Mortal Allies Series
Episode 5
War and Roses
By: Passion4Spike
Chapter 20: Always and Forever
Chapter Notes:
Well, here we are! The moment we've all been waiting for. After 89 chapters and 557,000 words, the glacially slow burn is about to completely ignite. I, like Buffy, am both excited and nervous about this, hoping that it's been worth the wait, that what happens next is 'good enough'.
I want to thank MissLuci for her encouragement and amazing suggestions, which added extra depth and nuance to the chapter. So thankful to have her betaing this story. More thanks go out to Holi117, for brainstorming this story with me soooo very long ago (before she had TWO kids!)
Thanks also to Chosenname for reminding me recently that Spike made these arrangements weeks ago, before they were a couple, when they'd just been friends, and tenuous ones at that, mired in all their insecurities.
And thank YOU for sticking with this story, which I know has been frustrating at times. I really do hope you enjoy this, that it feels 'right', and makes the wait worth it. This isn't an ending, but just the start of a new 'chapter' in their growing relationship.
Disclosure: I have never been to the Four Seasons Embarcadero (or any Four Seasons, for that matter). I wove pieces of information and photos found on the internet into a fictionalized version of the hotel, so, if you go there, don't expect it to match this version of it.
-X-
It was late when they got back across the Golden Gate bridge and to the hotel. The Four Seasons Embarcadero was as different from the 'Morning Wood Inn'—one of the motor-inns they'd stayed at on their road trip to save Dru—as vinegar was from champagne. After a porter unloaded their bags, and the valet whisked the DeSoto away, Spike and Buffy entered the sleek, modern lobby. Everything was clean lines, muted colors, light wood, and rich marble. It was immaculate. Every placement of furniture was exact and symmetrical; there wasn't even a speck of soil on the lush carpet by the door or a smudge of dust on the shiny floor beyond.
"Why don't you find the ladies' while I check in, pet?" Spike suggested as they approached the front desk.
"It's just to the left," the porter, who was following behind them with their bags, offered helpfully.
Buffy did have to go and had for a while. She'd actually had Spike stop at a 76 gas station, but the restrooms had been closed. However, she thought this suggestion was more about her not seeing how much this was costing than her bladder condition. Which, she guessed was fair, but still... this place was where movie stars would stay, not Slayers from Sunnydale. She couldn't even imagine what a suite would cost, and maybe she didn't want to know.
She gave Spike a nod and headed in the direction the bag-carting guy had indicated, finding the restroom easily, much to her bladder's delight and her curiosity's annoyance.
-X-
"Feel better, luv?" Spike asked as Buffy came out of the ladies' room.
"So much," she admitted as he took her hand and they started for the elevators.
"We're on the top floor," he told her as he punched the button for the lift.
"Isn't that, um... uber-expensive? Being all penthouse-y?"
Spike chuckled and lifted her hand to his lips. "Only the best for m' girl. This day only comes once a year. Gonna make sure it's special for you, every year from here on out."
Buffy felt her heart swell in her chest. He made it all sound like a given. Like he'd be with her from here on out. Like he'd never leave. Like he'd never get tired of loving her. And the more he said it, the more she felt her heart believing him.
The door to the lift opened and a man got out carrying a small, fluffy dog. He nodded to them as they slid to one side to let him pass.
The Slayer turned accusing eyes on her boyfriend. "I thought dogs weren't allowed?"
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Was my understanding."
"Hmph," Buffy grunted, thrusting her free hand out to stop the elevator doors from closing. "Likely story," she muttered, stepping into the elevator, Spike following along in her wake, still holding her other hand.
"It's true, pet. Didn't know they let yappers in," he continued as the doors began to close. They had to release their hands to turn, but he took her hand in his again as soon as they were facing front. "Forgive me?"
She sighed and rolled her eyes as he punched the button for the top floor. She wouldn't have thought they'd allow dogs in either, honestly. It was way hoity-toity. "Okay, but next time we check."
"Right," Spike agreed as he made a mental note to make sure he found a hotel that didn't allow interfering, flea-bag hounds on the premises for their next trip.
"Where's the luggage-carrying-guy with our stuff?" she asked as the elevator began rising.
"Meeting us up there. Can't be hauling luggage in the fancy lift, can they?"
Buffy looked at the steel, mirror-like walls of the elevator. How did they keep the handprints cleaned off? Did they use magic or elves with bottles of Windex? Was that a normal thought to have? Did people who stayed at The Four Seasons think about handprints? Did people who stayed at The Four Seasons leave handprints? She touched a finger to the shiny wall next to her and was happy to see that her fingerprint remained, and no elf dashed out to wipe it away.
She could feel Spike's eyes on her. She looked at the mirrored doors, but could only see her own reflection. Vampire; right. "What?" she asked as she shifted her gaze to him.
"You're sodding adorable," he confessed with a little laugh. "What did you reckon was gonna happen when you touched the wall, pet?"
She shrugged and looked back and the fingerprint, which was still there. "I-I thought they might use magic to keep it so clean... o-or possibly an elf with a bottle of Windex would appear and wipe it away. I'm not sure snobby rich people leave smudges."
He barked out a laugh and pressed his whole hand to the door, leaving a perfect print. "Well, apparently sexy Slayers and big, bad vampires do." He began pressing his hand all over the shiny metal, leaving a rainbow of smudges and prints in its wake.
