Chapter 17—Circling Skies

Can’t keep my eyes from the circling skies—Pink Floyd, “Learning to Fly”

He kicked open the bedroom door with his boot, and carried her to her girlhood bed. There had been other lovers in her bed, he knew; they were not an issue, not now, not ever again. He would be her last. He knew that too.

Their kisses were heady and passionate, and he was loath to stop, even for a moment. He did, though, and sat her down on the bed long enough to close the door and lock it securely. He stood over her, looking down on her slight form and bent head, amazed by the gift she bestowed on him.

She looked up at him, her insecurities reflected in her eyes. “I know I’m different, Spike, but…do you still love me?”

He fell to his knees in front of her and laid his head in her lap. “I didn’t fall in love with part of you, Buffy. I fell in love with all of you. The best and worst of you. We understand one another. We know what drives the other. You’re a helluva Slayer, and a helluva woman. It takes someone strong and brave and special to fight their way out of heaven.”

Buffy wrapped her fingers around the curls at the base of his neck, her voice soft but unyielding when she spoke. “I know it’s been hard on you and Dawn. You don’t know what to expect from me anymore. Nobody does. That doesn’t mean that I’m not the same inside. I’m just tired of taking the guff I used to over my choices. They belong to me, not to the group, and it’s been so difficult to try and get that through their heads. They don’t have the responsibilities that I do. They didn’t die to save the world. I think that I deserve a reward for something extra like that.”

He looked up at her from her lap. “So I’m your reward?”

She grinned down at him. “Isn’t that nice? I picked it out of the book the Powers had on hand, and it’s perfect for me.”

“Izzat so?” He leaned up to face her, hands flat on either side of her.

“That’s right.” She smoothed her hands up over his chest, pushing his duster off his shoulders when she encountered it impeding her progress. He shrugged it off and draped it over the end of her bed, and she continued to caress him, fascinated by the play of muscle and tendon as he moved under her stroking palms.

She ran her hands over his face, tracing hollowed cheeks and pouting lips with sensitive fingertips, then moving up to brush against a scarred brow. He purred as she touched him, arching his neck to press his face into her hand, and she smiled at the look of sensuous pleasure that softened his features.

“Spike.” He heard his name on her lips, and he opened his eyes. She was glorious in the shimmering of the streetlights sifting through the leaves. Her eyes were shadowed but he knew that she was watching him, and he was unable to tear his attention away from her face.

“Buffy.” It came out husky with need and desire, and he cursed his poncy inner self for revealing the depths of his feelings so soon. She smiled, and the curses changed to blessings as relief washed over him from head to toe. He took her hand, that tiny hand that dealt death and pain to demons and vampires, and pressed it to his chest. “I’ve never regretted being a vampire until this moment, pet. I wish I had a heartbeat so you could tell how much you move me.”

“If you had a heartbeat, Spike, you wouldn’t be here with me now. Things happen for a reason. Balance, like Dawn said. Your dark to my light. And in that light, some darkness, and in the darkness, some light. Yin and yang.” She touched the curls on his forehead, her hand coming down to cradle his cheek. “I need you. Just like you are, and no different. Not human. Just Spike.”

She started unbuttoning her shirt, and said, “Spike, I want you.” Slipped her arms out of the shirt, and tossed it carelessly at the foot of the bed. “What do I have to do to convince you?” she said, as she unclasped her bra, and tossed it aside as well. She toed her shoes off and pushed them under the bed with her heels.

She looked up to see him completely slacked faced. “You don’t seem to hear what I’m saying,” she said, smirking. She unzipped her pants, and hooked her fingers in both pants and panties and raised herself slightly to push them to the floor to join her other clothes. She sat in front of him completely exposed and waited for him to make the next move.

He stared at the vision before him. Her skin was shimmering silk, begging for his touch. He admired the perfection of her; her body was toned and muscled, from her sculpted belly to the curve of her calves, from her perfect, tiny feet to her perfect, full breasts. She was the epitome of the Slayer at her prime: flawless, ethereal, primal. He could smell the heady scent of her arousal; it was like honey coating his tongue. She called to him at gut-level, and he was powerless to resist.

