Randy And Joanie Were Lovers
Chapter 5: Dead and Tired
By Shell Presto
NC-17
mangetsuDELETEME@email.com

Note: I don’t own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joss Whedon does; but I do own this piece of fanfiction, which is meant solely to entertain. Also, special thanks to my beta, Dorian’s Kitten, who trimmed the excess with expertise.


The first sensation was a chill wind hitting his face. It was strong, and he had to grab a steel rail and reorient himself to keep from being pushed back.

He sensed more than heard Buffy’s kid sister behind him. He felt as though she was yelling, but everything was strangely quiet except for the wind.

There was an old man with a wicked grin wielding a knife before him.

The man leapt at Spike, a tail trailing behind him. Spike dodged, grabbing the man’s wrist and wrenching his arm behind his back to lock him in place. The knife dropped as Spike squeezed the man’s free arm, but a long tongue raced after it, catching it before the weapon hit the uneven grating they stood on.

Spike cursed inaudibly, spinning the man round to grab his tongue, wrapping the slimy appendage around his own leather-bound arm. The bleach-blond got leverage by placing his hand on the lizard-man’s forehead and then pulled with all his might in one quick jerk

The tongue came off with a spray of blood that Jackson-Pollocked red onto his duster.

As the lizard-man let out a silent scream and choked, Spike picked up the knife and made a long, clean cut across his already blood-covered throat. Finally, he buried the knife in the other man’s chest and pushed him over the railing to the ground six stories below. Panting not from need of air but from the pure high of adrenaline and covered in the unsavory scent of demon blood, the vampire walked calmly over to Buffy’s little sister, offered her a reassuring platitude and quickly untied her. They hurried, hand in hand, down flights and flights of unsteady metal steps. His steps were light and full of energy despite the caution he needed not to trip.

Then the familiar little blonde who lit up his entire world met them halfway down, and for some reason he couldn’t explain, he had never felt happier to see her.

Buffy hugged her sister, then him. But his arms were numb suddenly, and he couldn’t feel her.



His eyes snapped open and he gasped harshly as though it had been a bad dream, although it had seemed to have a happy enough ending.

He pressed his lips together, confused and feeling like he’d somehow missed the point.

It was a fleeting thought as he discovered how warm he felt, much warmer than a vampire should. Long hair splayed over his shirt and brushed against his nose as he gently squeezed Buffy’s shoulder.

The girl had slept on him all night.

He smiled despite his stiff muscles. He had sunk in low on the couch, his rear barely on the cushions anymore, knees pressing against the coffee table. But Buffy looked snug as a kitten curled against him, her head on his stomach.

He got lost watching her, even though he couldn’t see her face. The slow reverberations of her breathing was relaxing, and her heart beating so close to him made him feel as though he had one himself.

Being this close to her, sharing her body’s heat, literally made him feel alive.

He didn’t know how long he’d been like that before she started to twitch. He tried to calm her by slowly petting her back and arm.

Then she whimpered and gave a high-pitched little cry.

“Shh, love,” he hushed to no avail.

Suddenly she started scratching at his leg, not coherently enough to hurt him, more frantic, unfocused. She moaned, frightened.

“Buffy!” he barked, wedging himself between her and the dream as he sat up, curling his arms around her to cradle her to him.

She woke with a start, confused. For a moment, he held a stranger, a scared little girl he was sure he’d never seen before, memory or no.

She looked at him the same way, only her lack of recognition was due solely to the fear chasing away all other thought. She gasped like an animal trapped in a plastic bag.

Then she knew him again.

“Spike?” she asked weakly.

He nodded, brushed frazzled hair from her face, and stroked her cheek. “I’m right here, love.”

She touched his face like she didn’t believe him. Warm fingertips explored his cool cheekbone, and she couldn’t deny it.

Then the waterworks started, and she yelped his name helplessly as she buried her face in his T-shirt.

He shushed and rocked her.

“Must’ve been some dream.”

“It felt so real,” she whimpered. “Oh god, it felt so real.”

“Well, it’s not,” he assured her before pausing with curiosity. “But what was it?”

She lifted her face from his black shirt, now blacker in some spots from her tears. She looked up at him, green eyes glazed in salty terror and morning light.

“I was in a coffin. Buried. I was trapped,” she sobbed.

