Sparring Practice

A/N: This takes place during season six, somewhere between “Smashed” and “Older and Far Away”. One of the many interactions that Buffy and Spike had that we didn’t get to see on the show.

Disclaimer: The characters never did belong to me—I lied—they really belong to Joss Whedon, who lets me play with his dolls sometimes—if I’m really, really good, and eat all my vegetables….


“Sparring practice? Sure, I’ll spar with you.” Spike shrugged his outer shirt off, then said, “What’s the matter, luv? Feeling a bit restless?”

He watched her as she bounced around on her toes, shadowboxing the air. She whirled, leaped, kicked, slashed in a violent ballet, beautiful and graceful in its own right. He stepped in front of her, hands raised and loosely fisted. Rolling his head around on his shoulders, feeling the muscles loosen and his neck pop, he said, “Three falls?”

He heard her humorless laugh. “How about bloody pulp? Is that good enough?”

“Your call, luv. Just remember, you asked for it—” He was cut off by her fist smashing into his nose. Growling, he launched himself at her, blood lust in his eyes. His hands chopped her shoulders, driving her to her knees, but then she swept his legs from beneath him. He crashed to his back, and even as he sprung to his feet, her fist was already there to connect. The blow landed solid on his chin, snapping his head backward, even as he danced out of her reach to lean his back against the wall.

Blood streamed from his lip, and he licked it, tasting himself. He chuckled as he watched Buffy’s involuntary shudder, then backhanded her into the comfortable chair in front of the telly. He rushed her, and she brought her boot up and into his solar plexus, doubling him over, then landed a kick beneath his chin.

She was standing, and pummeling with backhanded blows. Her skin glowed with sweat, her jaw set in determination. He saw a spark, a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before their fight.
She came at him, her arms and legs a blur of kicks and punches. He blocked them easily, dodged them effortlessly, as he watched the Slayer in all her power and glory. He realized that the truth of her power lay in her enemy. It wasn’t him, or vampires in general, or any other demon. Her greatest enemy was herself.

He grabbed her wrists and twisted, and she was imprisoned in his arms with her back to him. She tensed, fighting the hold, and he whispered along the side of her neck, “Relax, Slayer.” He brushed her skin with the words even as he caressed her pulse with his lips.

She relaxed against him, and memory flashed to the Buffybot for an instant. How could he have believed that metal and plastic could feel this good, this warm? He spun her around to face him, and she kissed him violently, all tongue and teeth. Then she was dancing away from him again, just out of reach.

“Would that be considered the first fall, Spike?” she taunted. He lunged at her, full out, and she rolled onto her back gracefully, throwing him into the wall. He bounced to his feet, charging again, and she threw him again. Stunned, he lay in a pile of rubble and dust, his head spinning.

Then she was there, on top of him, her legs outside his, straddling him. She kissed him again, rougher, deeper. “Second fall, Spike. You’re about to lose. Badly”

He shoved her, and she slid across the floor, away from him. “About to? I’ve already lost everything, Slayer. Everything.”

He jumped, and landed on top of her. She kicked, and missed, when he leapt away again. “What have I got left to lose, Buffy?”

She grunted, and jumped to her feet. “I don’t know, Spike. What have you got left?”

She batted at him, playing cat and mouse as she spoke. “Got no soul. Got no life. Can’t hunt. Can’t kill.” She had him backed into a corner, slapping at him with her fists. “The only thing you have left is control, Spike. Control and your heart. Maybe that’s what you need to lose.”

“Already lost my heart, pet. You want me to lose control with you, Buffy? Vamp out? Why, so you can stake me?”

“I’ve seen you vamped out before, pet, and I haven’t staked you yet. What ever happened to William the Bloody? Run dry?”

“You bitch, I’ll show you dry.” He charged her, and she sidestepped him easily. He stumbled past her, then hit the ground with the help of her hand between his shoulders.

She leaped, and landed on top of him again. Blood flowed from his split lip, a cut over his eye. She wiped his mouth with the palm of her hand, and whispered, “Third fall, “ before her mouth crashed against his.

He realized how tightly wound he was, and his tenuous hold on his self-control snapped. His hands were claws on her upper arms, holding her close to him as he flipped them over to put himself on top. He was being rough, he knew—nearly violent—then her heard her moan, felt her arms around his neck, her hand at the back of his head, pressing him even closer. She grabbed his hair, yanked on it, and he bit down onto the tender skin of her bottom lip

She felt him pressing against her, hard and heavy, and found that she wanted this. She reached between them and found his zipper, and then was holding him lightly in her hand, his cool flesh warming to her touch. She stroked him slowly, firmly, felt him hard and ready, realized that she was ready too.