Buffy laughed and did the same to the wall next to her. They released their clasped hands and, before the elevator made it to the forty-eighth floor, the whole interior of the lift was covered in smudges and prints. Spike even penned… or fingered (?) an impromptu limerick on the back wall…
There once was a fancy hotel,
The Slayer sure thought it was swell,
Then Spike smirked and said,
Sure hope that the bed,
Is sturdy enough it won't fell.
"That's totally not Queen's English," Buffy insisted, giggling. The nervous butterflies in her tummy redoubled. Is the bed felling... err... falling a thing?
Spike sniffed, stepping back to study his handiwork. "Don't usually rush m' craft. Prefer t' take my time..." her purred, turning to give her a meaningful leer, his eyes flaring wide with innuendo.
Buffy flushed, giggling, then noticed the ceiling of the box was still pristine. "We missed a spot..." she informed up, tilting her chin up.
"Can't have that, can we?" Spike asked, jumping up and pressing both palms to the shiny metal above them. "Poor workmanship, that is."
"Totally," she agreed, joining him, bouncing up like two jack-in-the-boxes to complete the job.
They were still laughing as they stepped out into the hall and headed for their room. As they passed a console table with a statue of Venus De Milo on it, Spike turned it around to face the wall and shifted it so it was off-center, upsetting the careful symmetry of the place, making her giggle again.
"I don't think we belong here," she whispered conspiratorially. "We belong at the Morning Wood Inn."
"Trust me, pet, with you here, this is the Morning, Noon, and Night Wood Inn," he asserted, reaching for her hand, and pressing it against the bulge in his jeans.
She blushed, but a pleased grin curved her lips as she ducked her head. God, this was really happening! Buffy couldn't decide to be relieved, excited, or afraid at the prospect. In truth, it was a bit of all three.
They stopped in front of their door and Spike slid the keycard into the lock. The light turned green, and he opened the door for her, allowing Buffy to enter before him.
"Oh, wow..." she breathed, dropping her purse on one of the tasteful, contemporary chairs in the seating area as she headed for the wide expanse of windows that lined the corner suite. The lights of the Embarcadero and the famous San Francisco piers sparkled beneath her like a carpet of diamonds. In the distance, she could see the glow of the Golden Gate Bridge and the dark hills beyond it. Looking in the other direction she saw the Transamerica Pyramid, the iconic Coit Tower rising from atop Telegraph Hill, and out in the bay, Alcatraz Island. It was a dazzling, perfectly breathtaking view.
"Like it, pet?" Spike whispered as he stepped up behind her and wrapped her in his arms.
"It's... wow... yes," she stammered, turning to look over her shoulder at him. "It's beautiful."
"Can't hold a candle to you," he assured her, touching a soft kiss to her temple.
"Anyone ever tell you you're super-corny?" Buffy wondered, though her heart was fluttering and flittering in her chest.
"So, you a fan o' corn, or no?"
She blessed him with one of the warmest, most adoring smiles Spike had ever seen.
"The biggest... corn is sweet and yummy."
"Lucky that. I've got whole bloody fields o' corn—like one o' those fly-over states in the middle."
Buffy laughed and turned in his arms. "I can't wait to see them all," she assured him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and lifting to her toes to kiss him. Their lips met tenderly, the kiss a slow burn of seduction as she pressed her body against his and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tight. Spike's tongue slipped from between his lips, and Buffy welcomed him, each exploring, tasting, teasing the other, as if the flames of their desire required more stoking.
"Spike, baby..." she moaned into his mouth, her need becoming more desperate with every passing moment. Her fears were trampled by her lust and left in the dust as her body charged full steam ahead. She slipped one hand between them and began slowly stroking his cock through his jeans, making desperate little mewling sounds in the back of her throat as his hands gripped her ass and lifted her. Her legs were around his waist the next moment and he was moving away from the window as she scrabbled one-handed at his belt.
"Ahem..."
They both froze in the middle of the sitting area and looked around at the sound. The porter was there with their bags and the cooler of blood.
Buffy was on her feet in a heartbeat, checking her clothes and smoothing her hair. Spike checked his belt and zipper, but she'd not managed to get anything undone yet.
"I apologize for the interruption. If you'll just let me know which room for which bags," the young man said, waving a hand at the bags in demonstration. "I'll be on my way."
Spike cleared his throat. "Right. Err, which room d' ya want, pet?"
She blinked. He was going to make her brain function? Now? "I, um... haven't really looked at the rooms," Buffy admitted, turning to take in the rest of the suite. Two open doors off the sitting area showed her two nearly identical rooms, each with luscious-looking king beds. The only difference seemed to be what view they had.
"Y-you can leave the cooler on the counter there by the fridge," she instructed as she headed for the nearest bedroom to check it out. Amazing views of the bridge from that one. An en-suite bath with a shower. She hurried to the second room. Equally amazing views of Alcatraz and Coit Tower. The en-suite had a big, deep bath against the window looking out over that view.
This was the moment of truth... or a moment, anyway. Buffy knew whatever she chose, she could change her mind anytime in the next two days. Spike was doing everything he could to leave everything up to her, to let her lead, to take the pressure off. She'd found out that he'd gotten the tickets for this weeks ago, before he even knew there would be any decision to be made, any pressure to release. When they'd been friends. Nothing more. Thus, the suite. He'd done all this for his friend. But things were different now, and now Buffy needed to decide.
"Y-You can just put all the bags in this one," she said at last, indicating the room with the shower. Maybe they could just switch back and forth every hour or so...
Spike arched a brow at her.
