Chapter 3 – Yours

Spike drew Buffy down onto the bed beside him. Taking in her tense expression, he gave her a crooked half smile, rolled her onto her stomach and resigned himself to moving very slowly. “Let’s get you loosened up some first, shall we?” he said as he began softly stroking her neck and shoulders with his good hand. Gradually he deepened the caresses into massaging.

It felt good, too good. Buffy had never received such a talented massage two handed, let alone one. She was nervous though, guilt wafting faintly through her mind for allowing a vampire to give her even such harmless comfort. When she shifted restlessly and protested, “You’re too weak to be giving me a rubdown, and that isn’t what we’re here for anyway...” he began whispering sweet nothings as he applied himself, seeking out knots of tense muscle and soothing them. “Not to worry, love…I’m fine...It’s O.K...” Almost against her will her neck and shoulders loosened and relaxed.

Silently Spike continued, ‘Oh yeah, sweetling, I’m more than fine...’ Moving to her back and arms, he delighted in her well defined musculature and the silky warm skin covering it. “Everything will be just fine...” he assured her, then finished the conversation in his head. ‘Everything will be glorious, my warrior woman...effulgent.’ The ache of Spike’s injuries faded from his awareness. It felt heavenly to finally be touching Buffy as he’d wanted to for so long. Yearning to use both hands, his bad arm reached out unconsciously and as he put weight on it, a stab of pain shot through him. Pulling back he chanted silently, ‘Soon, soon.’ Soon he’d be able to pull the splint off and care for her properly. He continued down, nudging the skirt out of the way to massage and loosen tenseness from her legs and finally her feet.

As he felt Buffy relaxing, Spike began feathering kisses along the path of his hand, nuzzling delicately around clothing to find succulent bits of flesh. He touched the tip of his tongue to the small of her back, “Tender and fragrant as rose petals...”

She shivered and gasped, shocked by the acute delight. Feeling uncomfortable with her response to his endearments and kisses, imagining her friends’ horror at the pleasure she found in his touch, she tried to resist one last time. “Spike...”

“Yes, baby...” He murmured as he continued gently massaging her muscles, never pausing in his whispering kisses, softly nibbling and licking and stroking as he moved downward.

Buffy gave a trembling sigh, and under the glory of his touch and adoration, forgot her reservations. Peace flowed through her as she succumbed. This was her Spike, her secret Spike, who had loved her so during Willow’s spell. Her Spike that she had dreamed of night after night, only to awaken alone each morning clutching a pillow; mortified at the tears that trailed silently down her cheeks. Unwillingly she had mourned his loss over and over again. Finally, she had him back.

He savored the sweetness behind her knees, and the bounding of the pulses there. Trailing down her chiseled calves, the throb produced by her heartbeat at the top of each foot and the inside of each ankle drew him, and he placed light kisses on each. Repeatedly running his thumb firmly over the arches and then the balls of her feet, he sucked each toe into his mouth.

Feeling loose and languid, Buffy murmured a lazy, “Mmmm,” and Spike turned her onto her back to continue his ministrations. While massaging her scalp and running his fingers through the length of her hair, he inhaled its vanilla scent and murmured, “Luscious little Goldilocks.” He traced across her face with his lips, along her jaw and down her throat, “You’re intoxicating...” Caressing her from shoulders to fingertips, then back up again, he lingered at her wrists, inner elbows, and upper inner arms; leaving a light kiss at each spot, touching his tongue to each pulse point and sucking gently before moving on.

Slowly his cool fingers wandered to her collarbones and upper chest, petting and sculpting as they went. From there his hand roamed down to her stomach, traveling in circles, slowly lifting the lower edge of her blouse. “So very lovely...” One of his legs bent and moved over her, tracing up and down her thigh, whispering, always whispering. “So warm and velvety...”

A warm buzz moved throughout Buffy’s body. She felt a melting sensation start in her loins and travel outward in waves. Her arms came up around his neck as his lips revisited her throat, licking, suckling, familiarizing her with the feel of having him there. The pain of Angel’s bite entered her mind and she stiffened momentarily; but Spike continued as if he hadn’t noticed, his nipping kisses moving down to the hollow below her collar bone without pause, and onto her upper chest. Soon she forgot everything but those glorious, talented lips and hands.

Spike swept her blouse up above her breasts and gazed in delight at her delicate beauty. Amazed again at really being here, he was momentarily overcome by love for her. Then he caught a warm globe in his palm, and gently molded it. Eventually he began lightly twisting and pulling the nipple as his lips covered her other one. “Ahh Slayer, so very beautiful...”

Buffy clasped his head closer as he suckled. She gasped again, arched helplessly. Her head thrown back, eyes closed, she gave herself up to the sensations, let them flood and cascade over her, exhaling sharply as tremors flowed through her.

Spike switched breasts, feasting on the first, cupping the other, marveling at their velvet smoothness tipped by firmly budded nipples. He almost lost sight of the reason he was doing this, immersed in the wonder of making love to Buffy.

The scent of her rising passion enthralled him, and he was on the way down to sample it when she began tossing her head back and forth restlessly. Knowing what she needed, he trailed back up to press his lips to hers for the first time since the witch’s spell. In small nipping kisses, he teased her, each time changing the angle and deepening the pressure. His tongue came out to trace the outline of hers, then dipped in to brush over her teeth. As they obediently parted, it slipped past to sample her essence. He breathed into her mouth, “You’re the finest wine...”

