Chapter 3

Hound Dog

June 2005

Rarely one for rising from slumber prior to the chiming bells announcing noon's arrival, Spike threw the covers off, and glanced at the clock--11: 57 a.m. The other side of the bed was empty and he was not surprised that Buffy was gone. He smiled at her absence, knowing that the lack of her presence was an anomaly in and of itself. Oh, she was always up before ten, of that he held no illusions. Despite her occupation (and it was that, now, thankful to the generous six-figure stipend she received yearly--thanks to the head of the New Council, one Rupert Giles) as a slayer, one that often deemed necessary her attention well into the waking hours of dawn, she still lived in the daylight. And notwithstanding her journeys into the mornings without him, she generally found her way back to his side before his first stirrings into the realm of consciousness.

"That's my girl," Spike said proudly, and slid his legs into the comforting cotton of his sweats. He chuckled as he thought of himself, the once William the Bloody, adorned in designer sweats and, at times, wearing gym shoes for chrissakes. His monochrome wardrobe was a thing of the past--although they found their uses during patrol--replaced with a cacophonous blend of dark blues and greens, articles of crimson and the hardest of purples. Of course, that wasn't all but he'd rather be buggered by a frothing at the mouth Fyarl demon in triple heat than admit to the other atrocities that lined his closet in wait. For what? Oh, nothing but the simple suggestion of his slayer followed by that pouty lower lip and slight glaze of those hazel eyes, begging him to put it on, just for her.

Sod the Fyarl, he was already buggered. But of course, he didn't mind in the least.

He sauntered barefoot through the hall, stopping at Dawn's former room. She had left last week for UCLA, taking summer classes in the hope of graduating in three years. Ambitious chit, his Niblet. He ignored the Red's former domicile as she had moved into her own place last fall with that Kennedy bird. True, they were around often but as it was he and Buffy had the house to themselves. Spike couldn't help but smile.