Buffy bit down over a shy smile. "I mean, if that's okay with you."
His eyes sparkled like blue diamonds. "Sounds perfect, pet."
-X-
With the well-tipped bell-guy gone, Buffy headed into the bathroom with the shower, pushing Spike back with one hand in the middle of his chest when he tried to follow her.
"I wash your back, you wash my..." he suggested, wagging his brows at her.
Buffy tittered nervously. "I'll be out soon," she promised, and shut the door in his face.
So, while he waited, Spike loaded his blood into the refrigerator, grabbed the bottle of Johnny Walker Black from his bag, and headed out to the balcony for a smoke. On his way, he shed his duster in the vast living room area, laying it over the back of one of the couches. He'd been in flats that were smaller than this hotel suite, with its sitting area, a work area with two desks, a dining area, and the not-exactly-a-kitchen-but-close-enough area. The balcony alone was as big as some New York apartments he'd been in, wrapping around the corner of the building, with seating enough for a proper dinner party.
He plopped down in one of the soft chairs and propped his booted feet up on top of the glass railing that kept the guests from tumbling off without blocking the view. It was a sodding amazing view, he had to admit. Spike tapped a fag from the pack, pulling it out with his lips, before flicking it to life with his trusty Zippo. The tip flared orange as he inhaled, and he set both the pack and the lighter down on the low, glass-topped table next to him, and picked up the whisky.
So far, the night had been bloody perfect. The music for the drive had gone over as he'd hoped, making Buffy laugh and sing and dance in her seat. The burger-joint, which Joyce had known of from buying trips to the city, had been inspired, a continuation of a theme. And being able to show Buffy that view of the bridge and dance beneath the stars with her, made that whole 'troll trip' with Dru worth it.
And then she'd had the bloke put all the bags in one room.
Spike took a long swig of the whisky straight from the bottle, which burned all the way down, before sucking in another lungful of nicotine and blowing it out with a contented sigh. Yeah, this was a bit of alright. And the night only promised to get better, soon as his girl got done with whatever primping she thought she needed to do.
He closed his eyes, imagining her emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, her bare body glistening, her smile shy and seductive, her hair a radiant, golden halo setting off her sparkling eyes.
Christ, he loved her. And somehow, some way, against all odds, she loved him back.
He removed the fag to flick the ash off as a wide yawn boiled up from deep inside, followed almost immediately by another. He was reminded of the lack of sleep he'd had over the last couple of weeks, juggling the Council bird and her interviews, patrolling with Buffy, working on his new digs, replenishing his dwindling bank roll at the poker table, and even attending Scooby meetings. Then he'd spent a few hours he didn't have making the mixtapes on Joyce's stereo… sorting through all her old albums and Buffy's box of cassettes for the perfect songs based on Joyce and Willow's recommendations. It hadn't been the hardest two weeks of his life by any measure, but it had taken a toll. He should down a few No-Doz... see if there was any Red Bull in the mini bar. He yawned again. Yeah, he'd get up and do that in just a minute. The sounds of the late night city drifted up to him as a muted lullaby, soft and soothing. He took another swallow of the whisky and dropped his head back against the cushion, letting his eyes fall closed. He'd just rest them a minute... then he'd get the pills from his duster... in just a minute.
-X-
Buffy couldn't think of anything else she could do to be ready for this night. She was scrubbed clean and polished to a luster, legs and pits shaved smooth, hair washed, dried, and coifed, brows plucked, teeth brushed and flossed, her nails—fingers and toes—all still looked good, no chips or cracks. She'd put on make-up, not a lot, but just enough shadow and mascara to bring out her eyes, and a soft pink lip gloss to accentuate her mouth. Now, she was trying to decide if she should wear the fluffy, white hotel robe, the red negligee she'd bought, or neither. She tried each option in front of the big mirror, striking different poses in each. Did the red make her look like a sleaze or a temptress? Did the robe make her look like a prude or simply coy? Did nudity make her look desperate or just eager?
She finally decided on the robe, with the belt barely tied and the front nearly open. One tug would have it off. 'Please, let me be enough,' she prayed one last time before she opened the bathroom door and struck the pose she'd decided on—one forearm leaning against the door jamb with her opposite hip jutted out to the side.
No response from her vampire.
Buffy had expected Spike to be right there, still waiting at the door, or at least on the turned-down bed. Her brows furrowed as she looked around the empty bedroom. Well, that wasn't encouraging.
She un-struck her pose and walked a little further into the room. Maybe he was hiding or something, maybe he was teasing and was going to pounce on her when she least expected it. Well, two could play at that game. She dropped to a crouch and crept around the corner, ready to catch him instead. She jumped around the corner of the bed, fully expecting to see Spike smirking at her, but he just wasn't there. Confused and a little disheartened, Buffy went out into the sitting room, pulling her robe closed around her body as she came within view of the expanse of windows.
No Spike.
She checked the other bedroom and bathroom, but there was no sign he'd been in there, either.
Maybe he'd forgotten something in the car? She stood in the middle of the large suite looking around for some clues. His duster was on the couch. The cooler sat empty on the tile floor near the fridge. And then a breeze caught one of the long, floor-to-ceiling curtains, billowing it gently, and she noticed the door to the balcony was open.
With the robe tied tightly around her body, Buffy stepped out into the cool night air and found her boyfriend asleep in one of the deck chairs. A bottle of whisky in one hand, propped on his thigh, and just the filter of a cigarette wedged between two fingers of his other hand, which hung down nearly to the floor.
