full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
Running from the Inevitable by The Enemy of Reality
 
Chapter eleven
 
<<     >>
 
A/N: Previously: Buffy and Spike worked out their (sexual) frustrations in a pillow fight. Buffy's towel refuses to drop and most importantly... is there going to be a make-out session??

Awesome betas: All4Spike and BloodyHell


Chapter 11


Bloody hell, how he wanted to kiss her right now. Her sweet looking lips, parted in invitation, were just a hairsbreadth away from his. There was nothing more that he craved. Not even her blood. For the first time he truly understood how much he longed for her. For Buffy. The realization was startling.


Then her fingernails scratched a path up his arms and he had to suppress a purr of approval. And when her leg curled up around his thigh and she did a little shimmy of her hips, he wanted to just tear that tiny towel off and give her good seeing to. Preferably cover her in chocolate sauce and lick it off so slowly she’d beg him to get to her sweet spot to release the tension.


Buffy’s fingers tangled in his hair, and then her lips were on his. No introduction, no shyness, no apology. She was both soft and demanding at the same time, and he couldn’t do anything but sink into her. Drink her in.


She nibbled on his lower lip right before she teased the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue. If he hadn’t been damned already, he’d have sold his soul all over again just so he could savour Buffy for eternity. She tasted like the apples he used to love when he was a little boy. Sweet and fresh and making his mouth water. He didn’t know how he could have gone on with his existence, and not found it lacking, without the feel of her, the taste of her lingering on his tongue as she finally slipped it past his unresisting lips and into his mouth.


She moaned. He grunted. She growled. Wait… she growled? Who knew the Slayer could be such an animal?


He twisted them around so she straddled his hips, their mouths never sliding apart.


*******


Their tongues touched, twining and making Buffy’s heart pound. She was the one who’d attacked him like some kiss starved floozy. She couldn’t care less right now. The only thing that mattered was how his body perfectly countered and complimented hers in all the right places. His hands roamed up her thighs, fingers splayed to rest right under her buttocks with just the right hint of teasing to leave her shivering.


Her hands rested on his chest, her nails digging into the rippling muscles with enough pressure to border on pain. He hummed approvingly into her mouth, his lips slanting over hers with bruising force. Somehow her lower half deemed it necessary to rub against him like a harlot in heat. Buffy didn’t mind. Not when his kisses drugged her up full of something she never knew she could crave.


Oxygen was becoming an issue but she breathed through her nose as well as she could to prolong this seemingly endless wave of rapture. His kisses turned long and deep and so languorous she could feel herself melting against him without reserve.


Nobody had ever kissed her like this.


Nobody.


He made her toes curl. A feat she’d always deemed a fantasy made up in novels. Not with Spike. Spike made fantasy turn into reality in blindingly real, excruciating detail that left her breathless and aching for more. And the fantasy she’d had? Didn’t even come close to this.


Oh, how she wanted more. To just throw her already precariously positioned towel off and strip off his tight jeans. She longed to climb his body like it was a tree and let primal instinct take over completely. Instead, Buffy sucked his lower lip into her mouth, nibbled on it then soothed it with the tip of her tongue. Her skin felt too tight everywhere he touched her, igniting a raging inferno in her veins.


Then a really loud bang sounded on the wall near their heads, turning into a steadily increasing staccato that betrayed the activities of their neighbours when it was followed by a loud scream for Lord. Somehow, Buffy thought God wouldn’t appreciate having his name called in a situation like that. She certainly didn’t.


She and Spike pulled away at the same time, her lips tingling as she stared into his shocked face. He looked exactly like she felt right now. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence-- apart from the moans coming from the next room-- then Buffy scrambled off him.


Her towel chose that moment to come undone. Spike’s gaze that shifted to her exposed breasts turned even more dazed.


She squeaked and quickly clutched it against her naked body. They glanced at each other, her brain tripping to find a safe topic of discussion.


“I’m hungry!” she exclaimed and pointed to the phone.


Spike nodded. “Right. I gotta…” His eyes darted around the room until they landed on his black T-shirt. “Gotta wash that. Yeah.”


“You should… all the dirtiness… so not good.”


“No. It’s very, very wrong.”


He stared at her intensely and she had a feeling he wasn’t talking about laundry anymore. She found herself leaning towards him, almost toppling over in the process before she snapped out of it.


Why can’t I stop blushing? Damn summer heat!


Spike seemed to shake himself out of it too and sent her a look that straddled the line between embarrassed and lustful. Why did he have to be so talented? Now all she could think about was tossing him back on that bed and continuing what they’d started.


Spike rushed over to pick up his T-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom.


Buffy plopped down on the bed then grimaced when her palm landed in a blob of slime. Great. That was just great.


“Ugh. I’m the worst Slayer ever.”


She totally blamed this on Giles for not giving her the Slayer handbook.


*******


The place was completely ransacked. Smashed furniture? Check. Gooey substance and blood covering the bed and floor? Check. Pillow stuffing strewn about from their impromptu fight that had resulted in her acting like Buffy the Big Ho? Double check.


She couldn’t believe Spike had refused to pay for the damages. Yes, actually, she could. What she didn’t quite get was how quickly she had given up on convincing him after a few arguments and now they were fleeing the motel like a pair of criminals. He had a really bad influence on her morals. By the time they separated, she would be riding a bike in leather pants, smoke like a chimney and wear a red lipstick titled Slutty Crimson or something. She’d be like Faith! Worse even!


Spike opened the car door for her then rounded the car to slide into the driver’s seat. “Come on, Slayer. Hop in.”


Spike had opened the door for her. And he didn’t even make a big deal out it, looking as though gentlemanly behaviour was a given between two hated enemies. Then again, she couldn’t really call them that anymore.


