All characters and thematic elements property of Bandai Entertainment
and Sunrise, Inc.
Well, I'm not such a jerk that I'll leave you at a cliffhanger like that for long. So here it is.
A Game of Cards
Part 5
"I mean," Spike said, while an almost unconscious part of his brain told him he was veering into dangerous territory, "You're a shrew, but you're a beautiful shrew. But you know it. But you're more beautiful that I would have thought. I mean, I always pictured you would be that kind of arrogant, hard kind of beautiful. But you're soft. Like a flower."
Faye was reminded of a time when she was in high school, flat and with braces and an ugly complex that made it incomprehensible that anyone could find her attractive. She had had an enormous crush on someone she knew would never like her. But, inexplicably, he had come up to her on Valentine's Day and given her a rose. It had sparked a feeling similar to the one she had now, a hammer of unexpected pleasure that she almost couldn't stand. "Fuck you," she whispered, because it might be some cruel drunk joke, like it had been with her high school crush.
"Sorry," he said, and turned around to search for his cigarettes. He found his pack and took a cigarette out, and pushed away his feeling of discomfort with its first drag. When he turned back Faye was standing next to him, her face inches away from the final destination of his own. Her eyes flickered away from his to his mouth and back up again. His own lids fell halfway down in anticipation, and with this slight movement their gazes locked and they looked at each other for a long time with a corresponding wish to spend as long as possible anticipating a move they would surely regret in the morning, when practicalities like living together and being unable to stand each other would surface. Faye sighed and brought her hand up to cup his jaw and dropped it back to the level of her hips almost immediately. Spike ran his fingers down the length of it.
He broke their gaze and took a drag of his cigarette, brought his free hand to the back of her head and drew her in to kiss him. Her lips fell apart underneath the crush of his own, and he exhaled. She quickly accepted the smoke, and breaking the kiss, let it out. She kissed his neck, unable to believe how good the soap she smelled every day in the shower could smell. He groaned and she nearly swooned. Instead she dragged her lips across his skin, still shower wet, while he pushed her robe from her shoulders and pulled her body against his. She shivered against the warm line of his erection, and they kissed again, exchanging tongues, and breath, and the rhythm of bodies exchanging flesh-spoken words. His hands ran across her body, drawing the energy of her reaction in a warm caress like a river smoothing over an unmapped land. They pulled of the last of the cloth that hid them from each other, and she let a sigh slip that almost gained the solidity of a voice, and he smiled as he kissed her forehead, and she imagined her third eye opening and wondered if it had at some point, she was so content. She felt like a different person to him, soft and warm. She felt like he imagined he would to someone who really knew him. They twined around each other like a braid with two parts and curved to the floor until they were prone. They breathed in the smell of each other's flesh and let their limbs argue them into a stupor of bliss.
There was a point where Faye glanced at the sharp line of his jaw, his slitted eye above looking somewhere angled away from her, and she couldn't believe she was looking at him, someone whose place she had already determined as being far away from her. But they were together. He cupped her breast and let a stream of kisses flow from her collarbone to her belly, and then below that, and she felt like the invisible pressure of water was building from inside her. Before it could be spent he returned, and they kissed again for a long time, and their bodies were still for a while. Then she drew her leg up past his thigh, and he settled into the crevice between her thighs. His penis pressed against her, not in her yet. He moved the plane of his shaft gently along the surface of her vagina, and her hand circled around his arm and clasped his hand. They shifted against each other, the rhythm they'd worked out more subtle than before, and he buried his face between her breast and then lifted it, his entire body moving upwards like a cresting wave as he entered her, and she washed back against him. And no one would take this away. No one could call it anything but the truth, no matter how obscured it might become after this. After this, they might play like this had been a game, but for now it wasn't, and Faye's hand fluttered to the back of Spike's thigh and pulled it towards her until she was levered on the incline of his leg, moving her body upwards to meet his and back. In a swift movement she brought her leg over and turned and sat up so that her back was pressed against his stomach. She did it without parting from him and the motion, spiraling over his penis, made him gasp. He buried his mouth against the incline of her shoulder and they moved against each other, every inch possible pressing against each other, until the sensation built to breaking.
And once they finished the sentence, and once they had reached the inevitable conclusion of this flesh-and-blood syllogism, once they took the fork on the road on which you can't turn back, they wrapped their arms around each other and slept, waiting for the consequences.
