TITLE:
Darkest Before Dawn #11 Distractions NC17!!!
AUTHOR:
Nmissi
PART: 11/?
RATING:
this part NC17 for SMUT.
DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I did,
what makes you think I'd share him with you?
DISTRIBUTION: Anybody, just credit me and let me know where it's
going.
Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com
SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.
She could hear the phone ringing as
she raced back through it, shopping bag in hand. She chucked the bag at the
couch and made a grab for the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Buffy? Hi honey. Did I catch you at
a bad time?"
She relaxed. It wasn't Dawn, but Dad
would make a decent substitute right now.
"No. I was in the hallway, had to
hurry to get inside before you could hang up," she puffed. She'd also taken the
stairs rather than the elevator, but she didn't think she needed to tell him
that.
"Oh. That's good, I guess…Have you
heard from your sister yet?"
She shook her head no, then realized
he couldn't hear that.
"Uh- No. No, I haven't. But we're
about to head out, do some more looking."
In the background, she could hear
her father's secretary.
"Hank? Hank, get off the phone."
Then she heard some more, but
nothing she could make out.
"Dad? Is that- Is that Her?"
Her father's voice altered, becoming
apologetic and embarrassed.
"Well, yes, Buffy. I told you I was
in London on business"-
"And business means you have her in
your hotel room at night?"
"It's not nighttime here, precious-"
But that voice was there, in the
background. In tones too intimate to be businesslike, she was urging him to get
off of the phone and come back to bed.
"You know what Dad? I really don't
have time for this right now. You- You have fun. Go do - whatever you do with
her. I have to go be a parent and stuff. Sorry."
She hung up on him with great
satisfaction. That, That WOMAN. She was why Dad was in London, instead of at
home looking for his missing daughter.
She still couldn't bring herself to
even utter the tramp's name.
"No wonder Dawn took off," she
muttered.
Buffy ran her hands through her
hair, and trembling with rage, she fetched herself a cigarette from her purse.
Smoking, and swearing, she started going through Spike's shopping bag.
The Gap clothes. She remembered this
blue shirt from that night at the Bronze, when he'd tried to sit with her and
she'd shined him off. It was a pretty blue silk, and as she folded it and laid
it on the couch, she realized it matched his eyes.
She paired it not with the khakis,
but with a pair of black silk pants at the bottom of the bag. They still had
the tags on them. As she tugged off the plastic clip and the paper tag, she
noticed the receipt sticking out of the front pocket. She reached for it, drew
it out.
She whistled.
"Wowzers. Way to spend Money,
honey."
He'd bought a jacket, four shirts,
three pairs of pants, a tie, a package of boxers, and three pairs of socks, for
a grand total of 475.59. Then she realized what was so strange about this.
Not the clothes, necessarily. Even
the undead get a makeover every now and then.
No, the punchline was that the
receipt was clipped to a credit card slip, signed by William Walthrop.
Buffy paused to wonder if he'd ever
bought anything before in his entire unlife.
Smoothing out the outfit, she laid
the black tie across it.
Hmm. Her cigarette was almost gone.
She'd been flicking ashes into a saucer, but her eyes lit upon that tacky vase
on the mantel.
Definitely not her mother's taste,
that piece.
She walked over to it and viciously
stubbed out the cigarette inside.
"How dare he be with her, over
there, while I'm here all alone."
She spoke aloud, to no one but
herself, but in her mind she continued.
"How can he be doing that to her
while the mother of his children is dead?"
She could hear the shower running in
the apartment. Instantly the Buffybrain began supplying her with all sorts of
images she really did not need right now. She could see the Ho. The Tramp.
"That WOMAN", as Mom always decorously called her. She could see her with Dad,
here in this apartment, screwing him…
On that couch. On that table. She
pictured his massive bed, clad in vulgar sheets, and that woman writhing
underneath her DADDY.
The shower- She could hear the
shower.
She could see them in it, imagine
all sorts of lewd things that WOMAN was doing with her father.
Buffy wasn't really aware of it when
she stripped off her shirt. Or kicked off her shoes. By the time she reached
the bathroom door, she was naked. She didn't allow herself to think about where
she was going, what she was doing, or to see the symbolism inherent in what
she'd planned.
