Pairing:none
Rating: R/NC-17
Spoilers: Sometime in Season 7, but nothing specific.
Summary: Just a quick shower scene with Spike
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, blah blah you get the drift, THEY'RE NOT MINE!
Feedback: Yes, please! ;)
Lying down on his cot in the basement, Spike could hear the sounds of all of the potentials and the Scoobies traipsing around the house. He knew Buffy had planned a training session today and he eagerly waited for everyone to file out of the house. He knew once he was alone he would have his chance.
Finally after the last of the potentials dragged themselves out of the Summers' kitchen Spike knew he had to make his attempt.
He slowly crept into the kitchen, careful to avoid any streams of daylight not caught by the curtains and blinds. He then made his way to the stairs and dashed up them to the bathroom. He also knew that this was one experience that he was avoiding. To have to relive what he considered his worst moment in his one hundred twenty something years, and face what had brought him to seek his long lost soul. He trudged forward, and began to strip off his clothes.
First he bent down to untie his Docs. After they were pulled off, he sat down on the edge of the shower to peel his socks of his manly feet. Next came the shirt. Regular black, his Big Bad costume at work. After the T- shirt made its way over a shapely torso and defined arms, Spike tossed it to the floor and then started work on his belt. He imagined it was her that was taking the strip of leather between her nimble hands. Sliding it through the buckle and letting it pool on the floor. Next she reached for the button on his jeans and it came off with a pop, his already half-hard cock springing free.
The zipper was slowly slid down until coarse dark curls were visible. Then were shucked off and discarded onto the floor to join the rest of his clothing.
Spike then checked to see if he had his towel ready, and then turned on the taps in the shower. Hot water began to stream out. The only kind he could stand nowadays. Like it could cleanse him from the outside in.
He stepped into the shower and turned to face the scorching spray. Spike picked up the soap and began to work to form lather on his chest. The soap bubbles glowed on his pale chest. He bought the soap up to his neck and massaged it into the corded muscles found there. The tension began to melt away with the suds. Next he moved to his chest and soaped up first one dusky nipple, then the next.
He moved down to his lower abs and then to the curls at the apex of his strongly muscled thighs. His cock slapped his belly as he reached for it. 'No one in the house, might as well' he rationalized. He put the soap back into the holder and began to work his half-hard cock until it felt like steel. Slowly he circled the tip with his thumb, just putting slight pressure on the slit.
He then took full hold of his shaft and began pumping. He started to shift his hips, and soon began to come, whispering Buffy's name, spurting threads of milky white fluid against the shower wall.
Spike picked up the soap again, and ran it up and down his calves and feet, almost mechanically. He replaced the soap once again, and then reached for the shampoo he saw sitting on the ledge. He could smell vanilla, and immediately knew it was Buffy's shampoo. A generous dollop was plopped onto his open palm and then spread throughout his bleached locks. The curls began to spring up once the gel was released, and the shampoo was worked in.
After a sufficient amount of time, he rinsed his head and with one final rinse in the burning water, he turned of the taps and stepped out of the shower. The bathroom was full of steam and he was almost grateful that he didn't have to see what wasn't in the mirror.
He began to dry himself off, his senses dulled by the almost hypnotic drone of the exhaust fan; he didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs. All too soon he finished with his task and went to replace the towel on its rack; 'Don't care what Harris says. I clean up after myself.'
He turned around to gather his clothing, when all of a sudden he felt a rush of cool air. He spun around quickly and promptly squealed the squeal of the not quite so manly. There in the doorway stood Buffy herself. Before he could cover himself up, Buffy was joined by first Andrew, then Xander, Willow, Anya, Dawn, and the potentials. He quickly tossed his clothing back to the floor, and made a running leap for the safety of the shower curtain.
"Buffy," Andrew whined, "Why did you have to take my camera away yesterday?!?"
Rating: R/NC-17
Spoilers: Sometime in Season 7, but nothing specific.
Summary: Just a quick shower scene with Spike
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, blah blah you get the drift, THEY'RE NOT MINE!
Feedback: Yes, please! ;)
Lying down on his cot in the basement, Spike could hear the sounds of all of the potentials and the Scoobies traipsing around the house. He knew Buffy had planned a training session today and he eagerly waited for everyone to file out of the house. He knew once he was alone he would have his chance.
Finally after the last of the potentials dragged themselves out of the Summers' kitchen Spike knew he had to make his attempt.
He slowly crept into the kitchen, careful to avoid any streams of daylight not caught by the curtains and blinds. He then made his way to the stairs and dashed up them to the bathroom. He also knew that this was one experience that he was avoiding. To have to relive what he considered his worst moment in his one hundred twenty something years, and face what had brought him to seek his long lost soul. He trudged forward, and began to strip off his clothes.
First he bent down to untie his Docs. After they were pulled off, he sat down on the edge of the shower to peel his socks of his manly feet. Next came the shirt. Regular black, his Big Bad costume at work. After the T- shirt made its way over a shapely torso and defined arms, Spike tossed it to the floor and then started work on his belt. He imagined it was her that was taking the strip of leather between her nimble hands. Sliding it through the buckle and letting it pool on the floor. Next she reached for the button on his jeans and it came off with a pop, his already half-hard cock springing free.
The zipper was slowly slid down until coarse dark curls were visible. Then were shucked off and discarded onto the floor to join the rest of his clothing.
Spike then checked to see if he had his towel ready, and then turned on the taps in the shower. Hot water began to stream out. The only kind he could stand nowadays. Like it could cleanse him from the outside in.
He stepped into the shower and turned to face the scorching spray. Spike picked up the soap and began to work to form lather on his chest. The soap bubbles glowed on his pale chest. He bought the soap up to his neck and massaged it into the corded muscles found there. The tension began to melt away with the suds. Next he moved to his chest and soaped up first one dusky nipple, then the next.
He moved down to his lower abs and then to the curls at the apex of his strongly muscled thighs. His cock slapped his belly as he reached for it. 'No one in the house, might as well' he rationalized. He put the soap back into the holder and began to work his half-hard cock until it felt like steel. Slowly he circled the tip with his thumb, just putting slight pressure on the slit.
He then took full hold of his shaft and began pumping. He started to shift his hips, and soon began to come, whispering Buffy's name, spurting threads of milky white fluid against the shower wall.
Spike picked up the soap again, and ran it up and down his calves and feet, almost mechanically. He replaced the soap once again, and then reached for the shampoo he saw sitting on the ledge. He could smell vanilla, and immediately knew it was Buffy's shampoo. A generous dollop was plopped onto his open palm and then spread throughout his bleached locks. The curls began to spring up once the gel was released, and the shampoo was worked in.
After a sufficient amount of time, he rinsed his head and with one final rinse in the burning water, he turned of the taps and stepped out of the shower. The bathroom was full of steam and he was almost grateful that he didn't have to see what wasn't in the mirror.
He began to dry himself off, his senses dulled by the almost hypnotic drone of the exhaust fan; he didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs. All too soon he finished with his task and went to replace the towel on its rack; 'Don't care what Harris says. I clean up after myself.'
He turned around to gather his clothing, when all of a sudden he felt a rush of cool air. He spun around quickly and promptly squealed the squeal of the not quite so manly. There in the doorway stood Buffy herself. Before he could cover himself up, Buffy was joined by first Andrew, then Xander, Willow, Anya, Dawn, and the potentials. He quickly tossed his clothing back to the floor, and made a running leap for the safety of the shower curtain.
"Buffy," Andrew whined, "Why did you have to take my camera away yesterday?!?"