“Well, it’s not true.” He cupped her face. “You’re right here. With me. Plenty of air and…” For a long moment, he looked around, stunned. “…sun …shine.”

The realization made the horror of her dream fade, and she stared at him as though he were an alien instead of a vampire.

“It’s sunny,” she observed.

“Yeah.”

“You’re a vampire,” she noted, as if expecting him to show his fangs. “So why are you not…?”

“I don’t’ know…” he trailed off, studying his pale skin. He certainly didn’t look like he got much sun. “Maybe that’s not the way it works.”

Slowly, he raised his hand above the top of the couch and into the line of direct rays. He wondered if fish ever tried to beach themselves to see if they could live out of water, and imagined he was such a fish.

It was unbearably hot for a second as he stretched his fingers in the sunlight. It quickly turned so hot his hand felt numb, and he thought he could tolerate that with little problem. Then there was smoke and searing pain. He hissed and drew back.

Buffy was smiling that feeling-guilty-I’m-amused-that-you’re-hurt smile women get. It was playful and tempting and he forgot the pain.

“Guess you don’t like long walks on the beach after all,” she quipped.

“Suppose I don’t.”

Their lips met exactly halfway between them, both moving in unison towards each other with equal eagerness.

Her breath was awful from all that pesky breathing she did, whereas his still held clearly the taste of stale pizza and grease. Hers was worse, though, so he was sure she didn’t notice his. And while neither his nose nor taste buds were too pleased, the feel of her hot mouth on his lips added a new element of hardness to his thankfully unnoticed morning wood.

Would they call it that with vampires? he wondered before she pulled on his shoulders and slid herself further up his thighs. He moaned into her mouth as his cock strained towards her heat.

She pulled back and covered her hand with her mouth.

“Oh god, I’ve got pepperoni-variety Godzilla breath,” she realized, then stood up.

Spike held back a whimper of his own as she stepped over his legs.

“And I’m probably all icky from fighting last night.”

“Not complainin’, love.”

The hands on her hips and smile on her lips sent the signal of a sarcastic Please. “Still, I’d feel better making out with you if I showered.”

His lips curved like a cat alone with the canary. “I can’t argue with that.”

He stretched his legs as she ascended the stairs, the sunlight surrounding the couch making it much easier to fight the urge to follow her right up into the shower. He kicked his boots up onto the couch with a dull thud, laying back proper on his cotton-stuffed desert sanctuary in a deadly sea of sunlight – sunlight that nonetheless made the room pleasantly warm and relaxing.

It being daytime and Spike being a vampire made it easy for him to fall right back to sleep.




The sun’s glare had shifted from the white of early morning to the ochre of afternoon when he next opened his eyes.

He’d had the same dream again, only this time he’d been a living punching bag, standing stalwart between Dawn and the lizard-man until Buffy arrived to help.

There was no Buffy next to him as he woke up this time, and he found that he already missed it. He did, however, have a blanket over him. And the curtains over the window directly behind the couch had been drawn to allow him safe passage to the foyer.

He rolled off the couch and stretched thankfully, taking extra seconds for his neck, then made his way up the stairs to find his girl.

He found the bathroom first, and hovered in the doorway as he contemplated using Buffy’s toothbrush. She might get mad, though, he figured. Personally, he didn’t see the harm in sharing with someone you’ve already swapped spit with, but he knew that birds could be weird about things like that.

So he opted for a quick swish and gargle with mouthwash instead. He’d ask for a brush when he found her.

He found her in her bedroom going through a box, her expression curious. She was laying on the floor in the shadows as if waiting in a place that would be safest for him.

“Hey,” she greeted him.

“Hey.” He carefully avoided the direct sunlight, a patch between her doorway and bed, and set himself down beside her. He peered over her shoulder. “What are we looking at?”

“A box I found in my closet.”

There were lots of little things in the cardboard photo box: a cross, some necklaces and rings, movie ticket stubs, and a few photos of Buffy and a tall, strapping guy with dirty-blond hair. Spike frowned, realizing, as he was sure she already had, that it was a box of boyfriends past.

He took a cross from her hand, hissing as he burned himself, and dropped it more quickly than he had planned back into the box before closing the lid.

“Don’t need to be looking at that,” he said, pushing it under the bed.

She leaned into him. “Jealous much?”

