SUMMARY: Spike gets a new toy he wasn't expecting, and Willow finds out that life--and Gods--can sometimes throw humans for a loop.
TITLE: Order Now (12/?)
AUTHOR: sinecure
RATED: R
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.
DEDICATED: To Claudia, because, not only is she the best beta ever, but she's also quite the friend. She kicks ass on grammar--just call her the Hyphen Queen, I do--spelling, characterization, plot. She makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier... even when she's killing my poor little defenseless plot-babies. ;) Yay for betas!
PART 12
Willow's body moved slowly and sensuously across Spike's crypt, enticing Spike to come nearer, to touch her. He resisted, as he'd been resisting for the past few hours. She was in a strange mood, this bot of his.
"Spike," she whispered, trailing a finger along his sarcophagus. The dust she collected on her fingertip was blown off with pursed lips and a breath of air. "Why won't you touch me?" She stopped and turned to face him, her eyes wide with an innocence she didn't know, that she wasn't familiar with.
He sighed, wondering what the real Willow was doing. Probably pretending she didn't have any feelings for him, pretending she didn't have a care in the world. Pretending he was a piece of chewed gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe, annoying her with every step she took, but not concerning her enough to say or do anything about it. To scrape him off.
To tell her friends about him.
He closed his eyes, dropping his head back to smack into the marble wall. The pain that shot through his head felt good, it helped to clear his mind, to make him realize that--
A hand touched his hip, sliding across his stomach to stop with clawed fingers, tightening minutely in the cotton of his shirt. Lips touched his ear, whispering to him, sending shivers of desire coursing through him. "I always want you, Spike..." teeth nipped lightly at his ear, nibbling on the lobe, her tongue sliding behind the flesh to lick at his neck. "Why don't you want me anymore?"
Her hand clenched tighter in his shirt, lifting it from his jeans slowly, inch by inch. Her other hand joined the first, teasing his flesh with light touches and scratches across his abdomen.
His eyes flew open when she slipped her hand under the waistband of his jeans, sliding down to cup him. He raised his hand, halting hers. Leaning toward toward her, he pressed his lips to hers, devouring her mouth with all the desire he felt for her. For Willow. He spun them around, pushing her against the wall, pressing his body to hers, letting her feel how much he wanted her.
"I do want you," he told her, kissing her soundly before pulling away and striding across the room. "I want you all the time," he admitted, turning back to face her, breathing heavily, laughing as he gestured to his chest, which was rising and falling. "Isn't it obvious? I don't breathe, Willow. I don't--" he paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, calming his breathing, moving further away from her. "Just because I don't want sex all the time, doesn't mean I don't want you. Can't we just talk every once in a while?"
She pushed away from the wall, completely recovered from her lust-filled foray into being a sex-kitten. "You want to talk to me?" she asked in surprise. Her eyes went to the wall behind him, signaling that she was searching her software. A wide smile graced her lips. "I like to talk." She nodded excitedly, sitting stiffly on the chair arm. "Let's talk."
Spike turned away from her, hating to see her acting like a blasted robot. One minute she was all Willow, just like the woman he wanted so damn much, the next, she could've been anyone. It was at times like these that he wanted the real Willow even more than he normally did.
She had a unique voice, her own special way of speaking. She was different, not the usual run-of-the-mill woman with boring interests and stupid comments to make. She had insight and points of view, she was smart. Beautiful. Interesting.
"What would you like to talk about?" She frowned thoughtfully, processing information quickly, searching for subjects of interest to him. "Blood?" she asked perkily, her smile still firmly in place. "Killing? Torturing?" With each subject she mentioned, her smile faded until it was gone completely. She dropped her eyes to the floor, scuffing her shoes against the dusty floor. "I-- I don't want to talk about any of those things, Spike." She raised her eyes, pleading with him to understand. "Please don't be mad," she hurriedly added.
Mad? He was actually happy about it. Seemed the longer she was around, the more like the real Willow she acted. She was fighting against her programming, not happy with just pleasing him anymore. She now cared--was that even possible?--about things other than just him.
She wanted to be with her friends, wanted to do magick, to help kill the bad guys. Not because that's what her programming told her to do, but because it was something she wanted to do. She cared that he was now able to kill. She'd made him snack on bad guys, talked him into eating the nastiest of the nasty humans. That wasn't a part of her programming as far as he knew.
Nothing that'd happened with her at all was normal, though. She was supposed to be Buffy. Supposed to be the woman he... was falling out of love with. Had he ever loved Buffy?
He closed the distance between them, hating seeing her upset. Pulling her up by her arms, he kissed her. "I'm not mad, love. We can talk about anything. Whatever you want." He dropped into the chair, pulling her into his lap to cuddle. "Magick?"
"Mmm," she agreed, laying her head on his shoulder. "I've read all the books, and I think I'm ready to do a spell that will likely go wrong because I'm not very good at what I do." She lifted her head, smiling down at him. "We should go get some supplies. At the Magic Box."
He shook his head, frowning at the frown that creased her brow. Settling her head back on his shoulder, he sighed, wishing he could take her out. "Willow, pet... you, uh, you know we can't--"
"Why?" she inquired, once again raising her head to look down at him. "Spike, I haven't left this crypt at all, except when we went to find Warren. I'm getting cabin fever. I feel cooped-up." She climbed out of his lap, crossing her arms over her chest. "I want to go out." Glancing down at her feet, she stomped one, then glanced back up at him. "Now."
Pouting? His robot was pouting? He burst out laughing, sitting forward in the chair to take her hands. He kissed the backs of each one, still chuckling as he peered up at her. "Okay, love, okay. We'll go outside for a bit."
"Really?" she squealed, waiting for his nod before turning around with a jumping step as she rushed toward the door. "Come on, let's go!"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," he told her, stopping her just as she reached the door. "Ground rules first. Okay?"
She sighed, looking annoyed. "Okay, Overprotective Guy, just hurry up."
"If we run into anyone, and I mean anyone, most especially one of your friends," he emphasized, bending a little to look into her face, "you come back here. They're... uh, still angry. About us. They-- they don't like the idea of us together, and they might say mean things." He drew her closer, hugging her to him, hoping they didn't run into anyone at all. "I don't want you to be hurt by them. So..." he sighed, pulling back to look at her, "if we see someone, we turn around and leave, got it?"
"Yes. Yes. And, yes, Spike. Yes," she said impatiently, turning the doorknob with a yelp of excitement. "Let's just go."
Spike followed her into the night, hoping Buffy et al weren't patrolling his cemetery tonight. That'd be a fun one to explain. Then again, he thought, watching Willow take in the night air and the sliver of a moon with glee, if they ran into Buffy, and Willow didn't give away that she was a robot, maybe that'd take care of his problems with the real Willow. Buffy would then know.
And kill him. Maybe not such a good idea. Sigh.
