stirring of the batter to wrap his arm around her. He pinched her already rock-hard nipples through the thin linen of her blouse. “You know it’s me you crave,” he continued, as she sighed and arched into his touch. “I’m in your system now, pet, an’ you know it. Some part of you revels in it.”
Buffy couldn’t deny his words, for every cell in her body screamed with the wanting of him. She didn’t know what it meant, and if she thought on it too long the implications were frightening, but at the moment the sheer pleasure he was bringing to her drowned out her concerns. Her breath came in rapid pants, each exhalation punctuated by a gratified moan.
Spike moaned in response. “So wet for me, Buffy,” he whispered, slipping out of the provocative cadence of his earlier words, voice taking on an almost reverent tone. “You’re as hungry for me as I am for you. Feel how much I want you.”
With the evidence of that still pressing eagerly against her, Buffy answered breathlessly, “I can feel it.”
Spike dipped their conjoined fingers into her wetness for a second before returning to her clit. “Feel how much you want me.”
“Want you,” she repeated. “Oh, God . . . Spike . . .”
“So close,” he purred, quickening his pace. “So bloody gorgeous.”
Thrusting at her backside while still guiding her fingers, Spike panted into her ear in time with the erratic rising and falling of her own chest. “Want you to come for me, love,” he murmured. “Want it to be my name you taste on your tongue when you scream.”
Eyes shut tight, free hand abandoning the spoon in favour of holding the countertop in a death grip, Buffy bit into her lip and groaned as the pleasure built to near cataclysmic proportions. Only Spike’s presence behind her kept her upright. She could feel the end coming, her whole body buzzing, pulsating, screaming for release. Spike’s lips moved over her neck, murmuring into her skin as he guided her hand, ever quicker, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Something thick and sweet touched her lips – a finger, Spike’s finger coated in cake batter. Her tongue darted out, seeking the sweet sample, licking it from his skin, sucking the digit into her mouth. Behind her, Spike moaned in pleasure, pushing his erection harder against her.
“Shouldn’t want this,” he grunted between his own barely controlled breaths. “‘S against our natures, innit, pet? But you know you wanna taste it.”
Approaching the cusp, Buffy bit into the finger still teasing at her lips. Her slayer senses flared suddenly as she felt the prick of fangs piercing her neck. The brief flicker of stinging pain was short lived as a rush of feverish heat spread through her. Spike took one, long draught of blood, and she exploded, erupted, feeling the pull at her neck all the way down to her already energized clit. Wildfire engulfed her, flooding her veins with tremendous, consuming heat. Wave after wave of immense ecstasy crashed over her, convulsing her body with its blinding intensity. Buffy’s eyes flew open, but she could see nothing but bright, piercing light. She couldn’t breathe, could only gasp and mouth Spike’s name under the onslaught of this overwhelming pleasure. It was too much, too intense. Overcome with vertigo, Buffy’s head swam and her knees buckled, gave out. Strong arms circled around her, preventing her tumble even as she fell into enraptured blackness.
When she came back to herself, slowly rousing from what felt like hours of blissful, euphoric sleep, Buffy was limp in Spike’s arms. His tongue lapped tenderly at the neat punctures on her neck, shooting little aftershocks through her.
It only took a moment for the implications of this to sink in. Spike had bitten her. He had sunk his fangs into her neck and drank. Panic gripped her and she tensed in his arms, realizing that whatever it was that made him unable to bite, that which she had taken for granted, must have somehow malfunctioned. She was in the arms of a brutal killer, had let him feed from her, and she struggled against him. The vampire held firm – not a threatening hold, but strong enough to prevent her flight.
“Did it hurt, Buffy?” he asked gently.
And that’s when the second realization hit her. It hadn’t hurt. All it had done was propel her into the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced. The quiet knowing in Spike’s voice made it immediately and undeniably clear that he hadn’t meant to hurt her, that he’d intended only what had actually happened. Maybe that was how this vampire shock-collar worked – no pain, and perhaps more importantly, no intention to cause pain, so no headache for Spike.
Buffy relaxed in his arms, returning easily to the post-orgasmic bliss she’d been about to enjoy. Spike’s hold loosened but he kept her firmly against him. He had ceased the licking of her wounds and was nuzzling her neck tenderly. Feeling his chest moving with heavy breaths, and the firmness still pressing against her, Buffy realized that while she had gotten hers, Spike must be aching by now with as great a need as she had felt.