“A bit, yeah.” He wondered if he had gotten her something, and if so, where she would have placed it. He was overcome with the urge to give her something and he felt like a terrible boyfriend.

Not that a lighter would be much of a gift for a non-smoker.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, ending his inner monologue of punishment.

“You hungry? I was about to make lunch.”

“Starving,” he answered without thought. He was ravenous, and the mild curb from last night’s pizza had long worn off. He squirmed. Buffy wasn’t exactly looking tasty, but he did catch himself wanting to stare at her neck.

That can’t be a good sign, he scolded himself. “Think I’ll catch a shower, though, first. Think you can hook me up with a towel and a toothbrush?”

She did, and he didn’t even touch the hot water as he washed while his stomach growled at his good intentions.




Buffy was having a flip-flop day – and not in respects to her footwear.

Tara and Willow had apparently gotten Dawn to school and then gone to class themselves, according to a note in the kitchen. She was happy they were making an effort to maintain a sense of normalcy, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about being alone with Spike.

Part of her liked it. Just being near him felt a little naughty and exciting, but part of her also wondered about it. Nothing they had done since their first kiss seemed familiar, which made her wonder why she hadn’t been dating him, and she was sure she hadn’t.

Maybe memory-intact-Buffy knew better than to get too friendly with the undead. she thought.

Rummaging through the fridge, she wondered what the vampire would like. Her first thought was blood. She shivered. Does he need blood? Where did he get it? she wondered, then reasoned, He couldn’t be a good guy if he attacked people.

Then she remembered that vampire asking him about the kittens, and the refrigerator seemed colder as she gulped. There was no way she could date someone who ate kittens.

Driving the racecar of her thoughts away from that obstacle, she wondered what she liked. The fridge became a gateway to the unknown, a grouping of items for which she could attach a name but not a taste. She thought about it, caught sight of sliced cheese, and figured that if her mind was telling her she should slap it between bread, butter it, and throw it in a pan, then she must like it.

So she had grilled cheese and tomato soup ready when clean Spike came down in yesterday’s clothes.

“Hope you like grilled cheese.”

“Don’t imagine I’ll have a problem with it.” He slid into a chair beside her and stared at the soup. It immediately made him think longingly of another, tastier red liquid.

He sighed and ate a spoonful, which had little more flavor to the vampire than water.

“You like it?” she prodded.

“Because you put in so much effort getting it out of that can.”

She exaggerated a frown.

So he leaned over and kissed her.

“It’s fine.”

There was a thick silence for a few minutes, another bad side effect to not knowing anything about themselves.

Already knowing the answer, he asked, “Where’re the other birds?”

“School.”

It took him a moment to recall when school would let out. He didn’t so much remember as figure it couldn’t go into session earlier than 8 a.m., and he added eight hours. It was 1 p.m.

“So we’ve got another two or three hours to ourselves.”

“Yeah.” She pressed her thighs together and shifted in her chair. The wood cracked almost inaudibly, but it was a tree split by a lightning bolt to the vampire’s ears.

She squirmed as he noticed and smirked.

“Suppose since we’re not in school, we’re the delinquents,” he mused.

“We can’t be delinquents. Delinquents make trouble. We stop trouble. We’re the anti-delinquents.”

“Poor team name.” He shook his head and stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth.

“Decent teen band name,” she redeemed.

He swallowed and licked his lips with an acutely sexual undertone. “Is there dessert?”

She ignored the innuendo and hopped over to the cupboard. “I think I saw some cookies…”

She was cut short by the sensation of his cool mouth latching onto her neck. It scared her for all of a second – fear running through her that she had just turned her back on a vampire. But he ran the tip of his tongue from her exposed shoulder blade, over the spaghetti strap of her tank top, all the way to her ear. He made sure to breathe just so the coolness would agitate her skin, and the only nip she felt was on her earlobe with dull, blunt teeth.

“Spike…” she knew she had something to say, but she lost the words as he pressed his erection against her back, forcing her hips roughly against the counter. She gasped.

He stopped kissing her, but gently kneaded her shoulders.

“Feel like a bad person, doing this,” he confessed. “We both don’t remember, so I don’t know how far we…”

She let herself fall back against his shoulder, giving herself up to his caresses.