Well, I'm not such a jerk that I'll leave you at a cliffhanger like that for long. So here it is.
A Game of Cards
Part 5
"I mean," Spike said, while an almost unconscious part of his brain told him he was veering into dangerous territory, "You're a shrew, but you're a beautiful shrew. But you know it. But you're more beautiful that I would have thought. I mean, I always pictured you would be that kind of arrogant, hard kind of beautiful. But you're soft. Like a flower."
Faye was reminded of a time when she was in high school, flat and with braces and an ugly complex that made it incomprehensible that anyone could find her attractive. She had had an enormous crush on someone she knew would never like her. But, inexplicably, he had come up to her on Valentine's Day and given her a rose. It had sparked a feeling similar to the one she had now, a hammer of unexpected pleasure that she almost couldn't stand. "Fuck you," she whispered, because it might be some cruel drunk joke, like it had been with her high school crush.
"Sorry," he said, and turned around to search for his cigarettes. He found his pack and took a cigarette out, and pushed away his feeling of discomfort with its first drag. When he turned back Faye was standing next to him, her face inches away from the final destination of his own. Her eyes flickered away from his to his mouth and back up again. His own lids fell halfway down in anticipation, and with this slight movement their gazes locked and they looked at each other for a long time with a corresponding wish to spend as long as possible anticipating a move they would surely regret in the morning, when practicalities like living together and being unable to stand each other would surface. Faye sighed and brought her hand up to cup his jaw and dropped it back to the level of her hips almost immediately. Spike ran his fingers down the length of it.
He broke their gaze and took a drag of his cigarette, brought his free hand to the back of her head and drew her in to kiss him. Her lips fell apart underneath the crush of his own, and he exhaled. She quickly accepted the smoke, and breaking the kiss, let it out. She kissed his neck, unable to believe how good the soap she smelled every day in the shower could smell. He groaned and she nearly swooned. Instead she dragged her lips across his skin, still shower wet, while he pushed her robe from her shoulders and pulled her body against his. She shivered against the warm line of his erection, and they kissed again, exchanging tongues, and breath, and the rhythm of bodies exchanging flesh-spoken words. His hands ran across her body, drawing the energy of her reaction in a warm caress like a river smoothing over an unmapped land. They pulled of the last of the cloth that hid them from each other, and she let a sigh slip that almost gained the solidity of a voice, and he smiled as he kissed her forehead, and she imagined her third eye opening and wondered if it had at some point, she was so content. She felt like a different person to him, soft and warm. She felt like he imagined he would to someone who really knew him. They twined around each other like a braid with two parts and curved to the floor until they were prone. They breathed in the smell of each other's flesh and let their limbs argue them into a stupor of bliss.
There was a point where Faye glanced at the sharp line of his jaw, his slitted eye above looking somewhere angled away from her, and she couldn't believe she was looking at him, someone whose place she had already determined as being far away from her. But they were together. He cupped her breast and let a stream of kisses flow from her collarbone to her belly, and then below that, and she felt like the invisible pressure of water was building from inside her. Before it could be spent he returned, and they kissed again for a long time, and their bodies were still for a while. Then she drew her leg up past his thigh, and he settled into the crevice between her thighs. His penis pressed against her, not in her yet. He moved the plane of his shaft gently along the surface of her vagina, and her hand circled around his arm and clasped his hand. They shifted against each other, the rhythm they'd worked out more subtle than before, and he buried his face between her breast and then lifted it, his entire body moving upwards like a cresting wave as he entered her, and she washed back against him. And no one would take this away. No one could call it anything but the truth, no matter how obscured it might become after this. After this, they might play like this had been a game, but for now it wasn't, and Faye's hand fluttered to the back of Spike's thigh and pulled it towards her until she was levered on the incline of his leg, moving her body upwards to meet his and back. In a swift movement she brought her leg over and turned and sat up so that her back was pressed against his stomach. She did it without parting from him and the motion, spiraling over his penis, made him gasp. He buried his mouth against the incline of her shoulder and they moved against each other, every inch possible pressing against each other, until the sensation built to breaking.
And once they finished the sentence, and once they had reached the inevitable conclusion of this flesh-and-blood syllogism, once they took the fork on the road on which you can't turn back, they wrapped their arms around each other and slept, waiting for the consequences.