One and only


A/N: Yeah, so I was procrastinating again and this was the result (maybe because there's been a lack of Spuffy action in my WIPs at the moment). Enjoy.

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She was sore and exhausted. They had been jumped by a couple of Turok Han on patrol and her shoulder was still aching from the encounter. It didn’t seem to be dislocated but it sent jolts of pain through her upper body every time she moved it. With the growing numbers of Turok Han, this was not a good situation. She needed to be on top form, with ever increasing numbers of Potentials to supervise. A shower might have helped but sharing a house with teenage girls meant shower-time was rare.

So, late that night, she descended into the basement, after peeking to see if Spike was around, and stood before the punchbag. Maybe if she used it, she could work through the ache in her shoulder. It was worth a shot anyway. Painfully, she got a few blows out and then paused, breathing heavily. Either she was making things worse or she just had to get past a certain point before the healing would begin. She started again, pulling her punches now, her right arm definitely lacking in power as she attacked the punchbag.

“You’re hurt.”

She jumped at the sound of Spike’s voice and turned round to face him as he descended the stairs, silhouetted in the light from the basement.

“It’s nothing,” she lied.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

He reached the bottom of the stairs and slid out of his jacket, laying it gently over the banister. She frowned, arms cradled awkwardly against her.

“Turok Han,” she explained, “Got a few hits in before I could kill them.”

“Is it bad?”

He was wavering now, seemingly unsure whether to move towards her or away, towards the cot.

“Erm, it’s fine… I mean, Slayer healing and all so it’ll probably be okay by morning.”

“You want me to take a look?”



He seemed as surprised by his question as she did but then the old Spike returned in a flash and he swaggered over to the cot, dropping to it smoothly. She had forgotten how quickly he could change like this now: one minute, she would be dealing with the quiet, troubled vampire but the next, the old Spike would be back, all bravado and fangs and swagger. And now she was wavering, part of her wanting to acquiesce but part of her holding back, still wary to cross the line they seemed to have imposed on themselves.

Finally though, sense – and pain – won out and she hesitantly made her way over to the bed. He shifted as she reached him, sitting back against the wall, giving her what would have been a shy look on anyone else. She forced a smile and lowered herself to the bed, unable to restrain a gasp as she put weight on her right arm. She settled and felt him shift slightly, hovering just behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up in warning, a natural Slayer reaction to having a vampire at her back. But this vampire she had begun to trust long ago now.

Finally, he reached out and his hand landed uncertainly on her back. She couldn’t stop the hiss of pain and his hand retracted for a moment before resting softly on her shoulder.

“Slayer,” he growled.

“Okay, so I may have lied a bit about it being fine.”

He let out a low growl but then his hand was moving ever so gently, fingers tracing over the outline of her shoulder. She tried to hold in the whimper as he pressed down right under her neck but it was hopeless.

“Sorry, love,” he whispered, his breath against her neck.

She shook her head, not sure she could form words right now. It was then that she realised he had called her ‘love’, and she couldn’t remember the last time he had done so. It made her smile slightly – until his hand landed on an especially sore spot and she hissed in pain.



“Might have to… take your jacket off, love,” he murmured, sounding more hesitant than ever.

She nodded and shifted, trying to move her arms through the material. Finally, seeing she wasn’t doing so well, he came to her aid, guiding the jacket from her and laying it down on the bed. She could almost feel his eyes darken at the sight of the skin exposed now she sat in her vest-top and it sent an involuntary shiver through her. Then his hand was back though, alighting softly on her wounded shoulder. She hissed at the cool feel of his hand and he pulled back.

“Buffy?”

“It’s okay,” she reassured, “Your hand’s just cold.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s kinda nice,” she replied with a smile and she could have sworn she heard him laugh under his breath as his hand returned to her skin. And then calloused fingers were kneading her skin, drawing low moans from her – sometimes in pain, sometimes pleasure. He worked his way across her shoulder to her neck and then back again, not missing a spot with those talented fingers.

And damn, she really shouldn’t be thinking about Spike’s talented fingers because that way was the way of bad. She let out another moan, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers moved over the sore muscles of her neck.

“Not hurting you?” he asked quietly and she was sure she could hear a smile in his voice.

“No,” she whispered, leaning into his touch.

The pain was starting to fade ever so slightly now and she sighed, leaning into his touch.