He leaned forward, and traced her jawline with his nose, scenting her like a cat, burying his face in her hair. He rested his forehead against her ear and breathed in her unique scent, filling his senses and his mind with her. Her pulse quickened under the tip of his nose, and he could smell the enticing perfume of blood and desire mingling in her veins.

“Buffy…oh Buffy…I want you so much, love.”

Her arms came around his shoulders, and she pressed her breasts to his chest. Her nails tapped an exquisite rhythm on his spine as she waited for him to get his fill. He inhaled, one last lingering drawing of breath, then pressed his mouth to the tender flesh he’d been nuzzling.

He heard her soft sigh of surrender, and licked a trail with his cool tongue down the side of her throat. Her head lolled lazily on the stem of her neck, and her hair brushed his hands as she threw her head back to bare herself to him.

He brushed his palms over the skin of her shoulders and felt the shivers ripple her gleaming flesh as he moved. He kissed the hollow of her throat, and her purr of delight vibrated against his lips and tickled them.

His fingers touched her reverently, her body his church as he worshipped her, memorizing every curve and nuance of her. He stroked her breasts lightly, her nipples pebbling under his touch, straining for more contact. She arched against him in a vain attempt to deepen the caresses made purposefully light and groaned in dismay when her attempt failed.

He smiled at her as he touched her belly, her skin’s softness belying the strength beneath. Grazed her sides with palm and fingers, then with nails, watching her gasp as he scratched itches she didn’t realize existed.

She reached for him, shredding his clothes with desperate fingers as she scrabbled for skin to skin contact. Clawed hands grabbed for his denuded skin as she pulled him to her, wanting to feel his body completely with her own. Panting and writhing, she shimmied up onto the bed, towing him with her, and deposited them both in the center of the mattress as she dragged his mouth down to hers.

She fisted her hands in his hair, loosening the gel’s hold on the strands, ringlets bursting out all over. Her mouth was a volcano, her tongue homage to Pele as she teased him with licks made of fire and flame that seared him, heart and mind. He felt her mouth curve into a smile as she felt his passion rising to meet her, and finally he threw caution to the wind. If she wanted this wholeheartedly, who was he to stop it?

Desperate kisses changed from desperate to deep, careful to passionate as he delivered her hunger to her tenfold. This was the night he’d dreamed of for so very long, and he gave over to the need burning a hole in his gut. His Buffy, his Slayer was here beneath him, loving him and needing him, and he was electrified by the thought. Static touches sparked as skin raked skin, and he filed every sensation into his memory for later perusal. For this moment, however, there was only here and now and her, filling him with life, and he relished in its multiplicity of flavors.

He tasted her mouth, her skin, her very essence as they melded. He hesitated when he felt a barrier he thought long gone, and paused long enough to raise his head and look into the purity of the flame in her eyes before pushing through, tearing useless membranes that Slayer healing had healed. She bit her lip, and he smelled her blood thick and erotic on the air.

She offered him her mouth, stained and gnawed, but he bowed his head in refutation to her offer, declining gracefully her generous gift. She frowned, but he moved inside her and she lost her train of thought with the sensations of fullness that engulfed her. This dance was ancient and primal, with no direction needed from either one of them as they ploughed through the mundane and into the sublime. This dance was a pavanne of passion, a timeless tango that threw them into the realms of gods and monsters.

He felt her as she ascended to her heights beneath him, her body straining for release as she twisted under him, her throaty moans giving way to gasping pleas for surcease he was more than happy to provide. He changed angles, moved differently, and she sucked in her breath at the new and different sensations he provoked. This was what she had come back for. This feeling of flying and falling and floating on the clouds of love and feelings and light. She closed her eyes as the world spun lazily around them, wondering if anyone else had sensed their rapture.

She didn’t care. She belonged to him and he to her, and they were together, and that was all that mattered to her now.