He'd meant to go. Seriously, after she'd turned away from him- after she'd rejected even the slightest advance- he'd meant to leave the Bronze, go to Willy's instead, for some whisky and kitten poker. But something had drawn him back in. He stayed away from her for a long while, even losing sight of her. He nursed the beer he'd swiped from some distracted college boy and listened to the awful, mournfull band playing tonight. It was such sad music. Why would people come to dance and stay when music like this was playing? It brought everyone down. Wasn't the point of going out to dance the night away, drink oneself out of one's mind and forget the sadness? She came into view again. She was standing right on the edge of the dance floor, away from the dancing couples and from the chatty groups of friends. Her hips were swaying gently in time with the music, her arms hugging her own waist tightly. He couldn't see her face, but he imagined her eyes were closed, as if she was entraced by the music.
But as always, he was the entranced one, his eyes drawn to that gorgeous, tight little arse all wrapped in denim. He imagined the feel of the fabric on his hands, he imagined the heat she radiated and the sweet smell of her hair. He fought desire to put his arms around that waist, to press himself against her back and maybe, maybe kiss that neck, feel the pulse of her beating heart against his lips.
He'd never had the pleasure of actually dancing with her. He was sure she never would if he asked her, not in public, least of all in front of her blasted friends. But he'd always wanted to- the very first time he'd ever seen her, that girl irradiating power, had called to his blood like no other would be victim ever had. At the time, it'd been bloodlust, but lust all the same. He'd wanted to dance.
She'd say no if he asked, but what if he didn't? What if he just did as vampires were supposed to do- want, take, have? What if he just...?
He was moving towards her in a swift, gliding motion, atracted to her swaying form like a magnet. He was almost touching her before he could react.
He forced himself to hold back. Too much would spook her- these days, she scared as easily as a nervous kitten. He contented himself with putting his hands on her hips, and swayed behind her, close enough to feel her searing heat but without touch.
He expected her to turn around and push him away, but she didn't. Instead, she slowly closed the distance he'd left between them. She rested her back on his chest and subtly, painfully subtly, grind her amazing little arse against his crotch.
He reacted instantly, and she had to feel it, but she still didn't turn around. She still didn't push him away or punched him in the nose. Amazed, he allowed himself to press his cheek to the side of her face, his lips mere inches from her neck.
He daren't push further, and let himself enjoy the moment. Surely she'd come to her senses before too long.
They swayed together for fleeting moments that would last forever on his mind. She didn't push him away, she didn't even complain when he grind against her in answer to her own advances. He managed to catch a glimpse of her face and discovered he'd been right- her eyes were closed, she did look entranced by the sad music. He felt compelled to drag her out of it, make her feel something other that the sadness, share a bit of the lust that was consuming him. He eyed the marks the others had left on her. If he kissed her neck like he so longed for, she'd react instinctly and badly. Better to be subtle. He breathed in her scent, and then blew cold air right behind her left ear.
She melted in his arms. He couldn't contain himself any longer. He spun her roughly around, and captured her mouth between his lips. She answered enthusiastically for a moment, and then she pushed him away.
Bugger- he thought for a moment. Buffy pushed him away again, but she also closed the distance between them immediatedly. He backed all the way to the stairs before his back hit something solid and she pressed herself against him, kissing him with urgency.
He let himself go. His arms were around her like he'd always wanted, and his hands wandered freely, sure there would be no complaints.
This kiss felt so different from the last. It was definitely more sexual. Last time there had been a lot of comfort and emotional need. This felt more physical, much more physical.
He turned them around, and pressed her against the stairs. She didn't seem to mind. Her tongue kept pushing in with insistence, her teeth didn't just nibble- she was biting him, hard. It turned him on even more, if that was even posible. He pressed his crotch against hers. Let her feel, he thought. Let her feel what she does to me, how hard she makes me. In turn, he could feel the heat radiating from between her legs, a searing fire. He could smell her arousal as well, and it intoxicated him.
I make her wet, he thought with delight, and pressed himself against her eveb harder. His hands moved past her waist and cupped her arse, pushing her into him. His fingers dug into her flesh, his thumbs moving in a circular motion that made her whimper into his mouth.
Her little moan made him bold. Slowly, he let one of his hands move away from her behind and to her front. She moved her hips away from him, and Spike held her bottom lip between his teeth with a growl. Don't pull away, he told her without words. Buffy didn't. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her hips still away from him. She was allowing him access.
His hand cupped her crotch immediately, his fingers tracing the seam right between her lips. She panted into his mouth and he knew she liked it. He pressed his own crotch against the back of his hand, rubbing himself at the same time he was touching her. The heat between her legs was so strong he could feel a dampness in the fabric. It wasn't enough. He needed to feel it for real, to touch her skin, to bathe his fingers in her sweet juices and then lick her off them. He moved his hand up, tracing the zipper with his fingers until he found the button at the top. He deftly unhooked it, and he was finally touching her skin, sliding his hand down, her lips inches away. He was about to feel her wetness, what he did to her, and his mouth moved away from hers to go down her neck, latch itself to her pulse point- just as his index finger was about to reach her clit.
He heard the gasp right before her hands came up from his waist to collide against his chest and push him away so hard she would have knocked all the air out of him if he were alive. She looked at him in fear and horror, her eyes big and round as plates.
'Buffy, luv...' he started to plead, closing the distance between them. He'd gone too far, he knew, he should start over, keep his hands on the outside...
'No' she pushed him away again, and this time took advantage of the distance to close her coat abd criss her arms. Her eyes weren't on his anymore, she was looking at the floor avoiding his stare. 'I-I have to go home' she said in a chocked whisper, and batted his hands away again when he tried to grab her. She feinted going to one side and slipped away through the other, making him smile. She'd used that move a thousand times before, fighting him and beside him as well. He let her go, his smile staying on his face. It was fine, he decided, taking his pack of smokes out of his pocket. I pushed too hard, too fast- he lighted up and took a deep drag. Spike leaned against the stairs, his hand going down to his uncomfortably tight jeans, trying to adjust himself. It's fine, he thought in a haze of lust and pride and satisfaction at his insatisfaction. Not long now. She'll be mine.