Now. That said… on to the "Shower Scene". In case you couldn't imagine, this is at the very least a STRONG R rating, if not NC-17. Be advised.
Chapter 4
The water droplets cascaded down his back, hot pinpoints of therapy for his cramped muscles. He let them roll over his shoulders, down his neck, over his face… thinking that maybe, just maybe, if he submerged his entire body in water long enough, the voices would drown, and he could be sane for her again. Well, he thought, as sane as I ever could have been to begin with, at any rate. He couldn't begin to fathom how Buffy would consider doing what she was now: allowing him into her home again, let alone to live in her bedroom, of all places. How she could tend with such mercy to him, a creature so beneath her… And it didn't matter that she had said that to him time and time again. He knew its truth. Just as he had known it when Cecily had said the same words and sent him spiraling down towards the silky black fingers of Drusilla's gift. And just as Cecily had sent him on a path to destruction, Buffy had sent him on a path to salvation.
Both were eating him alive in tandem within his new soul. Tarnished, but functional. And all too real. He rested his forehead against the cool of the ceramic-tiled shower wall, bathing in the contrast that it presented with the steamy heat of the water coursing over his body. It helped to keep his mind off of the images pressing against his mind, memories of the last time he had been in this bathroom. A drop of moisture rolled down his cheek that had nothing to do with the shower's unending supply. The horror of that evening replayed endlessly in his head, as it had since before he had ever reached Africa. Even without a soul, he could feel the pain of betraying Buffy's trust. He could still hear the anguish in her voice, still feel the sting of realization that he had hurt the woman whom he loved with all of his unbeating heart. He couldn't stay. Not because she had demanded his absence, but because he couldn't be near her without feeling enormous guilt for his actions. The thoughts that she had hurt him on countless occasions prior to the event never entered his head since that evening. All of her misdeeds towards him were forgotten. Only his error counted. He was the evil monster that was beneath her.
From beneath you it devours…
He had to leave. So he did. And he changed. But why did he come back? Why was he causing her more pain? Why didn't he greet the sunrise the day the voices moved in? Unwanted squatters, they are, he groused silently. They haven't paid their rent. I should have the locks changed, bloody well should…
His quickly deteriorating reverie was disrupted by the soft sound of the bathroom door shutting again. Through the thick steam he could smell her. He could sense her moving softly around the bathroom, doing small things, such as placing clothes on the toilet seat, retrieving a towel from the linen cabinet. He heard her sigh almost imperceptibly, as if she was steeling herself for something. Then he heard clothes falling to the floor…
He jumped and pressed himself back against the wall of the shower furthest from her entrance. She was completely nude, with her hair tied up loosely, holding a bar of soap and a washcloth. Quickly, he covered his manhood – which had come to prominent salute upon her appearance – with both hands, which left the miniature jets of water to spray into his face, causing him to blink furiously.
"W-what the bloody hell are you doing, woman?!?" he stuttered, half in a state of shock… the other half thinking what he knew he shouldn't be…
She caught her bottom lip loosely between her teeth and furrowed her brow. "I… wanted to help."
"I can certainly bathe myself, thank you. I'm not that far-gone…" he said with a small, self-deprecating smile, still attempting to keep his ill-concealed member out of her line of sight.
She looked down, as if she were too embarrassed to meet his gaze. This was certainly a first, he mused to himself. He was too used to Buffy being self-righteous, even when she was so firmly in the wrong. But then again, in his current state of mind, she was never wrong. Never had been, never could be…
"I can leave if you want… Perhaps I shouldn't have…" she began hesitantly.
"No…" he took a large, unneeded breath. "You… you can stay if you want…" His gaze joined her towards the floor of the tub they were standing in.
They stood there, silently, unheeding of the water that continued streaming over their naked bodies. The tension between them heightened with each second.
"Why?" he finally whispered.
She raised her eyebrows and looked into his face. "Beg pardon?"
"Why this? Why all of this? Why…" he gestured, "are you here, naked, when I so obviously can't keep my hands off you. You know this…" His voice trailed off in a choked sob. "Oh, gods, no…" He covered his face with his hands. "No… don't let me hurt the girl. Not again… Hasn't she been through enough???" This last was screamed at the ceiling, through a mouthful of shower water that he ignored.