“Spike?” she whispered, tentatively.
“Hmmm?”
“I . . . think I can stand now,” she answered, hoping he’d infer her unspoken meaning. She really wasn’t sure, even after all that had just happened, that she could actually say, I’m ready to have sex with you.
Ever intuitive, Spike didn’t disappoint. He brought her hand between them and moulded it around the firm bulge straining his jeans, then set her down on slightly shaking legs.
“You get to pouring that cake into those pans,” he ordered, swatting her backside and gesturing to the bowl of very well-mixed batter. “An’ I’ll see about gettin’ rid of some excess things.”
Before she could ask what he meant, Spike slid down her body, hands travelling over her, trailing down her belly and back, until he knelt behind her on the floor. Reaching up under her skirt, Spike gripped the top of her panties and pulled them slowly down her legs, fingers brushing along her skin as he did so. She stepped out of them and noted with amusement that Spike tucked the scrap of black lace into his back pocket. Buffy grinned as she poured the chocolaty batter into the two round pans, and Spike, still crouched on the floor, reached up with an exploratory hand to pass a teasing flick over her still-sensitized clit. He chuckled when she grunted and nearly dropped the mixing bowl. As Buffy reached for the spatula to capture the dregs of batter, Spike slipped two fingers into her more-than-ready opening, thrusting gently and touching that place inside her she hadn’t known existed before Spike had shown it to her.
He played for a few minutes while Buffy leaned against the counter, enjoying the attention. She protested when he slid his fingers out and moved to stand, but he silenced her with another aromatic finger placed over her lips.
“Oven,” he reminded her, tossing his head toward the waiting pans.
Grabbing them from the counter and flashing a half-annoyed, half-amused scowl at the grinning vampire, Buffy turned and brought the soon-to-be cake to the pre-warmed oven. When she bent to place the pans inside, Spike’s hands slid over her now bare bottom, settling at her hips. Straightening, she felt something smooth and hard nudging at her entrance, realizing immediately that this time, it wasn’t his fingers. Those he dug lightly into her flesh and pulled her to him, sliding deep inside her with one sure, smooth stroke.
They both gasped. Buffy braced herself against the handle of the oven door, listening to the quiet sounds of Spike whispering under his breath with reverent awe the words tight and warm , while her body stretched to accommodate the sudden intrusion of his cock. One hand sliding over bare skin to rest on her belly, Spike spun them around, still intimately connected, to face once again the apartment proper through the cut-out in the kitchen wall. Buffy gripped the edge of the counter, groaning with pleasure as Spike withdrew slowly from her body.
He began moving within her with more tenderness, more gentleness than she would have thought possible in a vampire. The position was new for her and she found immediately that she liked it, the way he felt as he slowly thrust in and withdrew, touching even more hidden places deep inside her. After a few moments of revelling in the sensation, Buffy began to move with him, intuitively falling into his rhythm.
“That’s it,” he encouraged with the first tentative motion of her hips. “Never done this, have you?”
“N-no,” she answered, biting her lip as the sensations washed over her. She had certainly never had sex from behind, and definitely not while standing and almost fully clothed. Somehow, she knew she was going to be having a great many firsts tonight.
“But you’ve been with a vampire before,” Spike added, and Buffy wondered why the hell Spike, of all people, was bringing up Angel now. She offered no response, uncertain if he wanted one, and he soon continued. “An’ you’ve been with a man.”
Still, she remained quiet, aside from the sounds falling from her lips in response to the sensations of their slow, steady movements. Spike chuckled softly in her ear and whispered, “Now it’s back to vamps . . . lie to me and tell me this isn’t what you really want – what you really need.”
“I-I—” she stammered, unable to admit how the truth of those words settled deeply in her chest.
Spike seemed unbothered by her lack of coherency, and continued speaking quietly to her while he thrust in and out of her body. “That’s not what bothers you, though, is it?” he asked. “It’s what your li’l mates, your mum, your Watcher would say if they knew.”
Wasn’t it, though, she mused, cringing over imagined reactions to the discovery of her actions where Spike was concerned. Didn’t it bother her more, thinking about the disapproval of her loved ones, than mulling over the feelings Spike was awakening within her?