“I’ll stop if you want me to.” As he said it, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

In Buffy’s mind, she replied in an instant. In reality, her answer was a slow, languid drawl punctuated by deep breathing.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

She squealed as he turned her around and lifted her up onto the counter, a roller-coaster cry abruptly cut off by his lips crashing against hers.

He was starving and his internal vamp clock was telling him to sleep, but the feel of the blonde in his arms, his prick boxed between the counter and her thighs, made his blood boil like espresso. He snaked his tongue into her mouth and his thumbs tested the boundaries of the skirt already pushed a few inches up her tan legs.

He felt it give more as she wrapped those legs around his waist. She pulled back to nip at his lip before moving the collar of his button-down shirt. She playfully claimed a spot on his neck with a lick, then sucked deliberately. He moaned and let her stake her claim, ecstatic that the girl wanted to give him a hicky. He wondered if he’d get to leave a mark on her, then he rubbed the inside of her thighs with his thumbs.

She broke off her ritual with a pant, and he nuzzled her gently until she leaned back, a prone pose that made it easy for him to trace the neckline of her low-cut tank with his tongue. His hand moved to the soft flesh of her stomach. If her thinness wasn’t apparent just by looking at her, it was highlighted by how slender she felt as he stroked her side. It made him feel as though he was dominating a fragile creature and stoked his demon and his cock as he blazed a slow trail toward her breasts.

“W-wait,” she panted.

He removed his hand faster than he had from the sunlight, as if anticipating the request. He pressed his lips together and fought to calm himself. He wasn’t sure if he had a demon in him or if he was one, but he felt now more than ever that “Stop” wasn’t in his usual vocabulary.

But the growl in his stomach he endured had already proved Buffy was special.

“What?” The word was sharp with wanting, and he must have sounded pissed because the blonde’s eyes widened – perhaps with fear. He gently rubbed her shoulders and coughed, deepening his voice. “Sorry, love, just –” reining in the demon, he thought. That won’t do. “ –don’t want to bollocks this up, you know?”

“Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “I know.”

She ran her fingers over his chest, playfulness returning, although it was the playfulness of a kitten, not the feral need she’d shown just moments before.

“I just… ” She eyed the ceiling and winced. “I’m sorry, it’s just, this doesn’t feel familiar, and…”

He held a breath and awaited the guillotine.

“…and I…” She nervously played with a button on his shirt. “I want it to be special… you know?”

He exhaled. That I can live with, he thought initially. Then he realized he didn’t have a clue what she meant. “This… This is special,” he clarified as if she had been the one confused.

He hoped she would say something, but she didn’t. The vampire debated taking a step back, giving her some space, but he was terrified she wouldn’t let him hold her this close again.

He didn’t even know what to ask. “No, I don’t know.” As if trying to convince her, he repeated. “This is really special, Buffy.”

She looked like she was trying to pull her head into her chest like a retreating turtle, but her bright blush definitely wasn’t green.

“I’m not saying… it’s just… we haven’t done this before. I don’t remember, but I can tell…”

His mouth fell open slightly as creases formed on his brow. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“No!” she interjected, waving her arms dismissively and nearly clipping his nose in the process. “I mean, this feels familiar, just not with you.”

He loosened his grip at that. The image of Buffy with another man didn’t help his hard on.

She caught his wrists before he could step back.

“Spike?”

“S’okay,” he mumbled.

“Spike, I can’t remember my first time,” she stressed.

He shook his hands free. “Well, I can’t help you with…”

She broke in with urgency, “I want to take our time.”

“I got it!” he nearly yelled, voice loaded with frustration and hurt.

She slammed her hand against the counter with an attention-getting thud. “I mean today!”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. They stared at one another.

Confused, Spike curled into himself like he was nursing a chest wound.

Buffy remained on the counter, her fingers gripping the wood with a strength and need that threatened to splinter it. Her complexion was still pink with a mix of emotion that started with sexual and ended with emotional frustration.

But as Spike withdrew silently, she realized that somewhere in his forgotten past was a man who had heard “No” so often that it was not only the only answer he expected, but also the only one he comprehended.

So she cleared her mind and closed her thighs, then tried again.

“Spike.”

“What?” he pouted.

“I want to sleep with you.”

She knew happy was too much to ask; he gave her skeptical.

“But?”

“And!” she stressed. “That would make you – and right now – my first time.”

He blinked. Then blinked again. Then buried his face in a hand. “Oh, bloody hell.”

