As a poet, an admittedly awful poet, Spike had devoted his waking life to finding beauty in words and language. All the masters were consumed like candy. Woodsworth. Keats. Donne. Lord Byron. And, of course, the Bard.
Certain words just dripped with beauty. Love. Kisses. Hugs. Embrace. Radiant.
Effulgent.
But until this moment with Buffy straddling him and covering his chest with her deep, wet kisses, he never considered ravaged being a good thing. A thing of beauty.
But he couldn't deny it. He was being gloriously ravaged.
Her lust popped out of the champagne bottle of her body. She unceremoniously ripped his shirt off, not wasting time with sensibilities or courtesy.
Not to say she was cruel. But she was ravenous. And Spike meant to feed her well.
She sat on her haunches and took one of his hands placing it in her hair. He swam it through her flowing blonde mane, letting the silky strands engulf it. She lowered it to her face, kissing and sucking on his palm as she guided it south. Then past her neck to her breasts. Never losing eye contact, in a deliberate motion, she swiped her hand down her silk front, popping her buttons and placed his hand on her milky, luscious breast.
Spike didn't want to let his right hand have all the fun. Soon the left one was filled. And Buffy arched her head back, her impossibly flat and tight abs flexing and writhing. Her mouth as unhinged as her inhibitions.
Spike only let his hands caress and stroke her creamy flesh.
She leaned forward and fondled and stroked his hair, eyes communicating ungodly pleasures and sacred love all at once. Completely in tune with him.
Then she lowered her hands to his face cradling it ever so gently. Spike marveled at the contrasts of this woman who never failed to intrigue and astonish him.
Still lower to his chest, sculpting and kneading his skin, fingers tracing figures over his skin, her mouth perking at Spike's pleasurable response. A soft gasp. A breath of a name.
She outright grinned. Her eyes fixed hoodedly. Such a vixen. A glorious vixen.
Then wandered past his waist to his elongated cock, still sheathed in his jeans. Mouth hanging open in devilish delight, she unbuttoned his fly.
Spike could only stare in rapture.
Then with force she yanked down on his jeans freeing it.
"Hello, there," she whispered. "I missed you."
She turned her face to his and stroked his cheek tenderly. Like a newborn.
"I missed us."
She leaned down to cover his mouth, tongue working around his lips, savoring his taste.
Then inexplicably she got off him and placed a kiss on his member. It jerked forward, begging for the feast.
But instead she raced for the stairs, laughing with delight. Throwing off her wisp of a top.
Spike stood and with blinding speed he thought he had lost, he tackled her at the stairs. His pants almost completely off. Rubbing his tool on her jeans.
She backed her ass into his face and he kissed it reverently reaching around to unsnap and pull down the garment. She crawled lasciviously up the stairs, mewling and gasping in decadent sounds. Her beautifully sculpted, statuesque legs (so incongruous for such a petite beauty) revealing themselves. She whipped around and kicked him lightly in the chest. But he was on her.
The starved lovers had only made it up halfway before Spike pounced on her dragging his lips and tongue along her back, sticking her hand in her silk thong. Buffy moaned and moaned, her face absolutely livid with desire, eyes closed. And, oh God, that mouth. Clenched and open, clenched and open. Tensed and relaxed. She pounded at the stair, grabbed the rails and held on for dear life.
But it was a bed Spike wanted, yes? So bed they shall have.
Again Buffy bucked him off with a grunt, whipped around and languidly moved backward up the stairs, eyes never leaving his.
Spike stalked her like a panther, panting with urgency, crawling catlike to her retreating form.
She grinned and licked her teeth mouthing I want you while beckoning come hither.
Finally they made it to the top.
Buffy stood waiting for him. Hands on hips. Legs parted.
He crawled up her legs , kneeling in supplication, hands sliding up her taut lean legs.. His mouth replaced his hands kissing gently, then licking, then feasting on her legs and her tangy middle, as he rendered the restricting lace underwear useless with a quick tear. She grabbed his hair and yanked. Spike yelped and dove in harder. Buffy moans escalated. Her chin thrust upward and then when he hit, he hit it on her bullseye. She bansheed his name in amazed ecstasy.