“How would they react, if they found out?” he asked, as rhetorically as his other questions. “Slayer’s dirty little secret . . . it’s vampires that do it for her, not mortal men.”
“Uh . . . I—oohh . . .”
Buffy felt him smile against her neck at her attempt at a reply. “Need a little monster in your man, you do,” Spike continued, and when she managed to nod, slowly, almost imperceptibly, his approving growl in response sent shivers down her spine.
“But that’s not the real secret, is it, Buffy?” Spike queried. “They all know about you and Angel. Might not like it, but not a one of ‘em’d be surprised to find you hot for another vamp.
“No, secret’s not the monster in them . . . it’s the monster in you.”
What?
Buffy tried to stop moving, but despite the apparent insult to her nature, it simply felt far too good to quit. Scowling, she retorted, “I’m not a monster.”
Spike sighed. “No, you’re not,” he agreed, and something about the tone of his voice told her he was being sincere. “Warrior for the light, you are . . . but where do you think you get your power? That which makes you strong, helps you destroy the evils hidden in the dark?”
Okay, now she was confused. “Why . . . huh?”
“I know slayers, love,” he explained, the hand on her belly sliding down, one finger brushing lightly over her still-swollen clit. “I’d wager I know ‘em a little better even than you. Faced more in my day than just the two I’ve killed. Studied up, I did. Know thy enemy and all that rot.”
“Um . . . mmhmm?”
“You’re good, Summers,” he whispered with pride, fingers playing her clit now in earnest. “Best I’ve seen, an’ you know why? Lotsa reasons . . . but you’re closer than most to getting it.
“Not like the others, you aren’t. You got friends, family. Still follow too closely to what the wankers teach, but you’re learnin’, starting to see those shades of grey those others’d never accept. Figured out it’s not men you want – you don’t wanna know it, but you do . . . now you just need to see why,” Spike elaborated. “It’s in you love, that bit ‘o darkness, to balance out that white light. Keepin’ you strong against the real monsters, the real darkness. It’s simmerin’ there, under the surface. ‘S not wrong, ‘s not somethin’ to be hidden. Embrace it, Buffy, let it out . . . sooner you do, sooner your life, your calling, your desires ‘ re gonna come clear.”
“You mean, sooner I’m going to let you in?” she asked, knowing even as the words left her mouth how very much a part of her he already was.
“Already in, love,” he answered, words mirroring her thoughts. “In here—” he touched her temple “—as much as here.”
He thrust in deeply, firmly into her, and they both groaned with the pleasure of it.
“Been wanting to do this all week,” he murmured into her neck. “Thinkin’ ‘bout bein’ buried balls deep inside you, feelin’ you clench around me.”
“But you . . . you hate me.”
Spike scoffed vehemently at that and Buffy couldn’t help but smile. “Don’ hate you, love. Never did,” he stated. “Well . . . maybe a little after that pipe organ. But no, love, tryin’ to kill you, that was all business. Slayer, vampire. Now, all I can think about is makin’ you scream while I pound into you.”
“Mmm, pounding good,” Buffy agreed, as he thrust hard into her again.
“Tell me you haven’t been wondering what I’d feel like inside you,” he challenged, and when she didn’t deny it, he added, “Tell me, Buffy . . . how do I feel?”
A great many answers bombarded Buffy’s brain, but none of it, she decided, she could say aloud to Spike. There was simply no way she was going to tell him that he made her feel full, more than just the physical filling he was doing, fuller than she had ever felt before. She certainly wasn’t about to say that it felt as though she had found the other half of herself, and that she never wanted anyone else to touch her ever again. She summarily banished the words you’re everything I ever wanted from crossing her lips, along with the Jerry-McGuire-you-complete-me confession that begged to follow it. How could she say, to a vampire, to this vampire, that this was so much more to her than just sex and she didn’t even know why?
She sighed and answered, “Like . . . every single cliché I can think of.”
His lips placed a gentle kiss on her neck, over the still raw marks from his earlier bite. “You feel like . . . touching sunshine. Like I’m tasting the forbidden . . . an’ I’ll never get enough of it.”