She sighed, but a small smile curved her lips. So much for 'creature of the night' and 'never going to sleep again'. Buffy moved over to him and gently lowered his feet down from the railing. She took the bottle from his hand, which was a bit of a trick, because he tried to hold onto it, but she finally got it free, twisted the lid back on, and set it on the table. He barely stirred, and never woke through all of that. She lowered herself between his spread knees and ran her hands up his chest. Nothing.
"Spike?" she called softly. "You awake?"
"Mmph," was the grunted reply as he shifted slightly, but then settled again, completely out.
She snorted a soft laugh and shook her head. Her poor baby was exhausted. Probably from all the effort it took to not kill Xander while they worked on his house... or in Scooby meetings, or any other time he saw his mediocre handyman. Really, she knew he was working hard, both on the house and to fit in with her friends, to be a sort-of Scooby, while not admitting to being one. Then there were the all-night poker games, which, if he hadn't gotten her such an expensive Hot Chocolate Day gift, he might not have had to risk bodily injury playing stupid Polgera demons for profit.
Speaking of Polgera demons… Buffy tugged his shirt free from his waistband and checked the wound. It was little more than a bright white scar now, nearly fully healed. It would probably be gone completely in another day or two.
"Let's go to bed, baby," she said as she pulled his body forward so his upper body was draped over her shoulder. Buffy stood up with him in a fireman's carry, and still he barely stirred as she carried him back to the bedroom.
With extreme care, she lowered him onto the bed. He muttered something she couldn't catch, but never seemed to wake. She unbuckled his boots and tugged them off, setting them to the side, then considered the rest of his clothes. While she knew he normally slept in the nude, she had seen him sleep fully clothed before, too. Like the night she'd had that nightmare about the Council—which had turned out to be eerily accurate—and he'd held her and comforted her with his rumbling purr. After a bit of consideration, she left everything else on, except his belt. She didn't want to get jabbed in the gut by the buckle when she snuggled next to him. She might have tugged on the leather a teeny bit harder than necessary. Spike's hips rolled to the side as it jerked free, but still no response, he remained sound asleep.
With a resigned sigh, Buffy pulled the cover over him and went out to turn the lights off in the living area. Back in the bedroom, she began digging through her bag for a t-shirt and some shorts to sleep in, but then had a better idea. She went over to Spike's bag and pulled out one of his tees and slipped it over her head. She didn't exactly swim in it, but it was large enough to be super-comfy, hanging down to cover her ass. She added a lacy pair of black panties beneath it before flipping off the light and crawling into bed with her vampire.
Buffy snuggled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder and one hand on his unmoving chest. She draped one leg over his denim-clad thigh, whispering, "Love you, Spike," into the dark.
His arm curled around her and pulled her closer, and that soft purr that she loved began to rumble from his chest.
Buffy smiled as she freed the hem of his t-shirt from his waistband and slid her hand up beneath it so she could feel the gentle vibration, flesh to flesh. "Good night, baby."
"Ni'..." he muttered back, the low hum of his purr pulling her into dreamland with him.
-X-
Spike was wrapped in warmth. And softness. And the scent of Buffy.
It was one of his favorite dreams.
He slid his palms over the smooth skin of the woman in his arms, relishing the silken firmness of her body. Then her breasts were in his hands, perfect hills of supple flesh rising from the flat, taut perfection of her stomach.
She moaned as he teased her nipples to hardened peaks, her back arching deliciously, pressing her ass against his cock and her pretty tits into his eager fingers.
"Spike, baby..." she breathed, reaching a hand back to stroke his hip.
His denim-clad hip.
What the bloody fuck kinda fucked up dream was this? Had his love in his arms, moaning and writhing, and he still had his sodding jeans on? Come to think of it, she had something on, as well. What the hell was wrong with his brain, anyway?
Spike's mind swam slowly up from the depths of sleep to find a soft, warm, beautiful woman in his arms. "Buffy," he breathed into her tangle of golden tresses, which shone in the morning light that spilled through the massive windows, enough to light the room, but angled well away from the bed.
And then she was facing him, her green eyes blinking, still a bit dazed with sleep.
"Hello, cutie," he rumbled, brushing her hair back from her face.
Her lazy, loving smile melted him. He had to taste it. Taste the sweetness she was pouring over him. His lips met hers gently, nipping her pretty pink lips, teasing and tasting, swallowing the magic of her. He'd just slid his tongue between those tempestuous lips when she pulled back, her eyes wide, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.
"Stinky morning breath!" she squeaked in horror as she began scrabbling from beneath the covers, away from him.
He grabbed her around the middle and pulled her back. "Buffy breath," he corrected her. "Tastes like strong, sexy Slayer. Bloody perfection."
"You're a sicko. Has anyone ever told you that?" she wondered, putting a hand on his breastbone, and keeping him at a fairly safe distance from her deadly breath.
He grinned devilishly. "Let me kiss you again. Infect you with my disease, and you'll not notice anything amiss," he promised.
"Tempting..." she replied sarcastically as she pulled from his grasp and climbed out of the bed. "How about I make with the teeth brushing and infect you with minty freshness?"
Spike rolled onto his back and lifted up on his elbows, watching her walk around the bed toward the bathroom, grabbing one of her bags along the way. "Love the outfit, pet. Look dead sexy in m' shirt."
Buffy gifted him with another smile as she dashed into the bathroom and closed the door.
"Does make a bloke wonder why you're in it, though... and why I've only managed t' get outta my boots," he called through the door.