He rolled his eyes at his thoughts. It was possible he was spending too much time around both Willows. The one with him currently hopped up on a headstone, parting her arms wide, tilting her head back as she closed her eyes.
"I feel so alive, Spike." She smiled, enjoying the simple pleasure of being outside.
Seeing Willow spreading her arms wide, inviting all and sundry to look at her, he had to think she was the most enticing woman he'd ever known.
Her hair, darker than the real Willow's, flowed down her back in a waterfall of red, reminding him of blood, something very near and dear to his heart.
The shape of her body was perfect; she had a long, pale neck leading down to a chest that sported small mounds of firm flesh. Her waist was trim, curving in and then flaring out again for her hips, just enough for him to wrap his arms comfortably around her. Long, muscular legs, shapely and strong, led to perfect feet.
She was just... breathtaking. Everything about her drew him to her. She breathed in deeply, drawing his attention to her back, which, on this Willow, was pale and unblemished. Unhurt.
"In a sea of death..." she mumbled, opening her eyes to stare straight up, balancing on the thin headstone, "I'm the only person alive in this cemetery." She spun around quickly, not losing even a small amount of her balance. "Maybe in the world."
"Feeling philosophical?" He walked over to her, taking her hand to help her down. Instead of jumping down, she hopped from one marker to another, moving fluidly. Graceful as a tiger. "Come down from there," he told her, tugging lightly on her fingers.
"Uh-uh." She pulled her hand free, jumping to the next marker with a giggle. "Come and get me," she taunted, wriggling her eyebrows at him.
"I'm not going to chase after you," he scoffed, eyeing her shapely legs and behind as she turned to the side and walked down the row of headstones in the aisle they were in.
"Suit yourself," she told him, shrugging as she turned away.
As soon as her back was turned, he grinned and headed after her, moving as quietly as he could. Stepping lightly on the grass, avoiding the twigs and dried leaves that littered the ground, he crept toward her, still watching that lovely backside of hers.
She continued to walk the headstones, slower now, but with just as much eagerness as before.
When he was right behind her, he reached up and pinched her butt, laughing when she squealed and spun around, falling right into his arms.
He caught her easily, kissing her quickly before setting her on her feet. She laughed lightly, swatting at his arm as he nudged her with a wink.
"That wasn't nice," she laughed, leaning against a tree as she watched him.
He closed the distance between them and leaned into her, sliding his hands under her shirt with a chuckle. She once again swatted at him, but weakly this time, biting her lip on a chuckle. Her laughter died when his hands moved up to her breasts and his mouth settled on her neck.
"Is this nice enough for you?" he whispered, nipping lightly at her flesh, wanting to sink his teeth into her. She tasted like flesh, felt like flesh, but she just wasn't made of flesh. It was synthetic something or other, and he had no desire to take off a chunk of it.
She tipped her head back, giving him better access. Her hands gripped his hair, holding him to her. "That's very nice," she whispered back. Her moan echoed in the quiet night, broken only by his heavy breathing. Why did she do that to him all the time? Make him breathe when he didn't need to?
He lifted her black blouse, baring her pale stomach and red bra to his hungry gaze. Trailing small kisses down her neck, he raised his head briefly, long enough to move past her bunched-up blouse and settle his mouth on the swell of her left breast.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, her chest arching closer to his mouth. One hand slid down to take its place in the same spot it'd been in earlier.
He sucked in a breath, giving her easier access to the waistband of his jeans, allowing her hand to slip down and cup him. Pulling away from her breast, he raised his head to her mouth, licking her lower lip as she stroked him. She opened her heavy-lidded eyes, smiling at him with love.
"I think I'm learning to love you," he mumbled, shaking his head thoughtfully as he gazed at her.
"More, you mean," she told him, curling her fingers around his erection.
"More," he agreed, kissing her softly.
A tingling feeling passed over his spine, and he halted her hand, darting his eyes around the surrounding darkness. Sliding her hand from his pants, not an easy feat, he leaned down and whispered for her to stay there while he had a look around.
"Uh, I don't think so," she disagreed, straightening her shirt and following closely behind him.
He crept quietly toward the left, where the feeling was even stronger, and concentrated on what it was he felt. Willow's hands gripped his shirt in the back as she peered over his shoulder.
A second later, he realized it wasn't a vampire he felt nearby, but Buffy. Heading in his direction. Bloody hell. He turned around, gripping Willow's arms tightly. "Go. Now," he told her, "get in the crypt, go below, and wait for me."
She frowned, looking about ready to argue with him, but he shoved her from him, not giving her the chance to do so. "Be careful," she whispered, walking quickly back in the direction of the crypt.
She wasn't completely out of sight before Buffy stepped in front of a tree, glaring at him. He darted his eyes in Willow's direction, hoping Buffy hadn't seen her. Her red hair was distinctive, as was her body and her movements... or was that only something he'd noticed that well?
"Spike," Buffy stated, pulling a stake from her jacket as she moved closer. "Just the person I wanted to see. Who was that?" She didn't even bother looking in the direction Willow had gone in. Circling around him in a wide arc, she wove her way through headstones.
"A friend," he answered carefully. He relaxed his posture, knowing the first thing to give him away would be his nervousness. She always knew when he was lying, and this time the stakes were too high to get caught. "A witch," he added, probably not wisely. "Beginning witch," he corrected, going through the ritual of searching out his cigarettes and lighting one.
"Got a sudden fondness for witches, don't you?" she pondered, tilting her head to the side as she studied him.
His eyes darted her way, wondering if she did know. "How's that?" Soothing smoke flooded into his lungs as he took a deep drag off his cigarette.
She shrugged, staring the way Willow had gone, her eyes narrowing. "A beginning witch... shouldn't you make sure she gets home okay?" She stalked closer, tapping her stake against her leg as she approached. "The Wickaninnish is still in town."
"Actually," he said, grabbing that excuse as a means of getting away from Buffy, "I probably should. She's--"
"Great," Buffy agreed, "let's go. I'd love to meet this 'friend' of yours." She started in the direction of his crypt, not looking back to see if he was following her.
Of course he was. Nipping at her damn heels like a puppy dog. He dropped his cigarette to the grass, hurrying after Buffy's retreating figure. Her hair bounced in its ponytail, her short muscular legs striding across the distance, eating it up faster than he liked.
"She's not one for company, you know?" he muttered, striding a little faster than Buffy in order to-- what? Hold the Slayer back while his robot hid under his crypt? "Not a big Slayer fan, and all that rot, like you and your fan group."
Maybe if he got there first, he could signal Willow to leave, or... something.
Buffy shrugged, again. Unconcerned. Was she ever concerned about anything other than her tight little group of friends. Friends that hung off her every word and worshiped the ground she walked on. He could understand her; he knew what she was like. He was the same way. Liked the adulation, the caring, the needing. And her friends did need her.