His frank honesty surprised her, as well as the clear affection in his voice as he more or less admitted to feeling the same as she. What that was, however, she did not know. “What does this mean, Spike?”
“Hell if I know, love,” he admitted. “I suspect that’s somethin’ we can figure out later. Bit busy right at present. Got a lady needs seein’ to.”
“You don’t wanna keep your lady waiting.”
If he noticed her slip—her your lady —he didn’t show it. Instead, he chuckled softly and replied, “No, love, that I don’t.”
On his next withdrawal, he pulled fully out of her, and they both groaned at the loss of contact. Gentle hands turned her around to face him, cupped her face and drew her in for a kiss. His lips were as soft as she remembered from the spell, and the tender affection in the movements of his mouth, and the hints of the level of passion these lips could attain, echoed those fantasy kisses with sharper intensity. It began languidly, with Spike’s fingers slowly unbuttoning her blouse as they explored each other’s mouths with questing tongues.
Her shirt slid soundlessly to the floor, followed swiftly by her bra. Then Spike’s hands were on her, cupping her breasts, rubbing her nipples and pinching them into hard little peaks. Buffy sighed into his mouth, reaching behind him to pull his shirt the rest of the way out of his already opened jeans.
They parted long enough for Spike to tug the shirt over his head and Buffy to step out of her skirt. In the next instant, Spike’s jeans lay in a puddle at his feet and the only thing between them was a foot of floor space.
Beautiful wasn’t a word Buffy normally thought in relation to men, but that’s undeniably what Spike was. Lithe in form, every part of him the embodiment of strength, power and grace, he stood proudly before her, smooth, pale skin over toned muscles, small in stature but massive in presence. His hair, normally a slicked-back shell of white, had become lightly tousled into loose curls and it looked ridiculously sexy on him. His cock, still slick and glistening with her juices, large in proportion to the rest of him, jutted eagerly out in front of him, waiting only for her. Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Spike, it seemed, was similarly captivated.
“So lovely,” he whispered, his impossibly blue gaze raking over her body from head to toe with a look of unbridled desire that made Buffy shiver with anticipation.
He closed the distance between them and their mouths met hungrily. His hands gripped Buffy’s waist and he lifted her up and lowered her onto his waiting cock. Joint moans against teasing tongues welcomed the renewal of this intimate connection, and as though it were second nature to do so, Buffy locked her legs around his waist and used her supernatural strength to rise up and sink back down onto him.
“Buffy . . .” he moaned into her mouth, nipping at her tongue as she continued to move above him. “Christ, love, you’re gonna dust me.”
“Don’t wanna dust you,” she whispered back, tightening her arms around his neck. “Just found you.”
“Oh, kitten,” he whispered, pulling out of the kiss to look into her eyes, his own pupils wide, blue-rimmed, and full of warmth. “We’re goin’ to have a lot to talk about.”
Buffy nodded rapidly, her breath quickening as each downward glide left her quivering with bliss. “Talk later,” she said, lip curling into a smile. “More of this now.”
Spike laughed softly, readjusting his hold to support her one-handed. His now free left hand pulled the band from her hair, allowing the blonde tresses to cascade over her shoulders, tangling his fingers in the golden strands. “’S much as I like that other way,” he told her, placing a kiss on the end of her nose, “think I like bein’ able to see your face more.”
Before tonight, Buffy had thought the spell responsible for Spike’s caring tenderness during their brief engagement, never thinking it possible that the arrogant, foul-mouthed, hard-edged creature of the night could be capable of such complex, genuine, human emotion. Seeing that same gentle kindness in his eyes now, she realized that the spell had only given this side of Spike a chance to show itself. Of course he’d keep it hidden in the den of his enemies, from anyone else, really, besides himself and those he cared about. Until recently, that had been Drusilla, and indeed, when she thought about it, Buffy had seen shades of this Spike during the few brief encounters she’d had with both of the vampires. Now he was showing this hidden face to her, for her, and she had a feeling that meant even more than she could truly comprehend. Something was happening here with the two of them, of that she was certain, a connection being forged that ran deeper, truer, than just this physical connection of sex.
It was a heady sensation, standing on the cusp of something so . . . monumental. Sucking in a halting breath, her heart pounding madly, dually affected by the nature of her thoughts and the sensations in her body, Buffy once again slid up the length of Spike’s cock and lowered herself back down with a more forceful descent. The motion struck her clit against his pubic bone, rubbed it into the coarse hairs covering it, and she grunted with the resulting spasm of pleasure as her internal muscles clenched involuntarily around him.