"Shhh," she soothed, raising her hands to stroke his arms, above the elbows, and over his shoulders. Gently, she pulled him away from the corner of the shower stall, into her arms, stroking his back with her fingers while murmuring soft words of comfort in his ear. He whimpered gently into hers as she continued her nurturing. Slowly, she pulled her face back just far enough so that she could look into his eyes. "I came in here to help, Spike." She looked around behind her. "And damn if I didn't drop the soap…" She blushed furiously and started laughing. He looked confused, then thought for a moment and started chuckling as well.
"I promise to behave if you wish to pick it up," he offered.
She winked. "Such a gentleman." Quickly, she pivoted, picked up the errant soap and washcloth and turned to face him once more, armed with her instruments of cleaning. "Now, hold still."
"If I don't I may bloody well fall out," he muttered.
Slowly, she rubbed the soap over the washcloth, causing suds to form, before rubbing the washcloth firmly but gently over his alabaster skin. She traced the cloth over his shoulders, down his collarbone, rubbing soft circular patterns on each of his nipples till they were fully hardened, then traced it under his arms, unconsciously lacing her fingers with his as she ran the washrag over his abdomen. He gritted his teeth and hissed in air as he felt her run the rough, wet cloth over the curve of his hips, down his thighs, over his knees. She knelt down to gently scrub his feet, then ran the cloth in slow circular patterns up the inside of his legs. She managed to avoid his now-prominently saluting member as she reached behind him to scrub his back, therefore winding up with her breasts pressed against his chest, her own nipples hardening as he placed his hands on her shoulders lightly to steady himself. She stiffened slightly, and for a moment he thought he'd made a mistake and attempted to remove his hands, but she kept her chest pressed against his, even as she reached between them with both hands and ran the cloth softly, slowly over the length of his most sensitive area.
He bucked his hips at the contact and almost collapsed, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tried to contain a moan. With determination and resolve, she continued with her actions, proceeding to run the cloth between his legs and over his sack, then to the skin directly behind it, causing a guttural sound to emerge from between his lips. Her eyes widened suddenly as he pulled her flush against him, every inch of the front of their bodies touching, causing her to drop the soap and washcloth again.
"Buffy," he breathed, tracing a finger down the side of her face, lovingly…reverently. In his eyes was a spark of complete lucidity, surpassed only by the lust that was so evident in other parts of him. His entire body was trembling against hers, strained from the restraint he was enforcing upon himself.
Slowly, she brought a hand up to caress his cheek. "Spike," she sighed. She placed her hand behind his head, lacing her fingers through the damp curls and pulled his face towards hers. Tentatively, she brushed her lips against his, almost chastely, as if testing the proverbial waters. At his moan of pleasure in response to the contact, she pressed her lips closer against his, parting them slightly, her tongue probing lightly for access. Gladly, he granted it, and their tongues became locked in a dueling caress. His hesitation lasted only a moment as he wrapped his arms around her waist and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. She moaned quietly into his mouth as he continued his assault on her senses… an attack that was more than reciprocated as far as she was concerned, focusing on tracing her fingers over the muscles in his back.
He reached up and tangled a hand in her hair as he gently drew her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked lightly on it, nibbling a bit on it before returning to his earlier probing of her mouth with his tongue. The passion stoked between them as they retraced old territory, exploring necks, shoulders, ears, jawlines, mouths, tongues, lips, teeth, finally parting as they both came away panting – she out of necessity, he out of habit. The embers smoldering in his eyes she knew mirrored her own, and she only took the briefest of moments before wrapping her arms around his neck and joining their lips together once more. Kissing Spike was always one of her best memories. Every time they kissed, she felt alive. It was almost as crucial to her existence as breathing. Whereas before she had denied it out of shame, now she relished it and desired it.
She turned and pulled them half out of the stream of water, pressing her back up against the wall of the shower. She pulled him tightly against her, and he braced himself with one arm against the wall next to her head as he continued pressing kisses to her mouth, throat, and shoulders. She sighed contentedly as, product of habit, he smoothly drew one of her hardened nipples into his mouth, catching the very tip between his teeth for a moment, flicking his tongue against it, then lowering his mouth to catch more of her breast and suck firmly. She moaned loudly and arched her back so that she was pressing her breasts as firmly against his mouth as she could, gasping as he reached up with his other hand to tweak the other nipple. She ran her hands through his hair, moaning inarticulately as he continued his attentions.
His hands began to roam along the length of her body, caressing her waist, her hips, the front of her thighs. She parted her legs slightly and moaned; begging him to touch her there, caress her there. Deftly, he avoided it, however, not teasingly, but almost as if he was afraid of touching her there. She moved her hips so that she followed his hand, trying to guide his hand to her intimate places, but he pulled back as if burned.