Like a tall man filled with the richest blood in the world. Or, in her case, maybe a tall glass of cold water. The analogy fit either way. And either way, this wasn't going to end well.
Desperate measures and all that.
He grabbed her arm, halting her frantic pace towards his crypt. "What do you want? Why are you here?" He wanted answers and, by God, he would get them.
She stopped, yanking her arm free of his touch, even going so far as to stare at the spot he'd deigned to touch her in. Her eyes, filled with a fury he didn't understand, raised to his. "You're going patrolling with me." It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.
"Yeah, sorry, not feeling up to it at the moment," he said bravely, shrugging a shoulder in a display of disinterest. "Got things to do... witches to-- help."
Her eyes narrowed even further, her mouth tightening into a thin line of anger. "Witches..." she said thoughtfully, slapping her stake even harder against her thigh.
She didn't watch it, she'd be taking out chunks of her thigh before long. "Yeah. My witchy friend there." He motioned toward his crypt, standing in the distance with Willow waiting inside of it. Hopefully hiding like he'd told her. "She needs..." he stopped and thought about it for a second, tilting his head to the side before chuckling. "Well, she needs me."
Buffy moved in a blur, shoving him to the ground with a leg behind his and landing smack dab on top of him. Her stake was poised above his heart, waiting to take that final plunge into his chest. Her eyes were wide, her nostrils flared. She was loving this. She wanted to kill him; with every fiber of her being, she was fighting the urge to sink her stake into his chest and end his life. Without a thought.
He looked down at the stake, then back up at her, smirking a little. "See now. I always knew you wanted me--"
"Dead," she panted furiously, shoving the stake into his flesh half an inch, smirking at his groan of pain. "I always wanted you dead, Spike." She shoved even harder, pressing in a good inch, her hand shaking with the force of holding back. "You hurt her, and I swear to God and anyone else who's listening that I will gut you an organ at a time. Days apart. Pain will be a distant memory to what you'll be feeling, which will be so far beyond that, that you'll--"
"Oh, for God's sake," he bit out, smacking her hand away from his chest. The stake dropped to the ground with a quiet thunk, but neither one looked at it. They were too busy staring at each other. "Kill me, or get the hell off of me." He raised his hips up, still hard from his earlier play with Willow, and despite himself, harder because of Buffy.
The force she used, the way she was straddling his hips, plunking herself right on his erection, and the pain from her attempted threats of staking, all of it served to turn him on even more.
He was a man. That was his only excuse. And a vampire to boot, so this was all serving to make him way more excited than he should be.
She twisted her face up in disgust and punched him. His head was still moving from the force of the punch when he felt her climb off of him. He pushed himself into a partial sitting position, leaning casually back on his elbows as he observed her. A single eyebrow raised at her, a smirk curling his lips.
She was standing a few feet away, hands fisted at her sides, her body poised for flight. At him, he knew, not to run away. She really did want to kill him.
She pointed at him threateningly, warning him not to move from that spot. "You disgust me. You're a-- a thing. And if you think I'll let you anywhere near her, you're sorely mistaken." She stalked closer, reaching down to grab her stake from its spot at his feet and sprang right back up again. "Humans are off-limits to you, Spike. Forever." She snickered at him, laughing derisively. "In more ways than one."
He watched her turn around and start off in the opposite direction of his crypt, wondering what in bloody hell had just happened.
Not bothering to stick around and find out, he jumped to his feet and ran the rest of the way to his crypt. Shoving the door open, he stopped in the doorway, looking for Willow. She was nowhere in sight and he smiled in satisfaction. At least one person cared enough to listen to him. To pay him some attention.
He shut the door, calling out for Willow to come back up.
"I-- I didn't go down there, Spike," Willow mumbled nervously, raising up from behind the end of the sarcophagus. "I'm sorry..." she started to say, but then her eyes widened and she skirted around the coffin, heading toward him. "Are you okay? What happened?" She stopped in front of him, raising her hand to his chest. "You're bleeding."
He looked down at his chest, fighting his anger at her for disobeying him, and saw the blood on his t-shirt. "I'm fine, ran into one of your little friends." He grabbed her arm, tightening it a little more than he'd intended, causing her to yelp in pain. Like she even felt pain. "Why didn't you go downstairs?" he bit out.
His ego had been tossed by the wayside by Buffy, the Vampire's Bitch, and he was raring for a fight now that he knew Willow was safe.
"I was hiding," she told him, yanking her arm from him angrily. She raised his shirt, wincing at the small wound there. More like a scratch in his eyes, apparently a major deal in hers. "I was safe there. Who did this to you?" Her voice held a lot of anger that wasn't directed at him and her eyes were narrowed, her mouth snapping shut with a clack of teeth.
It'd be better not to tell her the truth. If he did, she looked like she'd be paying a visit to Buffy with words and possibly a good poking in the chest. He snickered a little as he pulled his bloody shirt off. "No one, love. Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about it?" she echoed, clenching her hands by her sides.
He half expected her eyes to turn black and her hair to start blowing in a non-existent wind kicked up by her magick. But this was Willow the robot, not the real thing. She couldn't do magick most likely. He hoped.
He fisted his shirt into a ball and wiped the blood from his chest, and then threw the shirt on top of the sarcophagus. "Yeah," he repeated, taking her arms and staring into her eyes, making sure she paid attention to him this time. And obeyed him. "Don't worry about it."
When she reluctantly nodded, he dropped into his chair, stewing over the night's events. Highs and lows, ups and downs... perfect night. Fit his life to a T.
Willow sighed and turned the TV on, sitting in front of it. She was pouting again. Sure did that a lot. More than the real one. Realizing he actually didn't know that for a fact, he wondered how much else he didn't know.
He closed his eyes as the sounds of a commercial jingle echoed throughout the crypt. Dropping his head back with a sigh, he crossed his hands over his stomach and relaxed, trying to forget how easily Buffy had taken him down. How quickly she was able to get his goat.
To piss him off so bloody royally that he couldn't relax!
Damn it. Sitting forward, he trained his eyes on Willow, watching her smile and laugh at the stupid sitcom assaulting his ears. She was everything he wanted all wrapped up in a neat little Willow package.
Laughter and beauty, loyalty and fierceness. She was his. His lover, his girl, his witch, his... equal. There was darkness to her, and now they were all aware of it. But instead of it scaring him away, it actually made him want her more. Made him respect and admire her.
When she killed Ben, he'd watched her come alive for the first time he could ever remember. So radiant and shining was that darkness in her. It enveloped her, took her over, and he liked that.
But he also liked the goodness in her. She was trustful and truthful. She didn't lie to get her way, didn't cheat and steal and then turn around and claim it was for the best. She just... was.
After a few more minutes of watching her, he felt his body responding to her. The way she moved when she laughed, the way her hair swayed back and forth when she swung her legs around and sat cross-legged, staring intently at the TV.