He picked her up and they slammed into the wall, devouring her lips, pistoning into her with everything he had. She held onto his shoulders and went with him. Rocking and reeling, but still matching him.
Then she pushed off and they hit the opposite wall. Spike grabbed and supported her as she ground himself into her. He gritted his teeth in exertion and gasped himself into a frenzy. Buffy wouldn't let up. She bounced and bounced, her hands flat on the wall on either side of his head for leverage. On the down stroke, Spike with Buffy's name as his Halleluiah. They stared, strained, and sweated each other into bliss.
Desperately, Spike reached out for the nearest doorknob.
He turned and with a deep roar swept them both into the room.
They landed with a thud on the floor, Buffy beneath him.
She was still writhing and clinging to him, biting and licking his nipples but Spike looked around to see the room. Hoping they didn't just end up in the utility closet. And then shivering when he thought of the things that Buffy'd want to do in it.
But he saw the plush bed, the dressing mirror, and the chair. Nodding with satisfaction, he turned his attention to his lady.
As one they swayed and climaxed, both howling and screaming things beyond language, swallowing the rest with deep kisses, tongues and teeth clicking and tangling.
He collapsed on top of her and she cradled him deep to her body, stroking his curls.
"God, I didn't…didn't know I had it in me," Spike managed to gasp through Buffy's delirious laugh as she vigorously hugged him to her.
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It was to put it mildly, very satisfying for both.
They investigated the hotel thoroughly and nakedly. Partaking in the pleasures the hotel had to offer and their own.
Tired of licking the beads of sweat off each other, they realized that they needed to cool down. So Spike went to fill the ice bucket, but Buffy snuck up.
She attacked him while the bucket was still being filled.
Telling himself later, that he did it as experiment. Spike supported Buffy on his shoulders deciding to put the ice to use, ran the cube from her breasts to the sopping heat of her center.
The cube liquefied before it even reached her sweet curls.
Taking more cubes, he ran them over her legs and nether lips. Buffy grabbed the top of the machine and bucked her way to paradise. Words of love and adoration pouring out in voluminous grunts.
The machine groaned, rattled, and slammed in desperate protest. Expending more cubes than the bucket could ever hope to carry.
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After more bouts of creative lovemaking, they made their way to the kitchen for a snack.
Not seeing the need for clothes they sat naked enjoying some ice cream and cake left in the fridge. They hoped the preservatives still kept the food fresh.
This seemed especially true for the milk.
At first, as it usually was with the two, things were fairly romantic and chaste. They ate in comfortable silence, every so often feeding the other with their spoons.
Then Spike said a comment about how glad he was to be sitting at a table with her again. Buffy reached her hand across to grab his with a warm smile.
But then she began fondling it in that way that drove Spike crazy.
He seemed to eat the next bit of cake with excruciating slowness, taking his time licking the frosting off meticulously.
Buffy took her glass of milk, and gazed at Spike overtop the rim, licking at the milk like a cat, then impulsively she drank the whole glass down, milk leaking onto her neck and chest, white liquid falls running down her breasts. She licked her mouth exaggeratedly, taking care of most of the milk around her mouth.
What to do about the rest of her…
Spike shrugged. Mother always said not to let milk go to waste.
Taking her down on the table, they finished the rest of the food eating it off of each other's bodies, taking care of the rest in the shower.
By the time they left to shower, the ice cream in the carton was a melted, soppy mess.
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Excluding the stand-up sex they had in the shower and the cunnilingus Spike performed on Buffy whilst she sat in a chair as her bleached prince serviced his princess with loving strokes, and also returning the favor by going down on him with her own, they did make it to the bed like Spike wanted.
And somehow, amidst the torn sheets, blankets in disarray, and the bent frame that finally became too much for the both of them that they slept on the floor, Buffy lay on her side dozing away with a smile while Spike sidled up behind her, kissing her shoulder and neck. He spooned with her, cradling her in his arms, and fell into a satisfied sleep.
Buffy's smile grew.