"W-what…no…can't…mustn't…hurt the girl…" he moaned, pulling back to the point that he almost toppled backwards through the shower curtain. He looked truly terrified that he was in this situation.
"Spike…" She pulled him back to her, and guided his head so that he was looking back at her. "I need you. You need me. Please… Don't stop. I won't leave, you can't hurt me…"
"But, it's…it's wrong," he wept.
"No, Spike," she smiled, tenderly planting kisses at the hollow of his throat. "It's finally so right…" She swiftly captured his mouth with another searing kiss, pushing the voices and guilt as far away from his mind as she could. All he managed to think about during the kiss was the feel of her beneath his body, beneath his hands as he hesitantly began to explore again. This time, however, she took hold of his hand, breaking the kiss momentarily to draw his finger into her mouth, sucking softly. His eyes just about fell out of his head from widening so much, he felt he would burst from the sensations she was creating. Then, she moved his hand down her body, over her flat stomach, between her legs. Cautiously, he probed her slit with his middle finger as his thumb found her clit and massaged slowly. As he pushed first one, then two fingers into her, she squeezed her muscles around them, and the heat of her inner folds scalded him. Biting his lower lip to keep from screaming, he pumped his hand against her, pleasing her, eliciting groans from her. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt her wrap her slender hands around his manhood, squeezing gently, before pumping him as well. She stroked him expertly, rubbing her thumb on the sensitive flesh just below the head on the underside of his shaft.
He couldn't believe her actions… In all the times they had been together, she had never pleasured him while he had been pleasuring her. She'd never touched him there before, save for the first time they'd been together and she'd touched him to guide him into her. Now, however, she was sharing her pleasure with him. And he got the feeling that he was the only person she'd ever stroked this intimately before. Oh, she'd had sex, perhaps even called it making love. But Buffy had never given a hand job, possibly not even a blowjob, either.
He trembled beneath her touch, gyrating his hips so that he was pumping into her hand. After a couple of minutes, he felt her body tense, just as his own was starting to, and she opened her eyes, looking at him through thick lashes.
"Spike," she moaned. "Please, let me show you how much I should have shown you to begin with…"
He looked at her, confused as to her meaning, then felt her pull him closer to her, wrapping her leg over one of his hips. Never breaking eye-contact, she guided him to her entrance. He looked at her in fear, afraid of over-stepping his bounds, but one squeeze of her hand on his ass and his doubts dissolved. He leaned over and captured her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue against hers at the same moment that he filled her to the core, every inch of him stretching her, filling her. She moaned against his lips, shuddering with her first orgasm, having come right when he entered her. He lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around him, pressing her against the wall of the shower. Slowly, at first, he pushed into her deeply, pulled out all the way and pushed back in, causing her to moisten even more. Her heat burned him, and he delighted in it as he picked up the tempo, yet kept the tenderness.
As he pumped into her, he buried his face in her neck, without vamping out, just placing kisses along her jaw, collarbone, hollow between her neck and shoulder, and licking the drops of sweat that began to form there. He moaned her name repeatedly in her ear, and almost lost whatever sanity he had left when he heard her sighing his name in return. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. The true shock hit him then: Buffy had never looked into his eyes during sex. She had considered it a grounding intimacy that she'd rather avoid. Her eyes were wide open and she stared right back into his eyes, never breaking the gaze. He filled her, stretched her, and she flexed her inner walls to stroke him, squeeze him, till they both were panting from their exertions. He felt himself close to release, and stroked the side of her face as he pressed his forehead to hers, never breaking the pressure or speed of his thrusts.
"Buffy," he moaned. "Come with me. Please…"
She nodded and kissed him deeply, squeezing hard around him as she felt him stroke her to a second release. As she felt him thrust into her, bringing his release, she clenched around him, and together they fell over the edge, screaming each other's name…
He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, sucking gently, nibbling, kissing up her jaw line… Finally he looked into her eyes and she stroked his face, looking back at him through hooded lids. She continued clenching around him as he slowly lost hardness within her, but he made no move to withdraw. They embraced and allowed the water to cascade over his shoulders and down her chest.
After a few moments, when she lowered her legs to stretch, Buffy looked into Spike's eyes, kissed him lightly on the lips and smiled.
"So…Breakfast?"
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