He wanted her. And he was still feeling the blow to his ego that Buffy had dealt him. He wanted Willow. Now. But he wanted something else too.
Compliance.
He waited until the show she was watching was over, then spoke up over it. "Turn that off."
She leaned forward, turning it down before looking over her shoulder at him. "But, I wanted to watch the next show," she said excitedly, like a kid given free rein in a toy or a candy store. "It's about a--"
"Turn it off," he repeated, his eyes unblinking at he stared at her. "And then you can undress." He motioned to a spot a few feet away from the TV set, a nice good spot for him to see her completely. "Right there."
She smiled wider, clicking off the TV and standing happily, in her element now. Sex, that's all she seemed to be about. Though occasionally, there was more. At the moment, she seemed to sense that he needed more. She frowned at him as she stood in the spot he'd indicated and looked a little nervous.
"Spike?" She bit her lip, raising her arms to her abdomen, covering the flesh from his eyes. "What's wrong? Why do I have to--"
"Do it," he ordered, watching her raise the blouse slowly over her head and stand in her lacy red bra. There was no way to see her standing there and not be affected by her. His body hardened even more as she shifted nervously, looking at him under her eyelashes. Playing the little tease. "More."
She reached behind her to unhook her bra, but he shook his head.
"Leave that. Take off the pants." He leaned down and unlaced his boots, kicking them off one at a time and shoving them out of the way.
She untied her tennis shoes and kicked them off, setting them neatly aside. He smiled at her fastidiousness, knowing she was doing it on purpose, teasing him.
He raised his hands to the buckle of his belt at the same time as she did, and unbuttoned his pants along with her. One button at a time he watched her expose herself to him, and he did the same.
Her eyes fixed on his lap, watching and waiting for him to reveal his erection to her gaze, but he stopped just shy of letting her get what she wanted.
She drew in a deep breath, exhaling in disappointment. Shoving her jeans down her hips, she bent over and pulled them off, one leg at a time. She folded them up and set them on top of her shoes. Her socks were pulled off and dropped to the jeans.
He nodded in satisfaction, taking in every inch of her bare body. Red suited her, beautifully showcasing her smooth, pale skin. She was firm and toned, but not tanned. Her teeth nipped her bottom lip again, making him moan softly as he imagined her lips on his aching erection.
He raised his arm, gesturing for her to come closer. She swallowed, still playing the nervous little virgin. Made him feel all manly. Her steps were small, her legs long, and after only ten steps she was in front of him, standing there with her arms once again crossed over her stomach.
That wasn't where his eyes were anyway. The swell of her breasts, pushed higher thanks to her bra, were enticing, begging him to touch them. He reached out and touched her thigh with his right hand, running it slowly up her leg.
She started to breathe a little heavier and lean toward him, but he kept her at a distance. Hooking his finger in the side of her panties, he pulled the material away and let go. "Take 'em off, Willow."
"Okay." Stepping back, she darted nervous eyes in his direction, silently watching him watch her as she hooked her own fingers in the thin red material. The lace, which made patterns of swirls in the spot he most wanted to see, slipped easily down her thighs and to the floor. She stepped free of them, pushing them away with her toes. "Can I touch you?" she asked, moving back into position in front of him.
He chuckled, standing up straight, an inch from where she stood. Without touching her, he stripped his jeans off. As he stood up straight again, there was only one part of him touching her, and it was the part they both wanted so much to touch her.
Her eyes dropped to his very prominent erection as he dropped back into the chair and settled his arms on the chair arms. "You can touch me," he told her, "but not with your hands. Why don't you have a seat, love?"
She smiled, licking her lips in expectation. "Okay, Spike. I like this game." She knelt on the seat beside one of his legs, and hooked the other over him. Placing her hands on the chair arms, careful not to touch him, she lifted herself up and moved closer, raising up over him, touching just the head of him with her wet heat.
They both gasped in pleasure, him arching up, her sliding down. Together, they seated her on top of him. She fell forward, leaning against him, pressing her breasts against his chest and kissed him. "Are lips okay?" she whispered, sliding her arms beneath his own, gripping the chair arm. "I like tasting you. You're manly tasting, and you smell good too."
Spike nodded, taking her lips with his own, pushing her back a little with the force of the kiss, clenching his fingers into the fabric of the chair, resisting the urge to grab her and run his hands over every inch of her body.
Her muscles clenched around him, giving him the tightness he craved, but not the friction. "Up," he muttered, occupying his mouth with her neck, dipping his head lower to lick the swell of her breast.
She lifted herself using her arms on the chair and her legs, sliding slowly along his entire length, stopping only when he thought she'd leave him completely. "Up," she echoed, holding herself poised above him.
He chuckled, sliding his tongue under her bra to tease her nipple. Thrusting high, using his own arms on the chair, he gasped at the feel of her hot body clenching and sliding around him. "Bloody hell, you feel good," he told her, thrusting back out, and then up again. "You have no idea..." he grunted, thrusting again, "how good you... oh, God, how good you feel."
He was close, even now, and the blame for that was all laid at Buffy's feet. She'd pissed him off, made him feel weak and useless. This was Willow he was using, not Buffy, and he didn't want it to be Buffy, but he did want to show her. While he was thrusting inside of Willow, giving her just as much pleasure as he was receiving, he was sticking it to Buffy.
"You feel good too, Spike. I want to touch you." She tried to free her hands from beneath his arms, but he pressed down on them.
"No," he ordered, holding her arms still. "You're touching me enough. Where it counts." He dropped his eyes, hoping like hell he meant on his body and not his heart. Unfortunately, he was pretty positive he meant his heart.
And she thought so too.
Her eyes softened, her smile loving. "I love you too, Spike."
He was so damn close now, he was thrusting into her with abandon, feeling her clench around him tightly, but he wanted a little more. "Bite me," he told her, his eyes pleading with hers.
She didn't protest this time, just dipped her head down and licked his chest, licking at the blood from the stake wound. As his hips jerked up on the edge of orgasm, she bit into his shoulder, sucking at the blood that slowly seeped from the wound.
Spike thrust into her one more time and came with a groan. His hips continued to jerk, moving him inside of her, deeper and deeper, pressing higher until she came. Her teeth clenched tighter on him, her mouth sucking at the blood, drawing out the little he had to spare.
"I love you," she whispered, collapsing on him, tearing her mouth from the wound she'd made. He raised his hands, cradling her to him, holding her close, needing the feel of her hair and her skin under his hands.
He was tempted to say the words, to confirm what she thought, but he couldn't, not yet. He was headed that way though. This was not about sex anymore. This was about Willow and his feelings for her. Big feelings.
He could only hope the real Willow felt something close to what he felt for her. Sliding one hand down her hair and the other down her back, he breathed with her, lifting his chest up and down in time with her breathing, falling asleep with her in his lap and him inside her body.