She held herself and wondered for a split second whether he just thought she was girly or an idiot.

“I’m such a git.”

She touched his shoulder and he startled, then smiled. He kissed her, a less heady kiss on both their parts.

“You’re not a git,” she giggled, mimicking the Briticism.

“I didn’t understand,” he admitted.

“Obviously. Though I have to wonder how you pull off the shock-blond hair without any confidence.”

“I think that’s just you, love.”

“Huh?”

His next kiss was like pulling the starter cord on an engine. Buffy swore she felt a buzz.

“I couldn’t imagine any other girl –” He shook his head, “No, woman, having this effect on me.”

Their lips locked longer still, and only parted when Buffy needed to huff in a long breath.

“So I’m supposed to be gentle, yeah?”

She nodded lazily, entranced by his rediscovered boldness.

He laughed then as if his body knew he could only have gotten this far with Buffy in dreams, even if his mind had forgotten his numerous heartbreaks. Then he slid her off the counter and into his arms and headed for the stairs. She let her hair down on the way up, shaking it out to complete the image he offered and revving his sex drive while she was at it.

Part of Buffy fully expected him to toss her onto the bed and ravage her despite her request. She was pleasantly surprised when he instead laid her down gently and almost glided himself into bed next to her. He hovered over her, sliding an arm behind her head and craning her neck slightly for a delicate kiss.

“You nervous?” he asked, hearing her pulse quicken.

She played with the still-drying curls forming in his hair. “That is the natural response in this situation,” she answered, trying to mask the feeling while she wondered if she was any good at sex.

She couldn’t dwell on the thought as Spike ran a cold hand up her leg and into her skirt. She inched up the bed and his hand abruptly stopped.

“You sure you—“

She closed her eyes tightly and swallowed hard as she nodded her head in the affirmative. He waited, a concerned look plastered on his face, for her to look at him.

“Really,” she assured.

He licked his top teeth, then kissed her eyebrow. “Then you need to relax, pet.” He slid her shirt up and caressed her soft stomach with only a glancing touch. Try as she might to stop them, her abs only tensed at the sensation.

He grinned. “Well, maybe not too much.”

With his tongue, he traced a ring around her navel, then made a path up her chest, his thumbs making her shirt recede. She arched, expecting him to take her shirt off, but he stopped midway, leaving it bunched just below her arms. He unhooked her bra with the ease of a locksmith breaking into a diary, then pushed it up like the curtain unveiling a show.

He withdrew his mouth from her just long enough to take her in, committing her petite form – arms above her head, long golden hair splayed over the pillow, and nipples perked for him amidst the tan curves of her chest for him – into his mind’s centerfold for the month. With a need to rival his aching stomach, he wished he’d see this site enough times to fill a calendar. If he’d had a hard time of calming himself before then, the strikingly familiar thought of not seeing her again halved his libido if not his erection.

He laid on top of her then, lining his sternum upon her pelvic bone, closing his mouth over a taut nipple and flicking it with his tongue. When her hips jerked, it rocked his entire torso, and he nibbled to get a repeat performance. He ran his hand up her side, under her back and marveled at the varying soft and hardness of her body before pinching her other nipple.

“Spike!” she cooed.

He feigned distraction, ceasing all ministrations and mock waiting for her to continue as though she had voluntarily called his name.

She rolled her eyes, and he used the opportunity to sit up, pulling her legs up – and her skirt and panties off – with him in one smooth movement.

“Not very slow,” she scolded as he scooted up and finally freed her arms from her shirt. “And you’re not even…”

This time his tongue barely darted over the threshold of her lips as he kissed her, eliciting her mouth to open wider. He gently latched onto her lower lip, tickling it with a lick, before pressing into a long, slow kiss and sliding his blue shirt to her floor. He flexed his abs as she pushed his shirt up, and as though their lips were magnets he moved back only long enough for her to get his shirt over his head before assaulting her mouth again.

He toned it down to a tender slow dance, his lips alternating hard presses and longing respites to the tune of some slow Sinatra song he didn’t know the words to – or the performer of – playing in his head. She caught the rhythm, it seemed, and relaxed as he slid his hand between her legs, his fingers into the midst of her folds. She was wet and hot, a low pressure system building to a storm. He stoked her slowly, spreading the wetness over her outer lips and soaking his fingers, tracing little paths over the shallow channels and around her clit. Heavy lids closed over her green eyes, and she panted and arched when he commanded with just his fingers.