Ardor broke through devotion and their kisses became passionate, lips straining frantically against each other. His tongue rocked into her mouth, mimicking another joining. Hers met his eagerly and as they wrestled, vying for dominance, Spike’s hand wandered below her waist. He fondled her stomach and thighs, testing the flat muscles there, her skirt inching up with each sweep of his hand. Finally he stroked the juncture of her pelvis and hip, palpating the femoral pulse that pounded there, then traced teasingly along the outer edges of her knickers.

When Buffy reared up impatiently, his questing fingers relented and shifted over to sooth her through the silky fabric. Then he slipped one long blunt finger underneath the elastic at her inner leg and stroked her directly. He traced, then blatantly explored the slick, swollen folds, learning her contours, lingering to massage the straining bud he found there. Moving on to outline the trembling opening, he probed inside to slide along her inner walls; pulled out, swirled back along the bud, then stroked back in, and again and again...

Buffy’s legs fell apart and her hips strained up to meet his hand. He backed out to circle her entrance, then pressed in with two fingers, pulled out then pushed forward with three. She tensed against the tightness, but the penetration continued, slowly, relentlessly, until his fingers were deeply buried in her sheath.

She felt heavy and full, increasingly frantic. Her breath came in ragged, broken gasps as she sighed and moaned his name. A rosy flush spread from her breast upwards. That was the sign he was looking for. Shifting on top of her, he gave her the pressure she needed below with rolls and thrusts of his hips, sliding his rigid length against her. Hand returning to care for her breasts, his lips left hers to travel back down her jaw line to her throat, and his incisors lengthened.

Buffy faintly felt a sharp prick, but barely noticed it. Overshadowing it was a delightful kneading and tugging at her bosom; and pressure and driving strokes along her aching core. She felt a drawing sensation in her neck, and a streak of fire shot from there downwards. As Spike drank and healed, Buffy shook and moaned, the feelings inside her rising higher and tighter as she rocked her hips in time with his.

‘Slayer blood!’ He silently cried in ecstasy. The delicious essence invigorated and revitalized Spike’s being. Health and power flowed through him. He could feel bones knitting and punctured lungs mending. Cuts closed and healed, and bruises faded and disappeared.

Buffy lifted her hands to thread through his hair, releasing it into unruly curls. ‘Finally, he’s mine to tousle and muss as I want.’ Tracing his sharp cheekbone as he worked at her throat, she moved down to map the hard rounding musculature of his unbound shoulder and arm. Her hands gloried in the straining V of his sculptured back, smoothing the cool velvet skin, delighting in the warmth that seeped into it as she stroked him. She thoroughly tested each muscle, pressing and kneading as she spiraled higher and higher. She thought in wonder, ‘I’ve never felt anything like him, so perfect, so gorgeous,’ and dimly, in the back of her mind, she questioned how anything so beautiful could be evil. Finally her hands moved down to cup his flexing buttocks, fingers curving inward to sculpt and kneed his contours.

Buffy’s hands on him sent all thoughts of healing from Spike’s mind. Previously, he had imagined that his desire for her reached the heights of passion; but with her life blood flowing down his throat, Spike felt a fervor and yearning that he’d never before imagined; his first slayer certainly hadn’t affected him anywhere near to it, not even Dru ever had. He trembled and gasped with each stroke of her hand, but the feel of her molding his arse sent Spike over the edge. He had to be inside her.

The realization flashed through him that the pain was gone. Never leaving her neck, Spike slowed to taking tiny sips interspersed with a sensuous laving of his tongue. He frantically ripped the splint and strapping from his body and tossed it aside. Without another thought, his nails slashed through her clothing so precisely that he didn’t leave a mark on her fair skin. Tearing it off, he settled into the valley between her thighs with a sigh of relief.

Buffy wrapped her legs around Spike’s waist and arched up to meet him as with a shout of rapture, he plunged into her. She cried out at the same time, feeling tight, almost too full; at first her walls resisted, then they accommodated his girth, and she was suddenly whirling in heat and flames. His slow deep thrusts below and the pulling sensation above turned the heavy pooling inside her into a tense shivering. Her entire body clenched tight, broke into violent spasms, and she pulled him with her into climax.

On thrusting inside her, waves of exultation had broken over Spike and he felt that he might very well dust from the joy of it. ‘Ah, the feel of you...under me...surrounding me...the scent...’ She was his now! Whether she admitted it or not, she was his. ‘Mine!...mine!...mine!,’ chanted his demon as he pumped in and out. Buffy’s internal muscles tightened around him, rhythmically squeezing and milking him until he nearly howled with mingled pleasure and pain. ‘Slayer muscles! The legends are true,’ ran through his head, as bucking and groaning incoherently, he erupted into her.

Spike’s convulsions started Buffy’s all over again. Lost in a frenzy of sensation, she cried out and clamped down on his neck with her teeth. Blood flowed into her mouth, and she swallowed instinctively.

With that, Spike lost control, another paroxysm shuddered through him and he roared, “MINE!”

From deep within her, the reciprocal “Yours” came. Then, that same part of her refused to play a submissive role in any relationship, and she cried, “MINE!”

Stunned, Spike could only look at her with head tilted in wonder and repeat, “Yours.”

Tbc…