TITLE: Order Now (12/?)
AUTHOR: sinecure
RATED: R
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.
DEDICATED: To Claudia, because, not only is she the best beta ever, but she's also quite the friend. She kicks ass on grammar--just call her the Hyphen Queen, I do--spelling, characterization, plot. She makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier... even when she's killing my poor little defenseless plot-babies. ;) Yay for betas!
PART 12
Willow's body moved slowly and sensuously across Spike's crypt, enticing Spike to come nearer, to touch her. He resisted, as he'd been resisting for the past few hours. She was in a strange mood, this bot of his.
"Spike," she whispered, trailing a finger along his sarcophagus. The dust she collected on her fingertip was blown off with pursed lips and a breath of air. "Why won't you touch me?" She stopped and turned to face him, her eyes wide with an innocence she didn't know, that she wasn't familiar with.
He sighed, wondering what the real Willow was doing. Probably pretending she didn't have any feelings for him, pretending she didn't have a care in the world. Pretending he was a piece of chewed gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe, annoying her with every step she took, but not concerning her enough to say or do anything about it. To scrape him off.
To tell her friends about him.
He closed his eyes, dropping his head back to smack into the marble wall. The pain that shot through his head felt good, it helped to clear his mind, to make him realize that--
A hand touched his hip, sliding across his stomach to stop with clawed fingers, tightening minutely in the cotton of his shirt. Lips touched his ear, whispering to him, sending shivers of desire coursing through him. "I always want you, Spike..." teeth nipped lightly at his ear, nibbling on the lobe, her tongue sliding behind the flesh to lick at his neck. "Why don't you want me anymore?"
Her hand clenched tighter in his shirt, lifting it from his jeans slowly, inch by inch. Her other hand joined the first, teasing his flesh with light touches and scratches across his abdomen.
His eyes flew open when she slipped her hand under the waistband of his jeans, sliding down to cup him. He raised his hand, halting hers. Leaning toward toward her, he pressed his lips to hers, devouring her mouth with all the desire he felt for her. For Willow. He spun them around, pushing her against the wall, pressing his body to hers, letting her feel how much he wanted her.
"I do want you," he told her, kissing her soundly before pulling away and striding across the room. "I want you all the time," he admitted, turning back to face her, breathing heavily, laughing as he gestured to his chest, which was rising and falling. "Isn't it obvious? I don't breathe, Willow. I don't--" he paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, calming his breathing, moving further away from her. "Just because I don't want sex all the time, doesn't mean I don't want you. Can't we just talk every once in a while?"
She pushed away from the wall, completely recovered from her lust-filled foray into being a sex-kitten. "You want to talk to me?" she asked in surprise. Her eyes went to the wall behind him, signaling that she was searching her software. A wide smile graced her lips. "I like to talk." She nodded excitedly, sitting stiffly on the chair arm. "Let's talk."
Spike turned away from her, hating to see her acting like a blasted robot. One minute she was all Willow, just like the woman he wanted so damn much, the next, she could've been anyone. It was at times like these that he wanted the real Willow even more than he normally did.
She had a unique voice, her own special way of speaking. She was different, not the usual run-of-the-mill woman with boring interests and stupid comments to make. She had insight and points of view, she was smart. Beautiful. Interesting.
"What would you like to talk about?" She frowned thoughtfully, processing information quickly, searching for subjects of interest to him. "Blood?" she asked perkily, her smile still firmly in place. "Killing? Torturing?" With each subject she mentioned, her smile faded until it was gone completely. She dropped her eyes to the floor, scuffing her shoes against the dusty floor. "I-- I don't want to talk about any of those things, Spike." She raised her eyes, pleading with him to understand. "Please don't be mad," she hurriedly added.
Mad? He was actually happy about it. Seemed the longer she was around, the more like the real Willow she acted. She was fighting against her programming, not happy with just pleasing him anymore. She now cared--was that even possible?--about things other than just him.
She wanted to be with her friends, wanted to do magick, to help kill the bad guys. Not because that's what her programming told her to do, but because it was something she wanted to do. She cared that he was now able to kill. She'd made him snack on bad guys, talked him into eating the nastiest of the nasty humans. That wasn't a part of her programming as far as he knew.
Nothing that'd happened with her at all was normal, though. She was supposed to be Buffy. Supposed to be the woman he... was falling out of love with. Had he ever loved Buffy?
He closed the distance between them, hating seeing her upset. Pulling her up by her arms, he kissed her. "I'm not mad, love. We can talk about anything. Whatever you want." He dropped into the chair, pulling her into his lap to cuddle. "Magick?"
"Mmm," she agreed, laying her head on his shoulder. "I've read all the books, and I think I'm ready to do a spell that will likely go wrong because I'm not very good at what I do." She lifted her head, smiling down at him. "We should go get some supplies. At the Magic Box."
He shook his head, frowning at the frown that creased her brow. Settling her head back on his shoulder, he sighed, wishing he could take her out. "Willow, pet... you, uh, you know we can't--"
"Why?" she inquired, once again raising her head to look down at him. "Spike, I haven't left this crypt at all, except when we went to find Warren. I'm getting cabin fever. I feel cooped-up." She climbed out of his lap, crossing her arms over her chest. "I want to go out." Glancing down at her feet, she stomped one, then glanced back up at him. "Now."
Pouting? His robot was pouting? He burst out laughing, sitting forward in the chair to take her hands. He kissed the backs of each one, still chuckling as he peered up at her. "Okay, love, okay. We'll go outside for a bit."
"Really?" she squealed, waiting for his nod before turning around with a jumping step as she rushed toward the door. "Come on, let's go!"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," he told her, stopping her just as she reached the door. "Ground rules first. Okay?"
She sighed, looking annoyed. "Okay, Overprotective Guy, just hurry up."
"If we run into anyone, and I mean anyone, most especially one of your friends," he emphasized, bending a little to look into her face, "you come back here. They're... uh, still angry. About us. They-- they don't like the idea of us together, and they might say mean things." He drew her closer, hugging her to him, hoping they didn't run into anyone at all. "I don't want you to be hurt by them. So..." he sighed, pulling back to look at her, "if we see someone, we turn around and leave, got it?"
"Yes. Yes. And, yes, Spike. Yes," she said impatiently, turning the doorknob with a yelp of excitement. "Let's just go."
Spike followed her into the night, hoping Buffy et al weren't patrolling his cemetery tonight. That'd be a fun one to explain. Then again, he thought, watching Willow take in the night air and the sliver of a moon with glee, if they ran into Buffy, and Willow didn't give away that she was a robot, maybe that'd take care of his problems with the real Willow. Buffy would then know.
And kill him. Maybe not such a good idea. Sigh.