Soon, it became clear that the end of this massage – if it was to stay platonic – was drawing close but she really didn’t want him to stop touching her, now they had bounded past that line. Seeming, as usual, to read her, his hands shifted to her other shoulder, the uninjured one. He paused for a moment, hands poised, until she gave a nod and then he went to work on her skin again, kneading it gently between his hands.

She let out a low moan – this time definitely in pleasure – and let her neck loll backwards, her eyes fluttering shut. One cool hand came up to her hair then, pulling the hairband out and releasing her hair to fall over her shoulders. His hand slid up her neck, sliding into her hair and stroking over her scalp. A sigh left her parted lips and she shifted uncomfortably, enjoying this simple touch more than she wanted to let on. Then his hands were moving again, shifting back to her uninjured shoulder, hesitant fingers moving the strap of her vest aside.

She found herself idly musing that they had passed platonic about five stops back but couldn’t bring herself to stop him. Because she didn’t want to stop him. It had been so long since she had felt his soft, cool touch – and never like this before. She would never have allowed him to touch her like this before.



He paused then, hands moving away from her and she muffled a whimper of loss.

“Spike?” she whispered.

“I should-“

“You should definitely keep going,” she interrupted, leaning backwards, towards him.

She felt him hesitate a moment longer but then his cool hands came to rest on her again, one on each shoulder.

“Buffy,” he murmured, his breath stirring her hair.

She leant into him then, feeling his hands tracing down her arms, fingers ghosting over her skin and setting her on fire. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t just expect him to do this for her, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was aching for his touch. He had shifted now and her head came to rest against his shoulder as she leant back, hands hesitantly reaching out and resting on each of his legs.

He continued his maddening touch over her arms and she closed her eyes, feeling his cool breath against her temple, his lips occasionally grazing her skin. One hand moved then, sliding up her arm, over her shoulder and coming to rest just under her throat. She could almost feel him fighting with himself but when she squeezed his legs gently, it seemed to spur him into motion and she sighed as his nose nuzzled against her hair, his lips brushing over her ear. His fingers traced over her collarbone and she leant into him, eyes fluttering helplessly as his lips brushed her temple.

“Stop me,” he whispered, his voice raw with need.

“I can’t.”

She heard him give a low groan but then his lips were brushing over that spot right under her ear that always turned her to jelly and she let out a light moan, her grip tightening unconsciously on his legs. He had one hand wrapped around her arm, as if holding her up, but his other hand was busy driving her crazy, every pass of those cool fingers sensitizing her skin. But it wasn’t where she needed, craved his touch.



When he made no further advance, she realised then that she would have to show him that it was okay, that it was what she wanted. She could feel him waiting for a sign, hand making the same tantalising patterns over her collarbone, lips grazing the skin of her neck. On the next pass, she reached up and caught his hand and she felt him tense, no doubt waiting for her to push him away. She flattened his hand against her skin though and slowly guided it downwards, bringing it to rest over her breast.

She felt his sharp intake of breath against her neck but then her Spike was there, teeth nipping gently at her skin as his hand cradled her breast.

“Buffy,” he murmured against her neck and she knew this was her last chance to stop him.

She released his hand and moved her own back to his leg, arching into him and letting out a low mewl of pleasure as she finally took in the feel of his hand cupping her. It had been too long, far too long. She wriggled helplessly to try and dispel some of the heat building between her legs but as soon as his hand moved, she knew it was helpless.

He struck simultaneously, hand slipping under her top at the same moment as his mouth sucked at the junction between neck and shoulder. She let out a helpless moan, arching into his hand as teasing fingers stroked over the lace of her bra, refusing to concentrate on the place that most needed his touch.

His ministrations had shifted her vest and she tugged it down now, leaving it around her waist, her skin bare to him. And he made instant use of the opportunity, the hand that had been gripping her arm now moving to her stomach, his fingers tracing over her skin. It was a sensual overload and all she wanted was more. She needed more. Her skin felt like it was on fire wherever he touched her and no movement of hers could assuage the ache between her legs.



“Spike,” she breathed and he sucked harder on the skin at her neck, drawing a moan from her.

She was plastered against him now, back moulded to his strong chest, hands gripping his legs in a tight grip. Seemingly impatient, he tugged her bra down and she let out a gasp as his cool hands came to rest over her bare skin. He just held her like that for what seemed an eternity, cool hands cupping her breasts as she arched against him helplessly, breathing harsh and heavy.