"Someone fell asleep on me last night," she replied over the sound of water running.
"Ah, bugger." He flopped back onto the pillows and rubbed his eyes, remembering going out onto the balcony, resting his eyes for a mo' and... nothing. "How'd I get in here?"
"Luckily, you have a girlfriend with super strength, otherwise you'd be a big ol' dust bunny raining down on the Embarcadero about now."
Spike sighed. He was a sodding git. He flung the cover off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, shaking his head at his utter twat-ness. Wasted a whole fucking night sleeping with his girl, instead'a making love to her. So much for his claims of being a marathon man—he didn't even make it to the fucking starting line.
He got up and went to the closed door that separated him from his love. "I'm sorry, pet," he said, leaning his forehead against the cool wood. "Dunno what happened..." he lied. He knew very well what happened—he was knackered from giving up so much sleep time to the Council bird, and it just all caught up with him.
"It's okay," she called back through the door, over the still-running water. "Maybe you can find some way to make it up to me."
Spike smiled, running his hand over the smooth wood. "Too right, I can," he agreed. "Back in a mo'," he promised, looking around for his own bag. He grabbed it and headed for the other bathroom with his kit so he could match her minty freshness with a bit of spicy cinnamon.
-X-
Buffy had been ready last night, she honestly had. But now, in the light of day that was streaming in the wide windows, she was back to fearful nervousness. She dug her book out of the bag she'd brought in with her, sat down on the cool tile, and began flipping through, finding highlighted passages, cramming for a test that would define the rest of her life. Pass or fail. Her life would change either way—one for the better, the other for the worse. No pressure, or anything.
"You okay, pet?"
She jumped when Spike's voice returned. She'd hoped he would have taken a bath... a long, hot soak in that tub in the other room. Maybe even ordered breakfast or... or gone out and done the hunter-gatherer thing to show what a good provider he was, bringing back Egg McMuffins and Dunkin's and a nice latte from Starbucks—you know, hitting all the best hunting grounds.
Of course, with the sun shining, that might've been a suicide mission. Did San Francisco have a sewer system like Sunnydale's? Also, wasn't it supposed to be foggy here? What happened to the extreme fogginess?
"Y-yeah, be right out," she assured him, trying to calm her nerves, and hoping against hope that her nervousness didn't show in her voice. Her heart was skittering in her chest, her hands physically shaking as she tried to turn the pages, trying to remember everything she'd studied, but it all seemed to have vanished from her anxious mind. Apparently, she hadn't kept her voice calm while her heart was racing, and her tummy was fluttering, and her brain was trying to absorb the entirety of the book in less than a minute because the next thing she knew Spike was asking her…
"Buffy, luv... what's wrong?"
"N-nothing, honest, I—"
The door opened.
Buffy froze. The book was in her hand. Her big, green eyes locked on Spike—shirtless and barefoot, but still in his jeans. She felt like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Buffy... what's...? You hurt? Did ya fall, pet?"
She snapped out of her surprised stupor and tried to shove the book into her bag, out of sight. "Ever hear of knocking? O-or the Fourth Amendment? The right to privacy? You don't just barge in on—"
Spike grabbed the book from her and looked at it, his brows furrowing. "What the sodding hell..." he muttered, looking from it back to her. "What's goin' on?"
The Slayer sagged, her shoulders slumped, the wind drained from her proverbial sails. She pulled her knees up to her chest and dropped her forehead onto them, shaking her head back and forth as tears stung her eyes.
"Buffy," Spike cajoled, turning off the water running in the sink. He squatted down next to her, then dropped to his ass beside her, their backs against the wall. "Talk to me, luv."
She drew in a shuddering breath and let it out, never looking up at him.
"Please, Buffy... what's this about?" he pleaded, flipping through the book, looking at the pages and passages she'd highlighted.
"As if you don't know."
"If I knew, wouldn't be asking, would I?"
"Angel said it clear as day at his mansion the other night..."
"Angel spews a lot o' rubbish. Find it best not t' pay much heed to any of it."
"But before... I can't believe he never told you last year."
"Told me what, pet?"
Buffy sighed. Apparently, she was going to have to say it out loud. "About... about that night... when we... when he lost his soul. About... me."
With his brows still knit together, Spike looked at her. He reached over and gathered her hair back so he could at least see a little of her face. "Bragged 'bout... well, taking your maidenhead," he admitted. "'Bout how he shagged you senseless and left you alone. Didn't pay a lot of mind to his ramblings, if I'm honest. He's... well, in plain English, he's a fucking liar, and at the time I was more bothered about him shagging Dru than whatever he'd done to you."
Buffy stifled a sob that shook her shoulders, her face still buried in her knees. "He... he told me... he said I wasn't... good. That he... that he left because I... I sucked in bed... Maybe 'cos I didn't suck anything... maybe I should've... but I... I didn't know what he wanted or... if there should be sucking or licking or... where I should..." She paused and shook her head. Feeling an embarrassing ramble coming on, she refocused. "He said that no one would want to stick around after that. That I... I had a lot to... to learn about... men."
Angel had actually said something to that effect to Spike and Dru... about Buffy not being worth another go, but Spike knew it for what it was—Angelus' blathering on, spewing his typical bollocks. Didn't mean rot. Spike hadn't taken it seriously then or at the mansion. Saying that to her back then, well that was just the first move in his game, wasn't it? The first blow to her psyche, the first of many artful strokes of his brush in his plan to turn her into another masterpiece. Saying it recently was just an easy shot at what was clearly still an open wound, and he'd landed it perfectly.