Then he didn’t have to fight his demon anymore, it seemed to just get bored and go away, and the pace seemed natural. So it was the man in him that tensed like the virgin he wasn’t when her fingers – with an efficiency he wasn’t expecting – popped the button on his jeans and had his zipper down in one fell swoop.

He pulled away for his own breath when she closed her hand around his throbbing cock and freed it from his jeans. She watched his eyes light up in surprise and the once shy girl flickered away with a devious smile.

“So are you a natural blond?” she mused, not taking her eyes from his expression.

Of all things to falter, his accent did, and for a moment he seemed to have a different – meeker – voice. “I-I’d imagine you could,” she squeezed him midsentence “t-tell from my eyebrows.”

She grinned with a power trip and pumped her fist over him before kissing him again. “Don’t ruin my fun, Spike,” she ordered.

He tried to swallow the nerves, but they shot right back up his throat as she propped herself up to look at him. Wordlessly, she tugged on a belt loop, and he obediently stood up and stripped for her before quickly sitting back on the bed.

And any familiarity faltered completely. They both realized then, in the time-out, that any memories they’d had of ever seeing another naked simply didn’t exist. Not live, not reach-out-and-touch distance.

So Buffy’s hand reached for his chest instead of the allure of his cock when she touched him again. It was smooth, which she knew was unnatural given the dark hair on his legs and arms, and she smiled realizing the vampire’s vanity didn’t stop with his bleached blonde hair. The dead man was in better shape than most live ones, every muscle on his wiry frame sculpted. And most amazingly was the way he was looking at her, his blue eyes a storm of masculine possession and boyish fear.

He licked his lips as he twisted his torso to run his hand down the length of her leg. He lingered on her ankle, wondering how such slender bones could support an entire person’s weight. Her skin was silky all over, save her privates, which had a neatly kept patch of blonde hair, a welcome mat to the swollen folds that made his cock twitch.

He slid a finger in to temper her, and she obliged by running her nails lightly up the length of him. The vampire exhaled sharply out his nose.

“Looks like you breathe sometimes.”

He clicked his tongue. “Am I supposed to make some cheesy quip about how you make me feel alive?”

A soft rosy hue was spreading over her neck and chest as he slowly fingered her, and the smell of sex filled the room.

“Do I?” she gasped.

“Hm?”

“Make you feel alive?”

He licked his cream-covered fingers and lay down on top of her, pressing his bare shaft to her damp lips. She pulled her legs up, hugging him with her thighs and just barely thrusting into him.

He trailed kisses up her neck, then whispered, “There’s not a thing you don’t make me feel, pet.” He wanted to declare his love for her then, wanted to let her know that all of this was far deeper than the physical, but he knew it was too early for that. So he vowed to show her instead. “Wanna be inside you.”

She awarded his asking permission – she knew he was asking permission – with a sweet peck on his lips. “You can.”

He immediately shifted, his hand disappearing between them to place his head at her opening, his hips, his whole body, shaking with anticipation. He bit his lip and looked at the metal posts that were her head board as he concentrated on feeling for her entrance.

Buffy mirrored his distraction, felt he deserved better somehow, but she couldn’t place why. There was something inside her that said this man had been waiting for this moment a long, long time, even if she wasn’t. It seemed cruel not to address it, even if she didn’t know what “it” was.

“Spike.”

She got his attention back, and he wore that blank expression that revealed he hadn’t a clue what she could be thinking.

It was why she wanted him to know. “I want you to. I want to do this with you.”

For a demon, his smile was pure innocence and glee as he kissed her, swallowing the woman’s gasp and holding back his own as he pushed deep inside her. She was tight, not virgin tight, but more snug than he expected. She clamped her muscles around him as he thrust in and pressed her heels into his ass.

Her panting caught an even rhythm and she found herself fixated on his Adam’s apple as he moved over her. Every long drag ended with an extra push against her pelvic bone, and she didn’t even realize that she was holding him tighter with each thrust until he had stopped thrusting completely, caught in her strong legs.

“And I thought I was nervous,” he laughed.

“Are you?” she wondered.

“Terrified,” he admitted, letting them both down onto the bed to rest. “If I have old tricks, I don’t quite remember them.”