He crept down the steps with vampiric stealth; his black sweats nothing more than a pile of discarded clothing in the hall.

~~~

Thankfully Buffy had not elected to open the shades, thus alleviating the vampire from the sometimes fun, yet generally smoldering-the-flesh game of skipping between rays of light that so often entertained him. Not.

The soft carpet (ecstasy between his toes, thank you very much) muffled his footfalls, though it was doubtful that stealth was even necessary, considering the blaring music and light voice sounding from the kitchen. Spike furrowed his brow at that. Although he'd often caught Buffy singing a tune in the shower, he'd never had the pleasure of listening to her insecure vocalizations since that night in Caritas. Oh, she had the potential yet was missing the confidence, something he wished he could impart on her in this particular venue. And while his encouraging words were often the only catalyst she required to hurl herself into a task she saw as daunting, he could never give her that final push into singing, even if it was for kicks.

Spike peered around the corner just enough to spot Buffy at the sink; her back turned to him. Her head, wrapped in a black and white bandana, bobbed to the side, oblivious of his proximity. Oh, she was definitely distracted and armed with that knowledge he slithered from his cover and stood at the threshold in all his naked glory. What he saw and heard, warmed his heart and sent other parts of him throbbing into the stratosphere.

Her white shorts (shorts that barely contained the luscious globes of her ass) were as transparent as the glass she was washing. Oh, she was being a bad little slayer, with her lack of undergarments. He doubted that the black tee that covered her upper body hid anything but her naked flesh as well and he licked his lips at the thought of only two pieces of material standing in the way of him and a wanton exploration of her beautiful form. Of course, when he heard the first words exit her mouth his burgeoning lust was temporarily thrown on hiatus.

You aint nothin but a hound dog

Cryin' all the time

You aint nothin but a hound dog

Cryin' all the time

You ain't neva caught a rabbit

And you ain't friend of mine.

Her hips swayed in time with the guitar and claps wafting from the stereo and Buffy's head nodded while she washed the dishes. Spike was enraptured at this carefree image of his Love; as much as they played and teased, it wasn't often that she was this open with things. No, this was Buffy with all her shields down, something that she still had difficulty with in sharing with Spike, regardless of their love.

Well, they said you was high class

Well, that was just a lie

Well, they said you was high class

Well, that was just a lie

Yeah, you ain't neva caught a rabbit

And you ain't no friend of mine

She raised her arms overhead, one hand holding a plate while the washcloth dangled from the other. Spike's lips curved into a smile as Buffy slid back and forth, her footies allowing her to glide across the front expanse of the sink. She was breathtaking and Spike knew he had to have her.

You aint nothin but a hound dog

Cryin' all the time

You aint nothin but a hound dog

Cryin' all the time

Well, you ain't neva caught a rabbit

And you ain't no friend of mine.

Bare feet and a hundred years of hunting were serious advantages in sneaking up on a slayer across a tile floor. As he crept across the floor, watching Buffy dance in place, washing dishes as she went, Spike couldn't help but thank who ever was upstairs--God, the Powers, it didn't matter--for giving him this gift that graced his vision, that bathed in his presence every day.

When the final words of the song were done and Buffy's hands were empty of anything breakable, Spike pounced. His pressed his hands against the sink, trapping her in and flattened himself against her body and his stifled a chuckle at her surprised gasp.

"Were you singing for me, pet," he whispered in her ear, and was satisfied at that shiver that ran down her spine, leaving her skin dressed in a multitude of goose bumps.

"Spike," she said, and he frowned. Her voice wasn't nearly breathless enough, nope that would never do. He pulled his hips back and chortled against the back of her neck as she mimicked his gesture. Bending his knees, Spike lowered himself far enough for his erection to slide under the frilly ends of her shorts.

"You like that, pet? Like what your hound dog can do to you?" he asked, and ran his tongue across the nape of his neck.

"More like horn dog," she replied, and gasped when he swiveled his hips ever so slightly. "Love it," she choked out as she lost all semblance of her prior sarcasm. She rubbed herself against his throbbing member and said, "Want more, please."

"Anything for you, luv." Spike kissed her neck chastely and maneuvered himself to the gates of her dripping canal. His head caressed her lips and he bit back a groan at the contact. Nothing was as heavenly yet burned with the heat of a thousand hells as Buffy. Being sheathed inside of her was something that even his talkative nature couldn't explain. And although his words often drove her over the edge (with him quick to follow), nothing could signify her meaning to him as much as his thrumming body, burning with the desire that only his eyes could match.

His tip barely pushed through her entrance and they both sighed in anticipation at what was to come. His hand skimmed her sides and slipped underneath her tee. Fingers danced over the taut flesh of her belly, tracing the calligraphic writing of the tattoo just beneath her navel. It read My Luv and had been her gift to him on their one-year anniversary. Every time he touched it, an electrical charge swept across him at the meaning behind the words. It was an everyday reminder that Buffy did love him with all of her being and nothing would ever take that away.

She arched into his still form when his hands palmed the ripened flesh of her breasts and his tip was fully ensconced within her femininity. Still, there was a lot more to go and from her desperate undulations, Buffy wanted every last bit of Spike inside her.

"As my lady wishes," he murmured in her ear and thrust into her with all his supernatural strength. Buffy screamed, her orgasm taking them both by surprise. Spike, replied with an unintelligible grunt and his hands squeezed her breasts with an intensity that bordered on painful.

"Guess that shows how good I am," he said, and started the rhythmic strokes of touching her in places, to depths, that no one had ever explored.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said, breathlessly and she reached back with one hand to encourage his hips onward while the other acted as buffer between her and the edge of the sink. "You…were just lucky…oh, god, right there." Spike smirked and although she couldn't see it, he knew that Buffy sensed it there.