“Oh, bloody God!” Spike groaned, eyes rolling back as she squeezed him. When she regained control of those muscles, she tightened around him again, harder, wringing him without restraint and revelling in his strangled cry.
Hastily, Spike pressed her against the counter behind them, attempting to find the leverage he needed to be able to move within her as he so obviously desired. Buffy reached blindly behind her with one hand to steady herself, succeeding only in knocking over the large bag of flour. It tumbled backward over the wall, taking with it a number of other items that crashed and scattered their contents over the dining room floor. Spike attempted to sit her on the ledge, but the height was wrong and he growled in frustration. Sidestepping, he landed her against the wall next to the cut-out, none too gently, the force of the contact shaking the walls and knocking even more items off the counter.
Buffy expelled a little oof of air as her back hit the wall, head colliding with the picture hanging there. The impact bounced the frame off its nail and it landed at Spike’s feet with a cracking of glass, which he ignored in favour of impaling her with a hard, bone-jarring thrust that slammed her into the wall and rocketed an intense jolt of pain-tinted pleasure through her entire body. This wasn’t something Buffy had ever thought she’d enjoy, but there was no denying it as Spike’s powerful thrusts pounded into her mercilessly, striking each time that spot inside that made her cry out in need and clench around him, straining to keep him inside even as he withdrew and rammed back in, grunting and moaning as loudly as she. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh, seeking something, anything to hold onto.
She was growing wetter and wetter with each forceful thrust, and even though her back slammed painfully against the wall with each collision, though she could barely breathe, her body was quivering, shaking, aching for the release of the climax that was steadily approaching. Spike took one breast into his mouth, sucking, nibbling, making her arch into him. The subtle shift in position made his cock hit that tender spot more fully, and his name fell from her lips in a whispered prayer.
“So. Fucking. Gorgeous,” Spike panted, biting her nipple firmly with his blunt teeth.
“Spike!” she screamed, digging her nails into his skin with enough force to break it. “Oh . . . oh God! ”
Spike switched his attention to her other breast, slipping one hand between them as he did, finding her clit unerringly, stroking it expertly with the ball of his thumb. He sucked hard on her breast, maintaining his bruising thrusts and rubbing her engorged bundle of nerves with ever increasing pressure. For the second time that night, lightheadeness so potent she could no longer tell which way was up descended upon her with lightning speed. So many sensations bombarded her simultaneously, and any moment now she was going to tumble into another shattering orgasm.
“Come on, Buffy,” Spike grunted, releasing her breast to gaze up into her face. The spots clouding her vision made him difficult to see, but through the haze she could make out his clear, piercing blue eyes staring at her intently, reverently. “Let go, love . . . I’ve got you.”
Her climax crashed over her immediately, tearing a primal, rasping cry past her throat, bringing tears to her eyes and Spike’s name to her lips. It took every ounce of will power to keep herself from blacking out. She held on, just barely, riding wave after wave of intense pleasure, her vision narrowing until all she could see amidst an engulfing expanse of black were two adoring blue eyes staring into her soul as their owner pounded into her body.
Buffy’s eyes fell shut as the pleasure began to subside, realizing with a flash of shame and a rush of disappointment that Spike had not followed her over the edge. The feelings were short lived as she felt his face shift against her chest and he slid her down the wall, his thrusts gentler, more deliberate into her acutely sensitized and incredibly tender channel, his thumb still rubbing her clit with an intensity bordering on pain.
“Open your eyes, Buffy,” he requested, voice altered as he spoke around his fangs.
She did, blinking her sight clear, noting the two yellow eyes looking back at her with as much affection as the blue, realizing that he’d held back deliberately, to give her as much as he thought she could take.
“Let’s go together now, right?”
Buffy nodded, and her eyes fell shut again, though not because she hated to face the demon in front of her. No, the demon was a part of Spike, part of what made him who he was. Somehow, she had come to understand this intrinsically, and she shut her eyes in complete trust that no harm would come to her, even if he were physically capable of it.