“Please,” she gasped, pressing herself into his hands.

When he shifted his hands and his thumbs simultaneously brushed over her nipples, a flood of raw desire swept through her, cranking her arousal up by another notch. His mouth, meanwhile, was passing over neck, tongue and teeth taking it in turns to caress her skin until she thought she might burst.

“Please,” she whispered again helplessly.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper as he continued his maddening ministrations.

“Touch me,” she gasped out as another pass of his thumbs started another flood of heat between her legs, “Touch me, please.”

One hand moved then and caught her by the neck, almost rough as he turned her head, forcing her heavy-lidded gaze to his. She was taken aback by the passion etched into every line of his face, evident in his eyes, grown dark with desire. He looked at her for a long moment and the intensity of his gaze combined with the sweep of his other hand over her breast almost had her crying out.



She leant into him helplessly and then his mouth was on hers in a hungry kiss that had every nerve ending singing. His hand was still at the back of her neck, holding her close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers and drawing a guttural moan from her. Her body was almost painfully aroused now and she wriggled helplessly, unable to help it. It barely registered when the hand at her breast moved to her lap, tugging impatiently on her skirt, drawing it up past her knees and shoving it aside.

But her body almost exploded when, at the next sweep of his tongue, his hand reached down and cupped her. She let out a hoarse cry against his mouth, pushing herself against his hand now, silently begging for more. She kissed him back hungrily, hoping to spur him on, and just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, his hand slipped into her underwear, his fingers running over and making her whole body twitch. He dragged his mouth away from hers, leaving her panting for breath as his mouth moved to her neck.

He found that spot between shoulder and neck once more and just as he sucked on it, he plunged a finger inside her, causing her to cry out hoarsely, a hand flying to her mouth to try to muffle the sound. The hand that had been at her neck moved now, guiding her hand from her mouth and replacing it with his own. She couldn’t help herself from pressing kisses to his palm and taking his fingers into her mouth. He returned her torture with his own though, his finger sliding out of her and starting a slow, teasing circle over her clit.



“Always dream about this cunt,” he murmured in her ear, his coarse words sending another jolt of arousal through her. She was breathing heavily now, unable to do anything but be swept along on the building wave of arousal.
His free hand lowered to her breast, one finger teasingly circling her nipple and sending a jolt right to her sensitized clit.

“Dream about my mouth down there, licking you out until you scream my name.”

The erotic image had her panting, body writhing helplessly and she strove to create the friction she so badly needed.

“Dream of burying my cock inside you,” he whispered hoarsely, two fingers plunging inside her as he spoke and making her cry out.

Suddenly he shifted her so she was half-lying across his legs and it soon became clear why when his mouth lowered to her breast, taking her nipple in between his lips and sucking on it. She rocked against his hand now, desperate for more and when his thumb found her clit, she cried out with the exquisite pleasure. She knew she wasn’t going to last much longer, the combination of his fingers buried deep inside her, his thumb pressing down on her clit and his cool mouth on her nipple quickly driving her towards the edge. When he curled his fingers and sped up the motions of his thumb, she knew she was going to lose it.

“Spike,” she gasped, over and over, “Spike… God… Spike.”

Her hands were twisted in his hair, holding his mouth against her as she closed her eyes, body straining for release.

“Please… oh God… Spike, please.”

He sucked on her harder then, almost painfully, and twisted his fingers and with a hoarse cry, she tumbled over the edge, pleasure ripping through her body.



They were silent for a long few minutes, his head resting against her chest, her grip in his hair turning into a light caress. She let out a long shaky breath and then couldn’t help but giggle.

“I think I really needed that,” she whispered and Spike’s head rose, one eyebrow rising even as he smirked.

“Wound up so tight, Slayer.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Guess not.”

They fell silent and she studied his face, which had the unusual effect of him turning his face aside. She had seen it before – not before the soul – but it had become a habit of his now, turning his face aside to hide the emotions he couldn’t control. She ran her hand down to his cheek, gently guiding his face towards her. Not knowing what to say though, she smiled and leant forward to kiss him, a grazing, tender caress. Despite the fact that she knew he must be straining in his jeans, he seemed to content to enjoy the few kisses and caresses she bestowed upon him.

“So, same time next week?” she joked and felt him chuckle against her as he caught her mouth in a hungry kiss.


THE END