It had occurred to her that she
needed to distract herself with something. The cigarette hadn't done it. The
careful preparing of Spike's clothes hadn't done it. But Spike himself- now
there was a distraction a girl could get into.
She thought about his body- His hard
cold hands, how they'd felt upon her skin. She pictured him, pale and lean and
powerful, under the spray of the water.
She tipped the door open slightly, and
peered in.
He was lit behind the frosted glass,
his back to her. She could see the smooth planes of his back, his beautiful
shoulders, the curve of his ass.
She slipped into the bathroom, the
steam making everything seem somehow less real as she approached the glass
door, and slid it back.
He jumped, startled. And she saw
what he'd been doing, and felt herself grow wet, and hot.
"Damnit Buffy, Can't you bloody
knock!"
She'd caught him in a most private
moment. He was erect and hard, held in his fist. He was also livid; mortified….
She put her fingers to his mouth.
"Ssh."
She stepped into the shower and for
a second, he was unsure if he was somehow stuck in the fantasy he'd been
having. She brought her lips to his jaw, kissing along its hard line, as she
stroked his lips with her left forefinger.
With her right hand she reached for
him, below.
He sucked her forefinger into his
mouth and she gasped. She stroked him, and kissed his jaw. She followed its
line all the way to his ear, then she nipped his earlobe and he bit her thumb.
Their mouths collided, bruising
lips. She grasped his shaft hard, squeezing at the base. He responded by
cupping her breast, fondling it gently, then giving the nipple a vicious tweak.
She began stroking him, in time and rhythm to bring him off. He tried to pull
away.
"No. No, Buffy, stop."
She returned to his mouth, kissing
him til he had no words. When she pulled away, he opened his eyes in time to
see her settle on her knees, in the water before him.
"Buffy, you don't-"
She took him in her mouth and
he decided to shut the hell up.
Buffy was finding Spike an excellent
distraction. She concentrated upon the feel of his flesh against her fingers,
the taste of him in her mouth. Vigorously she suckled his length, caressing him
with her tongue, rubbing the head of his cock with the muscles of her throat.
She could feel him pulsing in her throat as she buried her face in his dark
curls. She was aware of him above her, his hands on her shoulders, trying to
pull her up-
"Buffy, love- Get up…."
His voice was harsh, strained. He
was close and she knew it. He wanted to pull her to her feet, but she was
determined to finish him, lost in his taste and the texture of his skin.
Fiercely she seized his hips in her
hands and shoved him against the shower door. His fingers were bruising her
shoulders as he tried to lift her.
She was too strong for him. Her head
bobbed and he released her shoulders, instead seizing her by the hair.
"Slayer, I'm going to- Ah Hell it is
NOT MY FAULT."
She clawed his ass with her nails,
and took him all the way into her mouth again, swallowing hard.
The friction and the tightness was
too much to bear. He came in her mouth, hard, screaming her name and clutching
fistfuls of blonde hair. She kept suckling and swallowing as he shook and held
onto her for support.
Finally, she pulled back and let him
slip from between her lips. He was leaning against the shower door again,
holding onto the bar. He was panting, his blue eyes wide and impossibly dark,
deep. She stood and turned away from him, grasping the soap and the wash cloth
he'd used. Fascinated, he watched her lather up: first arms, breasts, and
belly; then moving southward.
She was a siren, and she would lead
him to his doom. He was hard again already, just watching her. She turned her
back to him, to put the soap back in the soapdish.
He seized her hips and pulled her
against him roughly. He pressed a kiss against her throat, and his cock against
her rear.
"This what you want, Slayer?"
She murmered something
unintelligible, some sound that was need and want without proper words.
He reached under her arms and
grabbed her breasts, hefting the small globes in each hand. He flicked his
thumbs over her nipples. One hand traveled down to massage her pleasure center.
She moaned deep in her throat, and
thrust her ass back against him.
"I asked you a question, girl. I
will have a proper answer… Is this what you want?"
There was no mistaking what "this"
was, she reflected, as she felt his hardness digging into her flesh.
"Yes. Oh Yes. Oh Please-"
He turned her around, switching
their places, and placed her hands over the bar on the shower door. His hands
over hers, he wrapped them around the bar, and kissed the side of her face. He
released her hands and stepped into the narrow space behind her. With one hand
he caressed her flank, angling her forward so she was bent slightly.