Slow, deep thrusts and steady, circular pressure over her clit soon started the pressure building again, radiating out from her core and spreading tingling, heated flames all the way to the tips of her fingers and the soles of her feet. The moment her climax rolled over her, Spike’s fangs pierced her neck, slipping easily into the existing wounds and instantly heightening the intensity of this third orgasm well beyond the highs achieved by the other two. His thrusts into her grew frantic, urgent, as her inner muscles tightened around him, strangling his throbbing cock in a vice grip. Taking slow, soul-touching pulls of her blood, Spike spilled himself deep inside her with a muffled roar against her neck. Buffy’s hoarse cries rang out loudly in the room as she writhed her elation.
As his thrusts slowed and her convulsions tapered, a heavy, sated lethargy overtook her, and Buffy slumped flaccidly in Spike’s arms. Licking the punctures to seal them, the vampire tightened his hold on her and turned them around, placing his own back against the wall and sliding down it to the floor. Still insider her, Spike cradled the back of her head with his palm and dropped a light kiss into her hair.
They held each other in silence, ragged breathing slowly growing even. Buffy drifted in and out of a light sleep, unsure how many minutes had passed before she lifted her head from Spike’s shoulder. He met her eyes and they held the gaze for a long moment, each searching for something in the other. Buffy wasn’t certain what she read there, but it was so immense as to feel both utterly frightening and immeasurably thrilling.
Just as Spike opened his mouth to speak, the timer on the oven dinged. They exchanged a wide-eyed look and then burst into laughter.
“I’d better get that,” Buffy said, moving out of his lap with clear reluctance.
Not trusting her legs, Buffy crawled over to the oven and used the counter to pull herself to standing. Shakily, she checked the cakes and, finding them done, placed them on the rack to cool. She turned off the oven and slid back to the floor, sprawling out next to Spike where he now lay supine, paying no mind to the sticky mess of icing sugar, eggs, and milk coating the linoleum beneath them.
Spike reached out and captured Buffy’s hand, twining his still-warm fingers with hers. “You’re incredible, pet,” he whispered, turning his head to look at her.
Lazily she met his eyes, half-expecting to see a sarcastic smirk, but pleasantly surprised to see the same replete languor as she felt looking back at her. “You’re, uh . . . not so bad yourself.”
Neither of them said anything else, and the silence that enveloped them grew heavy with everything that remained unspoken. Buffy had already shut her eyes, finding the intensity of Spike’s too much to handle right then, and now turned her face up toward the ceiling. She could still feel his eyes on her, studying her, and even though the kitchen was warm and her body temperature had yet to return to normal, Buffy felt a sudden chill go through her.
What have I done?
Visions assaulted her of each and every time Spike had threatened to kill her, threatened to make her the third notch on his slayer-killing belt. Like a montage of all the reasons why this had been a supremely bad idea, each and every fight, every hurled insult, every pointed slight about intimate details of her tragic love life, flashed through her mind on indefinite repeat. She forgot, faced with her own fears, faced with her limited experience with men and the monsters she made out of them when she became intimate, the genuine affection and tenderness she had seen in Spike’s eyes while they moved together; disregarded everything she had felt about it having been more than just sex happening between them.
Buffy pulled her hand out of Spike’s and wrapped her arms around herself, feeling her nakedness acutely. She wanted to run, wanted to grab her clothes and hide in the bathroom, escape the inevitable. But she couldn’t; her body refused to move, too frightened to stay, too devastated to run.
Maybe he couldn’t kill her, but Spike had found a way to bag his third slayer, and she’d played right into his hands, let herself be seduced. The things he’d whispered in her ear were true enough; she did crave him. The physical attraction was undeniable, and something about his strength appealed to the slayer in her, whispered to her that he was the right sort of companion for a warrior such as herself. Spike admitted that he knew slayers – and he undoubtedly did. He’d found just the thing to use against her and he’d given it his all. But the worst part wasn’t that she’d given him her body.
No, the real rub was the fact that somehow, somewhere along the way, the bleached bastard had made her start to care about him.
And he’d tricked her into thinking that he’d felt the same.
Tears flowed from beneath her lashes, wetting her face and slipping soundlessly to the floor. She heard movement beside her, and then felt Spike’s finger’s brush her cheek, wiping away the tears. Buffy flinched and pulled away from his touch, the action having jolted her out of her immobility, and reached frantically for her clothing.