She watched his eyes, waiting for him to change.
It was only the force of his will that kept him from changing. He knew what she was trying to do. He let go of her, and started to move away, and she wouldn’t let him go. “Is this what you were talking about before, Spike? This…feeling? That I need to be fighting you…or fucking you?”

“Well, yes…I hoped it would be me. You were always opposed to it, pet. Even after….”

Her mind brought a memory unbidden of their first violent coupling in a house that fell to the ground. “Maybe I just fight it when I’m thinking clearly.”

“Would that mean that you aren’t thinking clearly right now, pet?”

“Oh, but I am, sweet William.” She arched against him, imprisoning her hand and his flesh between them. “Right now, I am thinking very clearly, and I know exactly what I want.”

She flipped him over, and was on top of him before he could move away. Kicking her pants to one side, she impaled herself on him, and he drew a sharp breath. She ground her body against him, and he watched in amazement as she pulled her shirt over her head, laying herself bare before him. “I want you, William. William the Bloody. Spike. I want you.”

She began to move, and the world went away. He waited, watched her lose all semblance of control as she let her body’s needs take over. She slammed against him, pounded him, until her thought both of their pelvises would break from the force. She stroked his chest, his face, whispering to him in the growing darkness of the crypt.

They rolled again, and he had the advantage. Her eyes were huge in the dim light. He saw her uncertainty, her fear. “Don’t start thinking now, luv.”

“Oh, I’m not.” She closed her eyes and shut him out, turned her head away. He gripped her chin, and forced her head back to look at him.

“Oh, no, Buffy. You don’t get off that easy. You wanted the Big Bad. Now look at it. Look at me.”

She curled her fingers into the hair at the back of his head. “You’re right, Spike. I wanted this.”

She pulled his face close, rested his forehead on hers, and watched. Watched his body moving. Watched his eyes. There was something there, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She turned her thoughts inward, to her body, her thoughts, her feelings. Feelings. They were indescribable. There was pleasure, yes. There was pain in the pleasure. She didn’t deserve to feel this good. Her feeling for Spike confused her. Not what he was doing to her—but the feelings she held deep within her. Her feelings of always being alone. She didn’t feel alone when he was near, and that scared her. Spike, of all people, or things, should never make her feel like this.

She couldn’t let it go. It was the only time she didn’t feel completely numb. Numb throughout. He sparked something within her. And it wasn’t just sex. It was more. But what, she refused to think about.

They watched each other for some time, their bodies moving in slow motion, their movements careful and controlled. Spike cradled her against him, gingerly touching her with every inch of his skin. Her scent filled his nostrils; he could feel her heart as it pounded through his body and echoed in his ears. Her breath rasped in his ear as he buried his face in her shoulder, gasping as she drew closer and closer to her peak.

He touched her face with his fingertips, and she licked one, drew it into her mouth, nibbling on its length. He felt her control slip, then shatter, and her whole body convulsed and arched against him. She called his name then—not Spike, William—and he let himself go, and surrendered to the driving passion they both needed.

His mouth found her pulse, the racing beat of her heart below the surface of her skin. A thrill rippled through them both when he nibbled gently, then harder with his blunt teeth, then as her inner walls contracted around him like a fist, he slipped his fangs into her neck, savoring the copper tang that rushed his tastebuds and sent his mind spinning as his orgasm was thrust upon him, catching him by surprise.

Buffy held him there by the back of his head, urging him to drink. Each time his mouth suckled on her flesh, her pussy exploded in a rush of exquisitely painful pleasure. She wanted to ride these peaks as long as they lasted, and tried to spur him on when she started coming again from the sensations of his mouth on her, her blood in his throat, his cock deep inside her, pulsating with borrowed warmth.

Impulsively, she raised her head and kissed his throat, then gripped his cool flesh between her teeth. Another spasm wracked her, and she inadvertently gritted her teeth, forgetting for the moment that his shoulder was between them. Incisors sliced raggedly through his skin, and the piquant fluid burst onto her tongue and flowed slowly across her tastebuds. It was completion in itself, the closing of a circle, drawing and tightening between the two of them, and they were coming together, faces in a grimace of mirrored pleasure, bodies straining for more, deeper contact. Neither voiced the words, but they were in their minds and hearts--*my vampire* *my Slayer* They pulled back from one another, viewing mirror images of blood stained mouths and eyes surprised by their actions.