He rolled his eyes at his thoughts. It was possible he was spending too much time around both Willows. The one with him currently hopped up on a headstone, parting her arms wide, tilting her head back as she closed her eyes.
"I feel so alive, Spike." She smiled, enjoying the simple pleasure of being outside.
Seeing Willow spreading her arms wide, inviting all and sundry to look at her, he had to think she was the most enticing woman he'd ever known.
Her hair, darker than the real Willow's, flowed down her back in a waterfall of red, reminding him of blood, something very near and dear to his heart.
The shape of her body was perfect; she had a long, pale neck leading down to a chest that sported small mounds of firm flesh. Her waist was trim, curving in and then flaring out again for her hips, just enough for him to wrap his arms comfortably around her. Long, muscular legs, shapely and strong, led to perfect feet.
She was just... breathtaking. Everything about her drew him to her. She breathed in deeply, drawing his attention to her back, which, on this Willow, was pale and unblemished. Unhurt.
"In a sea of death..." she mumbled, opening her eyes to stare straight up, balancing on the thin headstone, "I'm the only person alive in this cemetery." She spun around quickly, not losing even a small amount of her balance. "Maybe in the world."
"Feeling philosophical?" He walked over to her, taking her hand to help her down. Instead of jumping down, she hopped from one marker to another, moving fluidly. Graceful as a tiger. "Come down from there," he told her, tugging lightly on her fingers.
"Uh-uh." She pulled her hand free, jumping to the next marker with a giggle. "Come and get me," she taunted, wriggling her eyebrows at him.
"I'm not going to chase after you," he scoffed, eyeing her shapely legs and behind as she turned to the side and walked down the row of headstones in the aisle they were in.
"Suit yourself," she told him, shrugging as she turned away.
As soon as her back was turned, he grinned and headed after her, moving as quietly as he could. Stepping lightly on the grass, avoiding the twigs and dried leaves that littered the ground, he crept toward her, still watching that lovely backside of hers.
She continued to walk the headstones, slower now, but with just as much eagerness as before.
When he was right behind her, he reached up and pinched her butt, laughing when she squealed and spun around, falling right into his arms.
He caught her easily, kissing her quickly before setting her on her feet. She laughed lightly, swatting at his arm as he nudged her with a wink.
"That wasn't nice," she laughed, leaning against a tree as she watched him.
He closed the distance between them and leaned into her, sliding his hands under her shirt with a chuckle. She once again swatted at him, but weakly this time, biting her lip on a chuckle. Her laughter died when his hands moved up to her breasts and his mouth settled on her neck.
"Is this nice enough for you?" he whispered, nipping lightly at her flesh, wanting to sink his teeth into her. She tasted like flesh, felt like flesh, but she just wasn't made of flesh. It was synthetic something or other, and he had no desire to take off a chunk of it.
She tipped her head back, giving him better access. Her hands gripped his hair, holding him to her. "That's very nice," she whispered back. Her moan echoed in the quiet night, broken only by his heavy breathing. Why did she do that to him all the time? Make him breathe when he didn't need to?
He lifted her black blouse, baring her pale stomach and red bra to his hungry gaze. Trailing small kisses down her neck, he raised his head briefly, long enough to move past her bunched-up blouse and settle his mouth on the swell of her left breast.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, her chest arching closer to his mouth. One hand slid down to take its place in the same spot it'd been in earlier.
He sucked in a breath, giving her easier access to the waistband of his jeans, allowing her hand to slip down and cup him. Pulling away from her breast, he raised his head to her mouth, licking her lower lip as she stroked him. She opened her heavy-lidded eyes, smiling at him with love.
"I think I'm learning to love you," he mumbled, shaking his head thoughtfully as he gazed at her.
"More, you mean," she told him, curling her fingers around his erection.
"More," he agreed, kissing her softly.
A tingling feeling passed over his spine, and he halted her hand, darting his eyes around the surrounding darkness. Sliding her hand from his pants, not an easy feat, he leaned down and whispered for her to stay there while he had a look around.
"Uh, I don't think so," she disagreed, straightening her shirt and following closely behind him.
He crept quietly toward the left, where the feeling was even stronger, and concentrated on what it was he felt. Willow's hands gripped his shirt in the back as she peered over his shoulder.
A second later, he realized it wasn't a vampire he felt nearby, but Buffy. Heading in his direction. Bloody hell. He turned around, gripping Willow's arms tightly. "Go. Now," he told her, "get in the crypt, go below, and wait for me."
She frowned, looking about ready to argue with him, but he shoved her from him, not giving her the chance to do so. "Be careful," she whispered, walking quickly back in the direction of the crypt.
She wasn't completely out of sight before Buffy stepped in front of a tree, glaring at him. He darted his eyes in Willow's direction, hoping Buffy hadn't seen her. Her red hair was distinctive, as was her body and her movements... or was that only something he'd noticed that well?
"Spike," Buffy stated, pulling a stake from her jacket as she moved closer. "Just the person I wanted to see. Who was that?" She didn't even bother looking in the direction Willow had gone in. Circling around him in a wide arc, she wove her way through headstones.
"A friend," he answered carefully. He relaxed his posture, knowing the first thing to give him away would be his nervousness. She always knew when he was lying, and this time the stakes were too high to get caught. "A witch," he added, probably not wisely. "Beginning witch," he corrected, going through the ritual of searching out his cigarettes and lighting one.
"Got a sudden fondness for witches, don't you?" she pondered, tilting her head to the side as she studied him.
His eyes darted her way, wondering if she did know. "How's that?" Soothing smoke flooded into his lungs as he took a deep drag off his cigarette.
She shrugged, staring the way Willow had gone, her eyes narrowing. "A beginning witch... shouldn't you make sure she gets home okay?" She stalked closer, tapping her stake against her leg as she approached. "The Wickaninnish is still in town."
"Actually," he said, grabbing that excuse as a means of getting away from Buffy, "I probably should. She's--"
"Great," Buffy agreed, "let's go. I'd love to meet this 'friend' of yours." She started in the direction of his crypt, not looking back to see if he was following her.
Of course he was. Nipping at her damn heels like a puppy dog. He dropped his cigarette to the grass, hurrying after Buffy's retreating figure. Her hair bounced in its ponytail, her short muscular legs striding across the distance, eating it up faster than he liked.
"She's not one for company, you know?" he muttered, striding a little faster than Buffy in order to-- what? Hold the Slayer back while his robot hid under his crypt? "Not a big Slayer fan, and all that rot, like you and your fan group."
Maybe if he got there first, he could signal Willow to leave, or... something.
Buffy shrugged, again. Unconcerned. Was she ever concerned about anything other than her tight little group of friends. Friends that hung off her every word and worshiped the ground she walked on. He could understand her; he knew what she was like. He was the same way. Liked the adulation, the caring, the needing. And her friends did need her.