And Spike hadn't realized it. He should have. He'd been manipulated by Angelus enough. God, he was a git!
Spike had never hated his grandsire more than he did in that moment. His beautiful girl, his sexy, sweet, loving, amazing Slayer, the one girl in all the world who could make him ache with desire at the thought of her body pressed against him, and hard enough to pound nails with only a glance, actually thought she wasn't enough.
Spike set the book down, wrapped an arm around Buffy, and pulled her across his lap.
She didn't fight. The fight had drained out of her. Spike knew now. If he hadn't before, he did now. She leaned against his cool, strong chest and cried, wondering if this would be the last time she'd be this close to him, the last time she'd be able to touch him, to feel his arms around her. Her tears trailed down her cheeks and onto his alabaster skin, glistening in the overhead light.
He stroked a soothing hand from the top of her head all the way down her back. Over and over, letting her cry it out. How many times had he done this with Dru in her more lucid moments, when the things her fucking daddy had done weighed on her pure, tender heart? More than he cared to count, though she'd had fewer and fewer of those moments as the years went on, until they eventually stopped. The transformation from girl to monster complete, the masterpiece now museum quality, painted in blood.
The growl that rumbled from Spike reverberated off the marble tiles, rattling the toiletries that Buffy had left on the counter.
"I'm sorry..." she cried, gasping and hiccupping between her words. "I didn't mean to... I... wanted to be... I just... I'm sorry. I thought maybe if I... I could learn, then... then it would be okay. I could... be better, and you wouldn't... you... you wouldn't hate me... you wouldn't leave."
Spike pushed her back so he could look into her shimmering eyes, her tears still streaming down her face. "I love you," he stated unequivocally. "You have any sodding idea what that means?"
Buffy dropped her eyes. "They leave... they all leave... they say they love you, but then they leave."
"They are not me," he snarled, shaking her lightly to make her look up at him. "They are fucking twats who can't see the wonder of you. Not talking about your body, though it's sodding glorious, not your lips, though I could snog you for hours and never get enough, not your sweet quim, even though just one taste makes me cream my fucking jeans, not how well you use your hands on my cock, though I've never been touched by anyone as amazing as you before.
"None o' that is what made me fall in love with you, Slayer. I love your heart. I love your crazy-making brain. I love your illogical logic and your barmy puns. I love your strength. I love your courage. I love how stubborn you are, how shirty and cheeky you are. I love how you fight. I love how you try. I love your tender heart and your hard fists. I love how you love. I love you."
"But—"
"There's no 'but' after that statement, Slayer. There're no qualifications on my love. When I say I love you, that's it. There's nothing more. When I say I want eternity with you, there're no limits on that, no 'ifs, ands, or buts' tacked to the end. I love you. Period. Full stop. End of fucking discussion."
Buffy leaned over and dropped her head against his chest again, a deep, painful sob wracking her body. "No one's ever... there are always... rules... limits, stipulations."
He felt his own heart breaking for her. The vampire wrapped the Slayer in a bone crushing embrace, wishing he had a few of those gits within reach so he could rip their throats out. Starting with fucking Angel.
"I've got no stipulations on my love, Buffy. Unconditional, is what it is."
Another bone-deep sob shook her slender form, and then she was crying again in earnest, clinging to him. The heartache and fear and doubt poured out of her like a river of pain, sliding down his chest, soaking them both with its ferocity.
Spike found his own cheeks were wet as he held her to him, rocking her like a child, his face buried in her hair, hers pressed against his neck. They remained there on the pristine tile, crying, for some time; he trying to comfort her, she trying to banish her demons, and let the only demon that really mattered past all her walls and into the deepest parts of her heart. Spike. Spike's love. Spike's unconditional love.
"I'm sorry," Buffy rasped again as her tears finally waned. She sat back and wiped at his damp skin with her hand. "I got you all salty."
He smiled sadly and cupped her face in his hands before touching soft kisses to her damp, swollen eyes. "Think you'll find I don't mind having you on my skin, luv."
She forced a crooked half-smile, blinking to try and get her eyes to focus. "I... I think you'd rather have different, um... saltiness, not sad-saltiness."
"Can't deny that. Don't want my sunshine sad, ever. You been worried 'bout this... all this time?"
Buffy bit down on her lip and dropped her gaze as she nodded. "I thought... I thought I could figure it out... get better," she stammered, reaching for the book he'd set on the floor, and picking it up. "I want to learn. I want to be good. I want to suck in a non-sucky way. I want to make you happy, cos you make me happy, and I love you, and I don't want you to feel like you have to stay just 'cos you said you'd stay, even though I don't make you happy, o-or give you happies, like a normal person would, 'cos I'm not with the normal, and maybe I just can't... I—"
He cut her off by pressing his lips to hers and shushing her gently. "Shhhh."
When it was clear that her latest ramble had been stopped, he pulled back to look into her eyes again, her cheeks still held between his hands. "Buffy, my love, you make me happy. If you never touch me again, I'd still be happy just being near you. I told Angel, and now I'm telling you, it's not about getting in your pants. It's not about shagging you. It's about you."
"So... you don't want to..."
"Didn't say that, did I? Just said it's not what I love about you. Fell in love with you long before I ever kissed you. Making love to you... I dream about it every night... every day, all the sodding time. Because I know how bloody brilliant we are together, and shagging you will be another dance for us... something that'll just make our love stronger, deeper… for the both of us."