Then he slipped his hand lower,
dipping into her damp center. Gently, he angled a finger upwards, inside of
her. She gripped it tightly, and he patted her rump with his other hand.
"That's a good girl. Nice and tight,
love. Just about perfect, you are…"
He thrust his finger inside her, and
then added one, and another. He looked over her shoulder, at the knuckles still
wrapped tightly around the bar. Her hands were shaking with need, but she did
not let go. He allowed himself to marvel at her newfound obedient streak.
He withdrew his fingers and she
whimpered. He brought the wet fingers to her lips, his hand bent to shield her fluids
from the shower. His fingers teased her mouth, and she opened it, taking his
hand between her lips and suckling.
"Delicious, aren't you pet?"
She groaned hopelessly and ground
her hips against him in frustration. He laughed.
"Ooh, aren't we the impatient one?"
With that, he parted her legs and
rammed himself home. She shrieked, bucking up against him, and he seized her
around the waist. She was still holding the bar, he noticed.
"Very good, Buffy. You're still
minding me well."
She gripped the bar tighter, and he
lifted her torso up, straightening her, so that her back was against his chest.
His lips against her ear, he murmured to her.
"Lovely, slayer. Lovely. I wish you
could see yourself like this. All flushed, and hot, and needy. You're beautiful,
Buffy. Beatiful. I could live inside you like this, forever…"
But then he pulled out of her and
turned off the water.
"Spike?"
She was all confusion and heat. She
let go the door and turned to him.
He slid the door open and stepped
out.
"Did I do something-" there was a
question in her voice. But he answered it by scooping her into his arms and
carrying her out of the bathroom.
The confusion and disappointment was
wearing off; now she was just plain mad.
"What are you doing!? Where are we
going?!"
He tossed her unceremoniously onto
the great ugly bed in her father's bedroom. She sat up on her elbows,
incredulous.
"I did not tell you that you could
stop."
He laughed at her imperiousness. She
was adorable, naked and wet on the ugly red velvet bedspead, full of righteous
indignation and stifled need.
He grinned.
"You really were out of it, weren't
you, love?"
She eyed him with distrust.
"What do you mean?"
He leaped onto the bed alongside
her.
"The water went cold, love."
She leaned back against the pillows.
"Oh. Well that's different then."
He mocked her with a turn of his eyebrow.
"It's different then, is it?"
She looked him over again. He really was beautiful.
Somehow she'd never really paid attention to that fact before. But she could
drown in those blue eyes, could watch his hands for hours.
Said hands were back at work, making certain the cold
water did no permanent damage to his ardor.
She knew the sight should repulse her. He was kneeling on
the bed before her…jerking off. That's
what they called it, she knew.
But she'd never seen anyone do it before. And she was
strangely fascinated.
He gave her a cocky grin.
"This do it for you, then?"
She parted her lips to give him a snarky reply, but just
then an idea seized her. She smiled at him, mischievously, and lolled her head
back onto the pillow. She splayed her knees apart and stretched, reaching her
hands above her head.
She noted with pleasure his immediate response to the
view. She put a finger in her mouth, as his strokes came faster. She trailed
the moist finger down her chest, playing with her nipples, and then reached
between her thighs…
He lunged for her, tackling her to the mattress, his
control broken. She gazed at him in triumph as he buried himself inside her. He
was magnificent, his glorious white blonde hair sticking up all over, the veins
standing out in his neck. He rode her like a thoroughbred, and she gloried in
it, every muscle tuned to his rhythm.
Finally he pressed his forehead against hers, seeking
reassurance in her gaze. It was an unspoken question, but she gave her assent
and he gasped her name as he filled her up inside. She screamed her release,
squeezing him tightly. Then she leaned her head back and begged silently for
the penetration of his teeth.
He shifted above her, his beautiful face becoming
beautifully hideous as he lowered his lips to her throat. His teeth broke the
skin, and she came again, harder this time, weeping his name, tracing her
fingers along his uneven brow.
"Buffy?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you forget we have to go?"
Dawn. Oh shit. For a few minutes there, she'd forgotten
all about Dawn. Buffy was ashamed and horrified.
"Damn it. Get off me, Spike. I have to get dressed."