Like a tall man filled with the richest blood in the world. Or, in her case, maybe a tall glass of cold water. The analogy fit either way. And either way, this wasn't going to end well.
Desperate measures and all that.
He grabbed her arm, halting her frantic pace towards his crypt. "What do you want? Why are you here?" He wanted answers and, by God, he would get them.
She stopped, yanking her arm free of his touch, even going so far as to stare at the spot he'd deigned to touch her in. Her eyes, filled with a fury he didn't understand, raised to his. "You're going patrolling with me." It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.
"Yeah, sorry, not feeling up to it at the moment," he said bravely, shrugging a shoulder in a display of disinterest. "Got things to do... witches to-- help."
Her eyes narrowed even further, her mouth tightening into a thin line of anger. "Witches..." she said thoughtfully, slapping her stake even harder against her thigh.
She didn't watch it, she'd be taking out chunks of her thigh before long. "Yeah. My witchy friend there." He motioned toward his crypt, standing in the distance with Willow waiting inside of it. Hopefully hiding like he'd told her. "She needs..." he stopped and thought about it for a second, tilting his head to the side before chuckling. "Well, she needs me."
Buffy moved in a blur, shoving him to the ground with a leg behind his and landing smack dab on top of him. Her stake was poised above his heart, waiting to take that final plunge into his chest. Her eyes were wide, her nostrils flared. She was loving this. She wanted to kill him; with every fiber of her being, she was fighting the urge to sink her stake into his chest and end his life. Without a thought.
He looked down at the stake, then back up at her, smirking a little. "See now. I always knew you wanted me--"
"Dead," she panted furiously, shoving the stake into his flesh half an inch, smirking at his groan of pain. "I always wanted you dead, Spike." She shoved even harder, pressing in a good inch, her hand shaking with the force of holding back. "You hurt her, and I swear to God and anyone else who's listening that I will gut you an organ at a time. Days apart. Pain will be a distant memory to what you'll be feeling, which will be so far beyond that, that you'll--"
"Oh, for God's sake," he bit out, smacking her hand away from his chest. The stake dropped to the ground with a quiet thunk, but neither one looked at it. They were too busy staring at each other. "Kill me, or get the hell off of me." He raised his hips up, still hard from his earlier play with Willow, and despite himself, harder because of Buffy.
The force she used, the way she was straddling his hips, plunking herself right on his erection, and the pain from her attempted threats of staking, all of it served to turn him on even more.
He was a man. That was his only excuse. And a vampire to boot, so this was all serving to make him way more excited than he should be.
She twisted her face up in disgust and punched him. His head was still moving from the force of the punch when he felt her climb off of him. He pushed himself into a partial sitting position, leaning casually back on his elbows as he observed her. A single eyebrow raised at her, a smirk curling his lips.
She was standing a few feet away, hands fisted at her sides, her body poised for flight. At him, he knew, not to run away. She really did want to kill him.
She pointed at him threateningly, warning him not to move from that spot. "You disgust me. You're a-- a thing. And if you think I'll let you anywhere near her, you're sorely mistaken." She stalked closer, reaching down to grab her stake from its spot at his feet and sprang right back up again. "Humans are off-limits to you, Spike. Forever." She snickered at him, laughing derisively. "In more ways than one."
He watched her turn around and start off in the opposite direction of his crypt, wondering what in bloody hell had just happened.
Not bothering to stick around and find out, he jumped to his feet and ran the rest of the way to his crypt. Shoving the door open, he stopped in the doorway, looking for Willow. She was nowhere in sight and he smiled in satisfaction. At least one person cared enough to listen to him. To pay him some attention.
He shut the door, calling out for Willow to come back up.
"I-- I didn't go down there, Spike," Willow mumbled nervously, raising up from behind the end of the sarcophagus. "I'm sorry..." she started to say, but then her eyes widened and she skirted around the coffin, heading toward him. "Are you okay? What happened?" She stopped in front of him, raising her hand to his chest. "You're bleeding."
He looked down at his chest, fighting his anger at her for disobeying him, and saw the blood on his t-shirt. "I'm fine, ran into one of your little friends." He grabbed her arm, tightening it a little more than he'd intended, causing her to yelp in pain. Like she even felt pain. "Why didn't you go downstairs?" he bit out.
His ego had been tossed by the wayside by Buffy, the Vampire's Bitch, and he was raring for a fight now that he knew Willow was safe.
"I was hiding," she told him, yanking her arm from him angrily. She raised his shirt, wincing at the small wound there. More like a scratch in his eyes, apparently a major deal in hers. "I was safe there. Who did this to you?" Her voice held a lot of anger that wasn't directed at him and her eyes were narrowed, her mouth snapping shut with a clack of teeth.
It'd be better not to tell her the truth. If he did, she looked like she'd be paying a visit to Buffy with words and possibly a good poking in the chest. He snickered a little as he pulled his bloody shirt off. "No one, love. Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about it?" she echoed, clenching her hands by her sides.
He half expected her eyes to turn black and her hair to start blowing in a non-existent wind kicked up by her magick. But this was Willow the robot, not the real thing. She couldn't do magick most likely. He hoped.
He fisted his shirt into a ball and wiped the blood from his chest, and then threw the shirt on top of the sarcophagus. "Yeah," he repeated, taking her arms and staring into her eyes, making sure she paid attention to him this time. And obeyed him. "Don't worry about it."
When she reluctantly nodded, he dropped into his chair, stewing over the night's events. Highs and lows, ups and downs... perfect night. Fit his life to a T.
Willow sighed and turned the TV on, sitting in front of it. She was pouting again. Sure did that a lot. More than the real one. Realizing he actually didn't know that for a fact, he wondered how much else he didn't know.
He closed his eyes as the sounds of a commercial jingle echoed throughout the crypt. Dropping his head back with a sigh, he crossed his hands over his stomach and relaxed, trying to forget how easily Buffy had taken him down. How quickly she was able to get his goat.
To piss him off so bloody royally that he couldn't relax!
Damn it. Sitting forward, he trained his eyes on Willow, watching her smile and laugh at the stupid sitcom assaulting his ears. She was everything he wanted all wrapped up in a neat little Willow package.
Laughter and beauty, loyalty and fierceness. She was his. His lover, his girl, his witch, his... equal. There was darkness to her, and now they were all aware of it. But instead of it scaring him away, it actually made him want her more. Made him respect and admire her.
When she killed Ben, he'd watched her come alive for the first time he could ever remember. So radiant and shining was that darkness in her. It enveloped her, took her over, and he liked that.
But he also liked the goodness in her. She was trustful and truthful. She didn't lie to get her way, didn't cheat and steal and then turn around and claim it was for the best. She just... was.
After a few more minutes of watching her, he felt his body responding to her. The way she moved when she laughed, the way her hair swayed back and forth when she swung her legs around and sat cross-legged, staring intently at the TV.