Their movements slowed, and he rested, still above her, their bodies still joined, holding himself up on his elbows. Words of love came into his mind, and he bit them back, afraid of wigging her out and making her run.

“Well—was f--…sleeping with a Slayer better than killing one?” Inside she cringed. Why, oh why did she have to be bitchy Buffy, after he made her feel so gloriously alive, so wonderful, so loved? She regretted it the minute the words left her mouth, and she wished she could disappear or go blind, so she didn’t have to see the pain that immediately flooded his eyes.

Her question shocked him, and he fell off of her, literally. “Buffy….” He started, and she interrupted him.

“I’m sorry, Spike. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He sat up, faced away from her, shoulders hunched, his hands dangling between his knees. “No, fair question. It would have never come to mind if I hadn’t said it before.”

She kneeled behind him on the floor, put her arms around him, and rested her head on his shoulder, pressing her cheek to his. He closed his eyes, and said softly, “Infinitely better. Better than anything or anyone else. I could do it all night.”

“Don’t write checks that your body can’t cash, Spike,” she whispered into his ear. Nipping the lobe between her teeth, she growled, “That’s a check I could definitely cash right now.”

He turned his head, and saw the mischief dancing in her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to come to your senses about now?”

“What?”

“Oh, you know—Spike, you villain, you fiend, you ravished me,” he said in a monotone.

She maneuvered around him, and sat in his lap. “I think I was the one ravishing here, buddy. So, that means you’re going to holler about your virginity now?” She nuzzled his neck, mouthing where she had bit him. His arms encircled her, and she snuggled closer to him. “So, does that mean…what, Spike?” She leaned into him, her mouth against his ear. “Do you want me to leave now?”

“God, never.” He shuddered, and his arms tightened. She heard his voice crack, and felt him trembling.

“You know, Spike, times like this, I almost think that you mean it.”

“What?! That I love you? I want you to be with me? I do mean it, Buffy. I mean it with all that I am.”

Her eyes grew serious. “Spike, don’t. Don’t make me think seriously right now. Please. Just—just love me. Make me feel. Make me feel you.”

“I—Buffy, do you know what you’re asking me? Do you know what you’re offering me?” He cupped her ass in his hands, and pulled her tight against him. “You’re asking for a part of me, pet. Something you didn’t want to see before.”

“I know, Spike. Maybe it’s something I need to see. For it to be real. For me to believe it’s real.”

“It’s real, pet. I promise you, it’s real.” He moved, and she was on her back, his eyes burning with love and tenderness as he gazed down at her. With his look, he handed her his heart. The magickal gift thrummed inside her, reverberating through her nervous system and settling in her groin.

She moaned when he kissed her, and kept moaning for a long, long time. She could feel him hardening against her leg, and she shifted her hips to press him against the soft curls between. He grabbed her hands in his, and held them next to her head as he kissed her, teasing her mouth with his tongue, licking her neck, nibbling at the soft flesh behind her ear. She turned her head and he nuzzled her with his nose, her scent rushing straight to his cock. He was an iron rod against her clit, hard and cool against heated softness, and she groaned and arched her hips against him, her body reaching for him.
He moved away from her, and released her hand to shake his finger at her slowly. “No, no, pet. This is my turn—you said. Now, just relax, and let me love you.” He lowered his head, and all thought flew from her mind as he surrounded her nipple with his lips. She arched her back, and he captured the other in his palm, a perfect fit, the nipple hardening with contact with his skin.

She tried to be good and lay still, but her arms wound around his head of their own accord. She languidly stroked his head, letting control slip as he teased her nipples to diamond-hard peaks, plucking at the nipples with thumb and forefingers until they were so sensitive his breath sent shivers down her spine. She toyed with his hair as he laved her skin, trailing his mouth down to her navel, and slipping into her shallow depression. She throbbed, pulsating deep inside, and rocked him downward with her hips, thrusting them against his chest.
Just touch me. Just touch me with your mouth, and I’ll explode. Just touch me, she thought.

He hovered there, struck by the delicacy of her flesh. Her musk, the essence of her arousal, drifted into his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, drawn to her. She arched her hips, closing the distance between her pussy and his mouth, and still he didn’t touch, only looked, only smelled. She put her hands flat on the floor at her sides, trying to adhere to his conditions, barely succeeding.

She closed her eyes in frustration, and he chanced to touch her lightly, reverently with his finger, barely brushing the outer lips. She gasped, and looked down, and he quirked his scarred brow. She threw her head back and closed her eyes again, and willed herself to just feel.