She cocked her head, daring him. “None at all?”

He ran a hand through his hair as he considered the question, then through her long locks when he realized he could. She watched his eyebrows rise as he seemed to look back into his brain, then lower with a wash of determination as he returned his focus to her.

“Well,” he began, supporting her back as he rolled them over. He did a surprisingly smooth sit up as he supported her weight, pushing them both up into a sitting position, pulling her legs forward so she was on her knees. He pulled her arms around him, encouraging her to explore him as he explored her nipples with his hands, the inside of her mouth with his own. If they were going to play the first-time game, he vowed to himself he would get points for taking his deliciously sweet time.

Buffy was taken off guard when he grabbed her ass with both hands and gently slid her up and down his shaft. She could tell from his pained groan that he was setting a torturously slow pace for himself, but he hummed a little when he broke off their waist-up make-out session.

“Gonna make you take the reins for a bit,” he told her as he removed his hands.

She nodded and continued to thrust, a little jealous when he folded his arms behind his back, watching her with a smirk. Her long tresses moved back and forth as she moved, revealing glimpses of her bouncing breasts. And the short girl definitely looked taller from his angle. He could have laid there for hours watching that sight, although the shocks tingling through his system told him he wouldn’t last that long and Buffy certainly shouldn’t have to.

“So was the trick getting me to do all the work?” she panted, discontent showing beneath a thin veil of a forced smile.

He laughed, resetting his brain from record to work mode. “Sorry, just distracted by your beauty.”

She stopped thrusting. “Oh, come on.”

“It’s true!” he insisted, his hands finding her ass once again. “And don’t stop.”

She was still impressed by how easily he could move her from his more prone position, and she filed his strength into the pluses of superhero sex.

“The real point,” he said as she resumed her slow pace, “is I can’t rightly pleasure you if I can’t use my hands.”

He roughly squeezed both her breasts and she yelped.

“That’s it, be loud,” he instructed, pinching a nipple.

“Spike!” Her ascension turned into a delicious squirm, walls tightening around him.

“That feel as good for you, love?”

She gasped.

“Make it feel even better.” His left thumb and index finger found her clit and squeezed, and he had to clamp his right hand over her thigh to keep her from jumping off him.

Buffy felt like she was falling, but she had nowhere to go but down onto his cock. Her world was all heat and wetness as she slid over him. Her balance faltered as she pressed her palms onto his abs. His thumb was firmly stroking her clit with each thrust. And while he was still talking, the words simply didn’t make sense anymore. They were just a low rumble as the heat grew, spreading up to her shoulders and down past her knees. She ground into his thumb and against his hips as the heat reached her throat and elicited an ironically quenched yell.

Then she fell forward, limp, but not nearly as far as she had intended to. Spike’s fingers were firmly clenched over her shoulders, holding her up.

“You come?”

She blinked, her vision clearing to reveal a cocked brown eyebrow and smarmy grin on the bleach-blond vampire. She wanted to give him a sarcastic can’t you tell, but she was suddenly too drained to muster the wit. “Yeah. I finished,” she lulled.

He licked his lip. “Oh, I think you have one more go in you.”

He propped himself up against the metal frame of the headboard and brought her hands to rest against his shoulders, pushing her back up.

When his hands cupped and lifted her ass, the first thrust brought on nothing less than a spasm. He gave her no time to rest, and her sensitive flesh was all the more so after her first orgasm. If a Taser had a gentle setting, she imagined this would be it, with every little motion sending her cunt twitching.

“Spike…” It was almost painful as her body reacted, abs clamping, nails digging into his sides.

He hissed. “There’s my girl.”

“I can’t…”

The frame was squeaking loudly, picking up speed. He loosened his grip on her hips.

“Just a little longer, love,” he forced through gritted teeth. His eyes were thin slits, sharp lines creasing his brow. Keeping himself from coming had now become painstaking work, she realized.

He barely laid a finger on her clit when her lids snapped shut and her eyes rolled back. The dim red of daylight through her eyelids seemed to wrap around her as she shuddered despite herself.

Before her toes could uncurl, she was on her back with a sharp strain from the mattress. She panted lazily and opened her eyes to see her knees on Spike’s shoulders, her feet suspended behind him. She could see every muscle in his neck he was so tense.