He wanted her. And he was still feeling the blow to his ego that Buffy had dealt him. He wanted Willow. Now. But he wanted something else too.
Compliance.
He waited until the show she was watching was over, then spoke up over it. "Turn that off."
She leaned forward, turning it down before looking over her shoulder at him. "But, I wanted to watch the next show," she said excitedly, like a kid given free rein in a toy or a candy store. "It's about a--"
"Turn it off," he repeated, his eyes unblinking at he stared at her. "And then you can undress." He motioned to a spot a few feet away from the TV set, a nice good spot for him to see her completely. "Right there."
She smiled wider, clicking off the TV and standing happily, in her element now. Sex, that's all she seemed to be about. Though occasionally, there was more. At the moment, she seemed to sense that he needed more. She frowned at him as she stood in the spot he'd indicated and looked a little nervous.
"Spike?" She bit her lip, raising her arms to her abdomen, covering the flesh from his eyes. "What's wrong? Why do I have to--"
"Do it," he ordered, watching her raise the blouse slowly over her head and stand in her lacy red bra. There was no way to see her standing there and not be affected by her. His body hardened even more as she shifted nervously, looking at him under her eyelashes. Playing the little tease. "More."
She reached behind her to unhook her bra, but he shook his head.
"Leave that. Take off the pants." He leaned down and unlaced his boots, kicking them off one at a time and shoving them out of the way.
She untied her tennis shoes and kicked them off, setting them neatly aside. He smiled at her fastidiousness, knowing she was doing it on purpose, teasing him.
He raised his hands to the buckle of his belt at the same time as she did, and unbuttoned his pants along with her. One button at a time he watched her expose herself to him, and he did the same.
Her eyes fixed on his lap, watching and waiting for him to reveal his erection to her gaze, but he stopped just shy of letting her get what she wanted.
She drew in a deep breath, exhaling in disappointment. Shoving her jeans down her hips, she bent over and pulled them off, one leg at a time. She folded them up and set them on top of her shoes. Her socks were pulled off and dropped to the jeans.
He nodded in satisfaction, taking in every inch of her bare body. Red suited her, beautifully showcasing her smooth, pale skin. She was firm and toned, but not tanned. Her teeth nipped her bottom lip again, making him moan softly as he imagined her lips on his aching erection.
He raised his arm, gesturing for her to come closer. She swallowed, still playing the nervous little virgin. Made him feel all manly. Her steps were small, her legs long, and after only ten steps she was in front of him, standing there with her arms once again crossed over her stomach.
That wasn't where his eyes were anyway. The swell of her breasts, pushed higher thanks to her bra, were enticing, begging him to touch them. He reached out and touched her thigh with his right hand, running it slowly up her leg.
She started to breathe a little heavier and lean toward him, but he kept her at a distance. Hooking his finger in the side of her panties, he pulled the material away and let go. "Take 'em off, Willow."
"Okay." Stepping back, she darted nervous eyes in his direction, silently watching him watch her as she hooked her own fingers in the thin red material. The lace, which made patterns of swirls in the spot he most wanted to see, slipped easily down her thighs and to the floor. She stepped free of them, pushing them away with her toes. "Can I touch you?" she asked, moving back into position in front of him.
He chuckled, standing up straight, an inch from where she stood. Without touching her, he stripped his jeans off. As he stood up straight again, there was only one part of him touching her, and it was the part they both wanted so much to touch her.
Her eyes dropped to his very prominent erection as he dropped back into the chair and settled his arms on the chair arms. "You can touch me," he told her, "but not with your hands. Why don't you have a seat, love?"
She smiled, licking her lips in expectation. "Okay, Spike. I like this game." She knelt on the seat beside one of his legs, and hooked the other over him. Placing her hands on the chair arms, careful not to touch him, she lifted herself up and moved closer, raising up over him, touching just the head of him with her wet heat.
They both gasped in pleasure, him arching up, her sliding down. Together, they seated her on top of him. She fell forward, leaning against him, pressing her breasts against his chest and kissed him. "Are lips okay?" she whispered, sliding her arms beneath his own, gripping the chair arm. "I like tasting you. You're manly tasting, and you smell good too."
Spike nodded, taking her lips with his own, pushing her back a little with the force of the kiss, clenching his fingers into the fabric of the chair, resisting the urge to grab her and run his hands over every inch of her body.
Her muscles clenched around him, giving him the tightness he craved, but not the friction. "Up," he muttered, occupying his mouth with her neck, dipping his head lower to lick the swell of her breast.
She lifted herself using her arms on the chair and her legs, sliding slowly along his entire length, stopping only when he thought she'd leave him completely. "Up," she echoed, holding herself poised above him.
He chuckled, sliding his tongue under her bra to tease her nipple. Thrusting high, using his own arms on the chair, he gasped at the feel of her hot body clenching and sliding around him. "Bloody hell, you feel good," he told her, thrusting back out, and then up again. "You have no idea..." he grunted, thrusting again, "how good you... oh, God, how good you feel."
He was close, even now, and the blame for that was all laid at Buffy's feet. She'd pissed him off, made him feel weak and useless. This was Willow he was using, not Buffy, and he didn't want it to be Buffy, but he did want to show her. While he was thrusting inside of Willow, giving her just as much pleasure as he was receiving, he was sticking it to Buffy.
"You feel good too, Spike. I want to touch you." She tried to free her hands from beneath his arms, but he pressed down on them.
"No," he ordered, holding her arms still. "You're touching me enough. Where it counts." He dropped his eyes, hoping like hell he meant on his body and not his heart. Unfortunately, he was pretty positive he meant his heart.
And she thought so too.
Her eyes softened, her smile loving. "I love you too, Spike."
He was so damn close now, he was thrusting into her with abandon, feeling her clench around him tightly, but he wanted a little more. "Bite me," he told her, his eyes pleading with hers.
She didn't protest this time, just dipped her head down and licked his chest, licking at the blood from the stake wound. As his hips jerked up on the edge of orgasm, she bit into his shoulder, sucking at the blood that slowly seeped from the wound.
Spike thrust into her one more time and came with a groan. His hips continued to jerk, moving him inside of her, deeper and deeper, pressing higher until she came. Her teeth clenched tighter on him, her mouth sucking at the blood, drawing out the little he had to spare.
"I love you," she whispered, collapsing on him, tearing her mouth from the wound she'd made. He raised his hands, cradling her to him, holding her close, needing the feel of her hair and her skin under his hands.
He was tempted to say the words, to confirm what she thought, but he couldn't, not yet. He was headed that way though. This was not about sex anymore. This was about Willow and his feelings for her. Big feelings.
He could only hope the real Willow felt something close to what he felt for her. Sliding one hand down her hair and the other down her back, he breathed with her, lifting his chest up and down in time with her breathing, falling asleep with her in his lap and him inside her body.