'So we move, we change by the speed, of the choices that we make,
And the barriers are all self-made,
That's so retrograde.'
Spike sighed sleepily, the thin hotel sheets wrapped awkwardly around his body. He was floating in a sea of white. White walls, white sheets, and long white shadows. He rolled over onto his back to find Buffy sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at him. He opened his mouth to speak and she silenced him, her hands caressing his face and chest. He groaned as she leaned towards him, her mouth parted invitingly.
The first kiss was like coming home. He sank beneath her warmth as her tongue met is, the sensation spreading throughout his body. His hands came up to thread through her long blonde hair -- alabaster against gold -- and then down to caress the tender skin of her neck.
"Spike," she whispered his name into the kiss, her breath filling his lungs. He exhaled it slowly against her mouth, her hair falling down against his face as he moved her tightly against him. They rolled so that he was above her, the thin material of her shirt scraping against his bare chest, the sheets framing her face so that it seemed to glow.
"Buffy," the word was expelled from him with the force of a prayer, his mouth meeting hers desperately, his hands worming their way under her shirt to touch her hot flesh. She moaned in reply, her hands wrapping around his neck, her nails scraping down the smooth skin of his back, the smooth skin of her fingers tracing the pattern of muscles on his stomach.
Her legs moved up on either side of him, and he groaned as he came into contact with the heath beneath her skirt. He moved his mouth down to the flushed skin of her neck, tracing pattern along the cords and veins into the hollow between her clavicle. His hands bunched at the fabric of her shirt, lifting it gently over her head to reveal her lace clad breasts.
"Wait," her voice broke through his haze of desire and he looked up, his swirling cerulean eyes meeting her deepening hazel ones, "I love you."
He pressed his mouth against hers again, "I love you."
Her body trembled beneath him and he rubbed his hands in small soothing circles, "Buffy, love, what is it?"
She just shook her head, her hands moving absently through his platinum hair, "You know that whatever happens, you're everything to me, right? I wouldn't give you up for the world."
"The feeling's mutual, pet. You're everything."
"Everything," she mouthed, her hands running over the smooth planes of his chest, "Kiss me."
'I am alive, I am awake to the trials and confusion we create,
There are times when I feel we're about to break,
When there's too much to say.'
He did. His hands finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it. He moved down towards her breasts once again, cupping them gently in his hands. His mouth closed around one nipple and she groaned, her back arching as her fingers dragged through his hair, her legs wrapping around his waist. He teased at her breasts, his hands sliding over her stomach, her mouth opening in the quiet of the room, her hair spreading out around her face as the first few beads of sweat began their long descent down her body.
His mouth moved down her stomach, tongue dipping in her navel as his fingers hooked under the waistline of her skirt and panties, sliding them down over her hips and then, one leg at a time, off of her completely.
'We are home now, out of our heads, out of our minds,
Out of this world, out of this time.'
The Sunnydale bus rolled into the station silently. The stars shone above in the sky, still and waiting. The passengers stumbled from the bus, clutching at their carry-ons and various other bags. Instinctively, they hurried away from the darkness of the parking lot toward the more well lit areas of the streets, anxiously scanning for their rides or dialing the number of local taxi companies.
Among them, a dark-haired girl sauntered from the bus, her duffel bag slung carelessly over her shoulder. Her darkly rimmed brown eyes scanned the crowds, looking for anyone of interest. For a second her full, dark-red mouth turned down into a pout, before hardening once more as she turned away from the nervous new arrivals and started down the dark streets of Sunnydale, her hands in the pockets of her jean jacket.
'Out of this time, Out of this time.'
And the barriers are all self-made,
That's so retrograde.'
Spike sighed sleepily, the thin hotel sheets wrapped awkwardly around his body. He was floating in a sea of white. White walls, white sheets, and long white shadows. He rolled over onto his back to find Buffy sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at him. He opened his mouth to speak and she silenced him, her hands caressing his face and chest. He groaned as she leaned towards him, her mouth parted invitingly.
The first kiss was like coming home. He sank beneath her warmth as her tongue met is, the sensation spreading throughout his body. His hands came up to thread through her long blonde hair -- alabaster against gold -- and then down to caress the tender skin of her neck.
"Spike," she whispered his name into the kiss, her breath filling his lungs. He exhaled it slowly against her mouth, her hair falling down against his face as he moved her tightly against him. They rolled so that he was above her, the thin material of her shirt scraping against his bare chest, the sheets framing her face so that it seemed to glow.
"Buffy," the word was expelled from him with the force of a prayer, his mouth meeting hers desperately, his hands worming their way under her shirt to touch her hot flesh. She moaned in reply, her hands wrapping around his neck, her nails scraping down the smooth skin of his back, the smooth skin of her fingers tracing the pattern of muscles on his stomach.
Her legs moved up on either side of him, and he groaned as he came into contact with the heath beneath her skirt. He moved his mouth down to the flushed skin of her neck, tracing pattern along the cords and veins into the hollow between her clavicle. His hands bunched at the fabric of her shirt, lifting it gently over her head to reveal her lace clad breasts.
"Wait," her voice broke through his haze of desire and he looked up, his swirling cerulean eyes meeting her deepening hazel ones, "I love you."
He pressed his mouth against hers again, "I love you."
Her body trembled beneath him and he rubbed his hands in small soothing circles, "Buffy, love, what is it?"
She just shook her head, her hands moving absently through his platinum hair, "You know that whatever happens, you're everything to me, right? I wouldn't give you up for the world."
"The feeling's mutual, pet. You're everything."
"Everything," she mouthed, her hands running over the smooth planes of his chest, "Kiss me."
'I am alive, I am awake to the trials and confusion we create,
There are times when I feel we're about to break,
When there's too much to say.'
He did. His hands finding the clasp of her bra and undoing it. He moved down towards her breasts once again, cupping them gently in his hands. His mouth closed around one nipple and she groaned, her back arching as her fingers dragged through his hair, her legs wrapping around his waist. He teased at her breasts, his hands sliding over her stomach, her mouth opening in the quiet of the room, her hair spreading out around her face as the first few beads of sweat began their long descent down her body.
His mouth moved down her stomach, tongue dipping in her navel as his fingers hooked under the waistline of her skirt and panties, sliding them down over her hips and then, one leg at a time, off of her completely.
'We are home now, out of our heads, out of our minds,
Out of this world, out of this time.'
The Sunnydale bus rolled into the station silently. The stars shone above in the sky, still and waiting. The passengers stumbled from the bus, clutching at their carry-ons and various other bags. Instinctively, they hurried away from the darkness of the parking lot toward the more well lit areas of the streets, anxiously scanning for their rides or dialing the number of local taxi companies.
Among them, a dark-haired girl sauntered from the bus, her duffel bag slung carelessly over her shoulder. Her darkly rimmed brown eyes scanned the crowds, looking for anyone of interest. For a second her full, dark-red mouth turned down into a pout, before hardening once more as she turned away from the nervous new arrivals and started down the dark streets of Sunnydale, her hands in the pockets of her jean jacket.
'Out of this time, Out of this time.'