She dropped her gaze from his again. "You sound so sure."
"Because I am sure. I'm sure that you're my Gilded Goddess. My sunshine. My heart. I'm sure that when two people love each other, when they're as good together as we are, then each new dance just adds to the joy. And I'm sure that Angel is a fucking sick, manipulative, lying bastard."
Buffy blinked her shimmering eyes back up to his. "T-the book says to... tell your partner what feels good and what doesn't. Will you tell me... so I know what to do?"
He gave her a sexy smile. "That's like a sodding wet dream for me... a vampire telling a Slayer what to do? How to touch me. How to fuck me? You'd have t' gag me to shut me up, pet." He wagged his brows. "Which is an option, if I'm honest."
She tittered nervously, reaching up to run her hand through the disheveled spikes and curls of his white-blond hair.
"'Course, goes both ways, doesn't it? You gotta talk to me, luv. Put all those twisted words o' yours to good use, let me know what you like, what you want."
Buffy sniffed and nodded, swiping at her eyes. "I know. I'll try... You might have to teach me how to be a little more, um, piggy."
"Oink, oink," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.
She pulled back. "I'm all yucky," she said, wiping at her eyes and runny nose again with her fingers.
"You're perfect," he assured her, capturing her lips with his in a tender kiss.
Buffy dropped the book and wrapped her arms around his neck, shifting so she was straddling his lap rather than across it. Spike's hands slid down from her face, over her shoulders, and then down her body to cup her arse, pulling her tight against him.
"Make love to me..." she whispered against his mouth before pressing her lips to his again, her tongue slipping past his lips to tangle with his cinnamon-spiced tongue.
It took an effort of superstrength and pure will for Spike to get his feet beneath him and stand up with her in his arms. He stumbled and lurched, banged one hip into the counter where the sink was, and then pinballed back and slammed against the wall, knocking all the extra towels off the high shelf and onto his head. They all tumbled to the floor except one, which half-blinded him, until he shook his head and dislodged it.
Buffy gasped when he faltered, then giggled as he caught himself, shed the towel, and straightened, as if that was what he'd meant to do all along.
"Cheeky little minx," he growled against her smiling mouth before capturing her lips and swallowing her laughter. It tasted like pure ambrosia, though the salty sting of her tears was still there.
With her arms and legs wrapped around him like a limpet, Spike made his way back to the bed. Buffy released her strangle-hold and slid down to her feet, the kiss breaking.
Wordlessly, Spike began to unbutton his jeans, but she pulled his hands away. With a quick glance up to his eyes and back down again, she fumbled with the button with trembling fingers, then had it open. Biting down on her lip, she gently pulled the zipper out and down at the same time, lowering it in a painstakingly slow tease.
"Christ, pet," Spike moaned as he fought to keep his hands planted on his hips and allow her to undress him.
Buffy gasped and stopped, her wide, worried eyes looking up to meet his. "Did I hurt you?"
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Might dust if ya don't touch me soon, is all."
Her teeth closed over a shy smile as she finished unzipping his jeans. His cock sprang into her hand, eager and willing. Buoyed by her previous experience with this base, she gave it a squeeze, just beneath the bulbous head, just like she knew he liked, and Spike groaned in pleasure.
"Yeah, pet, like that," he encouraged as she began stroking slowly down his length, pulling his foreskin back with her tight grip.
Her eyes were on his cock, watching it as it twitched and throbbed in her hand. She stroked down, and then back up, licking her lips. It was beautiful and amazing and... lots of other words that were in the OED but not in her brain. She longed for it, longed to feel the hardness of him inside her, longed to take him into her mouth, into her pussy, longed to feel him moving inside her.
"Can squeeze tighter," he said. "Not gonna hurt me... well, might hurt a bit, but only makes it better."
Buffy swirled her thumb over the tip, spreading the bead of precum over the smooth, spongy head, then tightened her grip as she began moving her hot hand back down his shaft.
"Touch m' balls... not too hard," he requested, watching her watching him. "Oh, yeah, pet... like that," he encouraged as she cupped them in her hand, as if weighing them.
"Is that... Do you like that?"
"More than like, pet. Love being in your hands."
She smiled up at him, her eyes starting to look more like his confident, cheeky Slayer. "I love touching you. I love how hard you are."
"Make you wet, does it? Having my cock in your hand?
Buffy blushed and shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze, but forced out a quiet, "Yeah."
"Always hard for you, Buffy."
"I'm... you make me... all tingly and... wet. All the time," she admitted. "B-But I guess you know that; creepy vampire smelling."
Her vampire with the creepy smelling rumbled a deep, sensuous chuckle. "Reckon it makes us even, doesn't it? You can sodding well see what you do to me... only fair I get to smell that sweet honey of yours."
She gave him a quick smile and a shrug. She supposed when you looked at it like that, it was only fair. Spike began to slide his jeans further down his legs, and Buffy released his cock to help. He lifted his feet, one at a time, and, kneeling in front of him, she pulled his jeans off and tossed them to the side. When she looked up, she was at eye level... or mouth level, with the embodiment of his lustful affection.
Before she could decide what to do about that, he reached down and urged her back to her feet. Then it was his turn. Spike reached for the hem of her shirt—his shirt—bloody hell, she looked delicious in it—and lifted it slowly up over her head, revealing her golden tan body to him, inch by tantalizing inch. When he pulled it free of her lifted arms and tossed it aside, he just let his eyes wander, drinking in the wonder of her.