“Sorry, love,” he pleaded more than apologized, and rammed into her now relaxed pussy.

It was violent, fast, but she was too slick for it to hurt and too pleased to second-guess his greed. And he was loud, panting so hard you’d think he breathed all the time. She smiled lazily and wondered if this creature-of-the-night knew how many times he’d muttered “God.”

He had barely hammered into her all of sixty seconds when he stopped, and she felt like she was impaled on a marble statue as his muscles locked into place. He twitched and pulsed inside her until, with his own lackadaisical sigh, he lowered himself over her.

They exchanged drunken smiles from across her folded body, her knees still between them.

“Can I have my legs back?”

They parted in cozy silence, his cum trailing after him as he moved the pillows to the foot of the bed. She eagerly accepted one, mustering just enough strength to lift her head onto it. He placed his pillow directly at her eye line, and they studied each other through one eye each as their faces sank into the polyester filling. He curled an arm around her, stroked his thumb over her back. Their knees touched, legs tangled. A broad smile lingered across his sunken cheeks. Her desperate red blush melted into a pink heady glow. And minutes of exhausted panting took the place of pillow talk.

Then the smooth surface of her face jilted with a look of confusion and his micro-massage stopped with momentary fear.

“No, it’s okay,” she breathed. “I just…” She traced the slight depression below his eye with gentle touch. “You’re sort of red right here.”

“Hm?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“You’re kidding.” He leaned forward with a small groan and kissed her bare shoulder. “I’m perfect.”

Her voice traded in its pleased hum for concern. “No, I mean… I guess I’m wondering if you feel kinda sick?”

As soon as she asked, he went right back to feeling like shit. The hunger simmered in his guts, quelled only by how tired he was after their romp and the warmth of her body. “I’m just flushed,” he lied. “You are, too.”

“Do vampires flush?” she wondered.

“Well, I apparently do.”

He may as well have asked her the capital of Zimbabwe, her brow knitted so. She was onto him, he was sure, and his full stomach was about to turn an empty growl. He tried to pour his hunger into a kiss, deep and passionate, but it fizzled to soft and lingering in the delivery. She giggled into it, apparently taking it as some sort of thank you for her concern. But the distraction worked, and Buffy was stoked as he pulled away.

She purred, “You thinking of giving it another go?”

His slightly puffy eyes widened. His mind reeled. Bloody hell! Hadn’t meant to do that. He had only a split second to react and one hell of an act to keep up, so he forced a smile, crawled over top her, and pressed into another kiss.

Only he couldn’t match Buffy’s pace when she eagerly speared her tongue into his mouth. Then Buffy noticed he was barely holding himself up, letting too much of his weight rest on her. It was more awkward than uncomfortable. She brushed her hand against his flaccid member and he broke off the kiss to offer a pathetically weak laugh.

“Sorry, I just need a minute… or three…” His breathing abruptly stopped as his head fell into the pillow face-first.

There was no denying, Spike was exhausted.

Buffy forced his shoulder down onto her, letting his weight sink into her and the bed. She rubbed her hand over his blond curls and cooed, “It’s all right, Spike. Just rest. It’s okay.”

He was far too tired to argue, despite the damage to his pride.

And Buffy was terrified as she waited for him to fall asleep laying on her. Spike was sick, he had to be, and the only cause she could think of was hunger. He was a starving vampire whose mouth was not even inches from her neck. And she had just slept with him! That has to be inviting trouble…

She nearly jumped when he roused with a strained moan. Without a word, he rolled onto his side, angled the pillow so he could comfortably rest his head above hers, and pushed her onto her side as well. Spooning her close, he rested his chin against the back of the crown of her head. He squeezed her gently.

“Buffy.” It was a slip of a breath.

“Yeah?” she choked on her quickening pulse.

“I’d never hurt you, love.”

And as his body relaxed and his breath settled into nothingness, she found her fingers locking around his. She knew it was foolish, but she couldn’t help the warmth in her chest telling her to believe him.





This chapter was hell to write. And it’s late. I probably used three times as many pages as the other chapters to advance the plot a third of what I had planned. (Seriously, this chapter was supposed to have bowling.) I’m not even sure what I was striving for, so I can’t tell if I achieved it. Comments, good or bad, are my silver. Seriously, pay the bard.

Shell Presto can be reached at mangetsuDELETEME@email.com
www.insomn.com