“Buffy.”
Her name, simply stated, no query, no gloating . . . just her name. She stopped her frenzied search and looked at him, expecting to see anything but what she saw.
He looked . . . worried.
Just part of the game , she told herself, as she sat facing him, pulling her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms tightly around her legs.
Mirroring her pose, Spike asked, “What . . . what’s wrong, love?”
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped, furiously wiping at the remnants of her tears with the back of her hand. At his look of confused shock, Buffy scowled. “Just stop pretending care and get to the torment, okay? Gloat and get it over with.”
Spike blinked, his face impassive, staring at her while she funnelled the hurt she felt inside into her outward anger.
“It’d help,” he said slowly, after a moment, “if you’d tell me why I’m supposed to be gloating.”
“So help me, Spike, if you—”
“Slayer!”
The reversion to her title and the note of warning in the shouted word stopped her mid-sentence. Spike glowered at her and said, through clenched teeth, “Stop with the dramatics and tell me what the hell you’re on about.”
Something about the tone of the question and the confusion, albeit tinged with annoyance, on his face poked little holes of doubt into her certainty. “Why, Spike?” she whispered.
“Why what, Buffy?” he asked, inching closer, making no attempts to hide his nudity from her. “Why’d this happen? God, woman, we’ve been dancing round this since we met . . . after that spell it was inevitable.”
“So you . . .” Made love to me? “. . . because it had to happen?”
Spike sighed, rubbed at his forehead with one palm. “Not like that, Buffy,” he answered, his tone slightly guarded, careful. As he spoke he dropped his gaze, almost bashfully, glancing up at her occasionally through his lashes. “Been hot for you forever, but last week, gettin’ to touch you, hold you, feel you touchin’ me . . . wanted to know if it was just the spell, or somethin’ else, made me feel there’s more , you know?”
She did know. She’d felt it then, even if she’d put it down to the spell alone and forced herself to forget about it in the aftermath. She’d felt it again tonight, while he touched her, whispered in her ear, looked at her with those glorious blue eyes, and made her body sing with pleasure. But did he really feel it? Could he feel it, without a soul? Was it possible that he was telling the truth? She had been so sure before that it had all been an elaborate plan to demoralize her, get in a few emotional punches since he couldn’t do it physically. How much of that, though, was her own insecurities, her own inner need to protect herself against a threatened heartache?
More importantly, did she want him to mean it? Could she even think about going down that road again?
With the ebbing of her panic, it became harder to deny Spike’s veracity. Perhaps she was making a dreadful mistake, but her gut was telling her that this wasn’t just some cruel joke, that Spike meant it when he said he felt that there was something between them, something just waiting to be discovered.
Belatedly, Buffy nodded. “I know,” she answered. “This . . . what is it, Spike?”
“Told you then, I don’t know,” he replied, crawling over to sit beside her, his back to the fridge. “Frightening, though, innit?”
She smiled. “Oh yeah.”
“’S your call, love,” Spike continued, setting his hand atop hers where it rested on her knee. “We can have that talk an’ suss all this out, or we go on pretendin’ to hate each other like nothing happened.”
Buffy nudged him with her shoulder. “You think you could actually do that?”
His answering smirk was telling in and of itself. “You did hear the part about I’ll never get enough ?”
“Yeah.” She had the feeling this one taste of Spike just wasn’t going to be enough for her, either.
That he was just as unsure about all of this as she eased her reservations somewhat. There was something happening, and they owed it to themselves to find out what it meant.
Turning to face him, Buffy slipped a half-smile onto her face. “You do realize that I’m never going to have sex again, right?”
“Didn’t think you were that breakable, Slayer,” he replied, eyes twinkling.
“Not broken,” she corrected him. “You’ve just ruined me forever for mortal men.”
She chuckled softly at Spike’s possessive growl. “Told you that, didn’t I? You know the answer, love.”
Grinning now, Buffy held her hands up. “Oh no! Nuh-uh. Not going to happen, Spike. Got you out of my system now, no more wanting of Spike. Normal . Normal, ordinary, everyday men for Buffy. Yep, normal . . . boring . . . men.”