He lowered his head to her inner thigh, raking his tongue across the juices that had dribbled there. Cor, she was a juicy one. He lapped at the ambrosia with delighted abandon. She groaned above him, wanting more, but he only cleaned her thighs thoroughly with his mouth, wanting every drop of her inside him. He nuzzled the soft golden curls, then dipped his tongue into the cleft between, seeking the pearl within.

Buffy nearly screamed, then bit her lip until it split with the pressure. His tongue slipped inside her, drawing her juices into his mouth, then ran up the entire length of her to tease the tip of her clit. He kissed her center single-mindedly, wanting to touch all of her, taste all of her. Limbs lax and loose, she surrendered to his ministrations, his mouth plundering her, his tongue and teeth and lips seeking her secrets, her sweet spots, and she wanted him to find them.
Find them he did. He swept his tongue deep inside her, drowning in the flavor of her. He made love to her with his mouth, his heart in his every caress, every touch. She bloomed with the attention, her pussy opening beneath his mouth, welcoming him, and he placed his finger at her opening, moving up to lick the bud flushed angry red. He could feel her pulse surrounding him, pounding in his ears and under his tongue, and he pulsated with her, cock throbbing in time with her heart. He slipped a cool digit inside her, and then he felt her counter pulse as her muscled slippery gripped his finger, drawing it deep.

He crooked his finger and found a bundle of nerves waiting patiently for his touch. She gasped, then ground herself against his mouth, her hands gripping the back of his head to keep it in place. Her pussy clamped around his finger moments before her orgasm burst ripely under his tongue, and he slipped into game face and nicked her lightly with the tip of his fang. He laved her pussy with the rougher tongue of the vampire in him, her blood mingling deliciously with the taste of the juices flowing copiously from her, and he jerked himself away from her spasms to move up her body and ram his painfully hard cock into her, sheathed to the hilt in her heat.

He shook off his game face, and ran his fingers through the silken strands of her hair. “Buffy, I love you. Love you so much, pet.”

“I know. Oh, God, I can feel it—I know.” Tears welled into her eyes, slipping unheeded out of the corners of her eyes and down her temples, dampening her hair. “I can feel your heart, Spike. I can feel it.” She closed her eyes against him, so he couldn’t see, wouldn’t see the words threatening to trip over her lips. She could not love him. She could give so much, but that was the limit, the breaking point, when she would have to admit to herself that he meant everything to her.

He moved against her slowly, reminding her he was still inside her. Their bodies meshed perfectly, like hand in glove, fitting so completely right together…. He cupped her shoulders, pulling her closer, and using the leverage to drive into her, their bodies crashing as their eyes crashed together. She gasped when she saw tears welling from their depths, spilling unashamedly down his cheeks.

“Love you Buffy. Love only you. Forever, pet—’til I dust. Forever and always. My love. My life. My Slayer. My beloved, beautiful goddess.” His words kept rhythm with his hips, and he buried his head against her chest, listening to her heart racing beneath his ear, rumbling through him. He reached for her mouth, and she met him halfway, the taste of tears, blood, saliva and her juices mingling in their mouths, an erotic potpourri of flavors teasing them.

“Spike—bite me please—it did something to me, before—“

He gave her a fathomless look and bent his head to her neck, his hips still plumbing her depths. Wrapping her legs around him, she locked her heels behind his hips and drove him deeper, until he felt the unyielding end of her vagina nudging the tip of his cock. She moaned and threw her head back, and he sensed her need, pounding against the sensitive flesh with every movement inward. He nipped her neck with his teeth, sensing she was close, then growled into her ear, plunging his fangs into her flesh.

She convulsed against him, her heat searing him with her possession as she held him tightly to her. She mouthed words he longed to hear, and he missed it, his face buried in her neck and sipping her sweet life’s blood as he came inside her, cool jets of semen chilling her, branding her. Omigloriousgodilovehim, she thought, her mouth silently repeating them over and over. I love you I love you I love you don’t ever stop pleasedon’teverletmegoSpikeiloveyoualways.

He raised his head, thinking he heard her voice. “Always,” was all she said. He waited for more, and was disappointed. No other words passed her lips as she silently dressed, then left the crypt without another word.

Spike sat in his chair, unaware of his nakedness, his face in his hands. He showed her his heart, and she left him. Just left him. His dead heart cracked, then shattered as his sobs echoed in the silence of the crypt.