"You like how I feel inside of you, Buffy?" he asked and she shuddered, she always did during sex but even more so when he used her name instead of the endless litany of pet names he usually whispered. "You like how hard I get when I think about you, how much I want to be inside of you?" She nodded, obviously not trusting herself to speak and while he loved it when she returned his words, there was just something about a speechless slayer that turned him on to no end.

"You like when I squeeze those perfect teats of yours, like this?" Buffy gasped as he twisted her nipples between his fingers and when her inner walls clamped down with the force of a vice on his pulsing member, Spike barely had the will to hold back his demon. No, this wasn't about his pleasure; this was about hers. "I see you like that. What about when I slide my hands down your sides and grab you by the hips, like so?" One thing the past few years had seen was Buffy filling out more, something Spike had no problem with. Of course, he'd love her regardless of size but her goddess body sure as hell didn't hurt.

"Please, Spike, harder," Buffy moaned and bent even further over the sink. Her face was only inches from the sudsy water and he watched as a bang slid from underneath her bandana and into the water. She raised up on her toes, granting Spike even deeper access to her sex and far be it for him to protest.

All words were cast aside, replaced by grunts and groans and slapping flesh as Spike granted Buffy's wish. He pounded into her with reckless abandon; his fingernails carving crescent moons into the globes of her now bare ass (he vaguely recalled a ripping sound not twenty seconds ago). The bandana slipped from her head and her hair spilled over her face and into the sink. Spike brushed it aside in order to see the flashes of ecstasy and raw hunger that warred for dominance across her angelic features. Her lips tugged in a grimace and Spike knew that she was close to another climax. She arched her back in a way that always drove him insane with lust and he slid one hand up her spine while the other sneaked between her thighs.

It took only a few seconds of manipulation before Buffy was screaming his name, her body spasming in ways that looked almost unhealthy. Spike smiled and continued his assault, satisfied that his slayer had come twice in less than ten minutes and as reluctant as he was to finish, he needed to fill her with his essence.

"Do it," Buffy whispered as her body continued through the aftershocks, "please, Spike, do it." The vampire slowed his ministrations and peered at his ladylove, unsure of what she was referring to. Not until blue eyes clashed against hazel did he understand what she was demanding.

"Buffy, you sure?" he asked, fighting his demon's desire to emerge at the willing offer.

"Please, now," she pled and, without further provocation, his game face slid into place and he struck, burying his fangs in her neck.

Pure ambrosia flowed into his mouth and Spike's entire body sang at the conquest. True, it wasn't the first time he had sampled this priceless gift, but it was rare for Buffy to allow him to bite her and despite his monthly ration of slayer blood (an act that had taken him more than a year for her to agree to) ingesting it from her veins heightened its potency, even if other bodily fluids weren't present.

Buffy screamed as she crested once more and Spike knew that he wasn't far behind. He retracted his fangs and adorned his human guise once more, though his mouth continued its holy worship of her neck. As he felt the final restraints of his control snap from its tether, Spike whispered the three words that still could never translate the power of his emotions.

"I love you," he murmured in her ear and spilled his cool seed into her womb, surprised when her body twisted and jerked to her fourth and final orgasm.

His legs shook with the force of his orgasm and he slid bonelessly to the floor, cradling an equally mushy slayer into his lap. No words were spoken and although only one needed oxygen both fought to reclaim the breath that alluded them. They laid on the floor for several minutes, content to be in the other's arms. There was no where to be, no one to hide from and they were tempted to stay there forever but they knew they couldn't.

Besides, they had yet to break in the bed for the day.

"You know," Buffy said, her heartbeat starting to return to normal, "we've had to have made love thousands of times this year alone and I'm still not used to it."

"How do you mean, luv?" Spike asked and nuzzled her wet hair.

Buffy flipped over and straddled his waist, her face only inches from his. There was a hint of playfulness gleaming in her eyes but the seriousness of her expression overshadowed the former.

"It's just that…sometimes I wonder how I got so lucky to have you. How I love you a little more everyday and want you to be inside me every second I'm with you, even when I'm so mad at you that I could stake you."

"And yet you take a stake so well, slayer."

She shook her head and he brushed away the tuft of hair that covered one side of her face. "It's just that I love you so much, more than I thought I could ever love someone and I…"

"Buffy," Spike whispered when her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. I don't think I could…"

"You'd go on," he said, "because you're strong, not because you're the slayer, but because you're Buffy Anne Summers. But it doesn't make a bit o' difference, cause I'm gonna make sure you never have to go without me."

She smiled and the radiance threatened to burn him to ashes. "Promise?" she asked.

"Promise," he replied, and battled through the lump in his throat.

"Good," she said, and like that the seriousness was gone, replaced by that impish grin of hers. "Cause, that whole spiel about you being inside of me? Definitely wanting that right about now."

"Insatiable minx."

"But you aren't complainin', are ya?"

"Well, who am I to deny the slayer her wishes?"

"I'm glad you agree," she said and rubbed herself against his slowly hardening manhood. "But there's a slight problem."

"And that would be?" Before he knew what happened, Buffy was off his lap and perched on the island. He sat up in confusion and turned to face her, only to be greeted by that mischievous smirk.

"You have to catch me first," she practically sung and leapt to the other side before disappearing into the living room.

Spike couldn't contain his glee and his smile threatened to split his face. "Well," he said and brushed imaginary dust off his thighs, "a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

And he did, spending the rest of the day and evening loving the woman that was his, wholly and completely.

Unlife couldn't possibly get any better than this.

TBC in Heartbreak Hotel…