Spike regarded her with a raised eyebrow and an expression that clearly indicated he knew she was full of crap. With one quick motion, he shoved her over and she uncurled to lie flat on her back, laughing as he crawled over her, holding himself up with his hands on either side of her, his erection nudging her folds. “You finished?” he asked, leaning down and nipping her bottom lip.
“Yeah, who am I kidding?” she relented, sliding her hand up one muscled arm, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Come in, Spike.”
*~*
It was rather later than he’d anticipated by the time Giles pulled his aged Citroen into his parking space. He had lost track of time, his gig at the Espresso Pump having been a roaring success. The apprehension he’d felt prior to his set had vanished completely, replaced by a sort of elated euphoria. Gone, for the moment, were the feelings of uselessness he’d felt the past few months, with no job to occupy him, no slayer to train, those he’d come to think of as family moving on and growing up seemingly without him.
Taking a thorough look around him and gripping a stake securely in hand, Giles stepped out of his car and secured it, and then headed for the door to his apartment. Wincing as he glanced at his watch, Giles braced himself for the wrath of Buffy, fully expecting an earful of ire the moment he stepped inside. Or worse, he mused; his apartment trashed and the resident vampire unconscious and bleeding all over his couch for having set her off – likely intentionally.
But no furious slayer launched herself at him when he opened the door, and though he could hear them bickering from somewhere within, he could see neither one of them. Carefully placing his guitar against the wall, Giles closed the door and hung up his coat before casting a look around.
While thankfully nothing was broken, the two of them had obviously had some sort of altercation. An entire bag of flour lay overturned below the kitchen window, covering the floor all the way under the dining room table. Something resembling cooking oil was slowly dripping from the countertop, coating the stools and puddling in a greasy slick beneath them.
“Oh, Good Lord,” he groaned, dropping his keys on the table and moving to investigate.
“You’re off your nut, Slayer,” Spike was saying as Giles came closer to the kitchen.
“Nuh-uh,” replied Buffy. “You obviously have no taste.”
Spike snorted. “Not near enough, anyway.”
“God, you’re such a pig!” Buffy exclaimed, before erupting in laughter. “I guess you really are what you eat.”
“Then I guess you must be a bloody sprinkle ,” Spike muttered with distaste. “Don’t know what you were thinkin’ putting those on. They’re li’l sparkly bits of horrible, they are.”
“Oh, right, like your blood red icing’s any better,” she retorted. “My sprinkles taste fine, thank you very much . . . all that red dye is disgusting!”
Spike’s devilish answering chuckle made Giles pause at the arched entrance to the hallway. Sprinkles and red dye? Something was definitely off about those two, who he’d left arguing over the remote control and the offensiveness of each other’s continued existence. Now they sounded almost . . . domestic. The mere idea brought on a niggling ache behind his eyes and a fierce desire to clean his glasses.
Seeing the broken glass on the floor and the evidence of further spilled foodstuffs – milk perhaps, and, was that an egg? – pooled in the doorway to the kitchen, Giles felt a sudden reluctance to continue, even as his feet carried him around the corner.
There sat the two of them on the floor of the kitchen opposite the entrance, amidst an apocalyptic mess of baking ingredients, covering the floor and the breakfast counter and splattering nearly every surface in between. A very red coloured cake covered with glittering pink sprinkles sat on a plate between them, two rather generous slices missing. Shoulder to shoulder and suspiciously clean-looking – Spike’s hair ungelled and curling, Buffy’s damp and loose about her shoulders – slayer and vampire wore matching amused grins as they ate their cake and argued about whose addition had ruined it.
Giles had the oddest sensation that he really did not want to be witnessing what he was fervently hoping wasn’t the aftermath of his worst suspicions.
“Guess this means we answered the question, then,” added Spike, to Buffy’s light laughter. “Looks like it really wasn’t better than—”
“Giles!”
Spike’s smirk as he looked up told Giles that the vampire had been well aware of his presence long before Buffy had noticed him.
“Jerk,” Buffy muttered, elbowing him in the ribs and suppressing her amusement as she reached for the cake plate. The very picture of innocence despite the horrific mess around her and the fresh bite marks on her neck, Buffy held out her two-layered, sparkling bloody confection toward him.
Blinking her eyes, she grinned sweetly and said, “Hey, Giles! Cake?”
*~*
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