She climbed inside and shut the door. What were they then? She didn’t hate Spike anymore. Kind of hated that she wanted to jump his bones and kiss him senseless, but she didn’t hate him. She was doomed.


Spike hotwired the car, straightened up in his seat and pressed his foot against the pedal. Tires screeched as they peeled out of the lot, the sudden movement pushing Buffy further into her seat.


“Um… we should find a gas station. Buy some clothes,” she said, tucking a strand of errant hair behind her ear and glancing at Spike’s profile from the corner of her eye. The clothes she washed were still a bit damp, which wasn’t the most comfortable thing to wear.


He nodded. “Gotta fill the tank too. We’re running a bit low on gas.”


She caught herself staring at him, her fingers twitching with the urge to ruffle his hair.


“Where do you get the money from anyway? You always have some. Do you keep it in your magic yellow socks or something?”


Spike shot her a smirk, eyes glinting with mischief. “Pick pocketing, love. You should try it sometime”


She gaped. “What? When did you do it? I was with you the whole time!”


“At the hospital. This old bird got all snooty when I asked her about the town we were in, so I paid her back.” He grinned. “Or I guess she paid me.”


“Spike! You can’t take money from some poor old lady! And what if she was there because someone she loved got hurt, and top of that, she’ll find her purse missing!”


What had he been thinking? And why couldn’t she get he had no conscience? Stupid, stupid Buffy.


The muscle in his jaw ticked in a clear sign of irritation. And the fact she even knew that was more than worrying. Since when was she the expert on Spike’s facial expressions?


“She practically screamed money, right down to the expensive heels she was wearing.”


“Since when do you know what expensive shoes look like? You’re not a closet gay, are you?”


The corner of his lips lifted in an arrogant smile. “Think you knew better by now.”


She was so not ready to talk about the major make out session they had indulged in.


“Really? You want to tell me that not once in all those years have you ever done anything with a man?” She folded her arms over her chest and gazed at him expectantly.


“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked with a lewd look in her direction that made her insides do a funny floppy thing.


“Would there be oil involved?” she mumbled, zoning off at the thought.


“Someone’s having nasty thoughts,” he taunted in a deep rumbling voice that drove her to distraction.


“Oh, shut up.”


He laughed.


*******


They were at a gas station, and Spike had a half mind to strangle the Slayer. He was fairly certain he had never before met anyone who took so much time to pick one T-shirt.


“Oh for fuck’s sake, just take one already!” His temples were starting to throb.


“But there’s so many of them!” She pouted and stared at the novelty T-shirts folded on the rack.


He clenched his jaw and slowly exhaled to resist the urge to shake some sense into her. Instead he stomped closer to the rack, grabbed the first T-shirt his eyes landed one and thrust it into her hands.


“Here. This one’s bloody marvelous. Can we go now?” He may have whined a little.


Holding the article arms length away from her chest, Buffy inspected it and wrinkled her nose. “It’s orange.”


“And?”


“I won’t be caught dead in it,” she said, giving him a firm look.


“No, but I might kill you if you won’t choose one in the next bloody minute!”


“Geez, chill out.”


She could be such an insolent brat. Who knew? Spike had the urge to slam his head against the nearest wall just to end the torture. Or quite possibly slam her against the nearest surface and kiss that attitude right out of her.


“I want this one,” she said with a sheepish smile, holding a simple black T-shirt with a slogan his tired brain had no interest in resolving.


He swore he could hear the heavenly choir in his head, so relieved he felt. That was until she exclaimed she needed shorts. God help him, this was torture. She could give Angelus lessons.


He gave up following her and slumped against the nearest wall, watching her as she went through shorts he kind of couldn’t wait to see on her. So much better when he didn’t have to listen to her whining about the terrible gas station fashion offerings.


She was quite the sight, wearing his red shirt and hospital slippers without much else, really. Apparently, the cashier didn’t get the memo that he had no right to stare at what was Spike’s. And she was, damn it. Even if she didn’t know it yet. The kiss she gave him had him well and truly craving more of her sweet lips.


His narrowed eyes shifted to the cashier, waiting until the clueless idiot finally realised he was being watched. When their eyes met, Spike put on his best threatening glare that spoke for himself. And if his irises flashes gold for a second? It wasn’t his fault.


The cashier swallowed hard and dropped his eyes to the counter where he quickly started to leaf through a magazine. Spike grinned in satisfaction. That was more like it.


Just as he turned his attention back to Buffy, he found her standing in front of teddy bears with a sad look on her face. Now what the hell could have happened with the furry bastards that would upset her?


He pushed himself away from the wall and approached her.


“Got everything?”


She nodded and picked up a fluffy rabbit that only had one eye. Now that he looked closely, the rabbit had one ear longer than the other. The same went for his limbs.


“Looks like he’s been in a fight or two. Nobody is going to buy that thing,” Spike commented which earned him a stern look from Buffy.


“Do you have to be so mean? Just because Mr. Donald isn’t the prettiest rabbit of the bunch doesn’t mean he’s not just as good… better even!”


“Wha-”


“Don’t you dare eat the guy at the cash register,” she hissed out in a whisper.


With that Buffy put the toy reluctantly back, thrust the T-shirt and shorts she’d chosen into his arms and walked out of the gas station without another word. Spike stood there, still trying to comprehend what had happened and what he had said to make her mad. And did she already name the thing?


Shaking his head, Spike stood there fidgeting, trying to push back the urge to buy her the blasted rabbit. He took a step away from the toy selection then huffed, rolled his eyes and turned around again to grab the fluffy toy before turning to walk towards the cash register to pay for it. He was completely, utterly whipped.


TBC

 

 
<<     >>