She was perfect, from her strong shoulders to her round, pert tits, to her dusky-pink nipples, which stood at attention, just begging to be sucked between his lips. He could see her heart thudding against her chest, making her breasts bounce slightly to the steady rhythm. She didn't cover herself, but she did shift slightly from foot to foot as he took her in. His strong Slayer didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, finally curling them into fists at her sides, because of course that's what his Slayer would do with her deadly hands.
Her stomach was flat and taut, just as golden tan as the rest of her—even her tits. What did she do? Sunbathe in the nude? Made him want to take up sunbathing. Or at least get a window overlooking the spot so he could watch her skin turn this beautiful golden shade beneath the deadly rays.
Spike's eyes came to the scrap of lace that clung to her hips. He slipped his fingers beneath the stretchy, black fabric, and slid it down her legs, kneeling in front of her as she'd done him, until she stepped out of it. The scent of her arousal hit him like a freight train, and it was all he could do to keep from tossing her on the bed and diving into that heavenly chalice with wild abandon. There would be time for wild abandon later... this wasn't the time.
He trailed his fingers up the outside of each leg as he stood, making her shiver. He'd seen them before, plenty of times in those short skirts she fancied, but they never looked better than this moment, shapely and toned. Just the right balance of hard muscle and soft curves.
"You're so beautiful, Buffy," he breathed as he stood, still feathering his hands along the outside of her body, over the swell of her hips, the narrow valley of her waist, the luscious hills of her breasts.
Buffy watched as her lover's eyes followed his hands, the look in them reverent, longing. She thought he looked like a nomad returning from being lost in the desert, and she was the oasis he'd been searching for all his life. And when those crystal blue eyes met hers, they took her breath away. So much love shone in them. How was that even possible? How could one person even hold that much love?
And then he was kissing her, and her body was against his, supple warmth melding into hard coolness. And they fit. Her curves and his angles. Her heat and his passion. Her sunlight and his moonbeams. Their insecure, broken and battered hearts fit together, filling in the missing pieces, sealing the cracks in the mosaic with heartfelt promises, smoothing the rough edges with love.
She felt her feet leave the ground and, for a moment, thought she'd actually begun to float on the utter bliss of his body against hers, of his mouth and tongue drinking her down, of his arms holding her so tightly, but no. He'd lifted her off her feet, swept her into his arms, and now she knew he was settling her onto the soft mattress. Her heart fluttered in anticipation, her body prickled with tiny electric shocks, and her pussy throbbed with need. For a moment, her insecurities and worries tried to rear their ugly heads, but Spike was above her, his body atop hers, his hips cradled between her thighs, and his eyes were on hers, holding her captive.
His words, still swirling in her mind, drowned the hurtful memory of Angelus and his vitriol that tried to surface. 'I love you. Full stop'.
"I love you," Buffy breathed as she lost herself in his eyes. Those eyes that were the window to his heart. And now, gazing back at her, they were awestruck and adoring, with a dusting of lust she could tell he was holding in check. All for her.
"Love you, beautiful," he returned as he began kissing a line of fire down over her jaw to her neck, where he nipped and nibbled the sensitive skin, sending waves of gooseflesh flashing down her body.
As was always the case when Spike was this close to her jugular, there was a struggle between a deep, primitive instinct to fight or flee, and another, equally prehistoric arousal of lustful desires. Now, on the precipice of joining with her love, she could feel their origins for what were—Slayer and woman. The sensation was extraordinary, utterly divine, as her body battled the disparate impulses of pleasure and panic.
And, as had been the case every other time her vampire had been this close to her thudding pulse, the woman, the lust, won over the instincts of the Slayer. She moaned his name, running her hands up his strong arms and down his chiseled back. "Spike, baby, so good."
"Buffy, my strong Slayer... any idea what you do to me? So full o' heat, you are, so full of life. Close as I'll ever get t' feeling the sun on my skin. God, woman, you're glorious," he swore, as he began moving lower, licking and kissing his way over the graceful sweep of her collar bone, past the sunstone necklace, and down to her heart, which was drumming in his ears like a siren's song.
He turned his face to the side and pressed his ear against her chest. The steady whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of her blood as it flowed in and out of her heart was a sweet accompaniment to the driving beat. He could hear her breath streaming in and out of her lungs, her chest rising and falling with each panted inhale and exhale. The vibration of her ribs as her heart contracted and released was a mesmerizing, uniquely Buffy rhythm that echoed through him, making his breath catch and hold, and his cock twitch.
"Can you feel it?" she asked quietly as she ran her hands over his head, through his thick, soft curls.
"Yer heart... yeah... brilliant."
Buffy shook her head. "No, not my heart, my love."
Spike looked up at her, his chin resting on her breastbone, his eyes shining with emotion. "Can feel it... never felt anything like it. Never. No one like you, Buffy. You're the one."
Her heart was so full she was sure it would burst out of her chest... which would be pretty inconvenient, and probably ruin the mood. Though, with Spike, she couldn't be sure about the mood ruining.
He touched a gentle kiss over her overflowing heart and continued his journey of exploration. His tongue circled the bumpy ring of darker skin that tipped her left breast, making Buffy's back arch and her insides sizzle.
Her hands wandered from his hard shoulders to his soft hair as he continued to tease her nipple with his tongue and lips. He used his fingers on her other breast, lightly feathering them over the supple, curving mound of perfect flesh, slowly working his way to the hard peak.
"Spike, god... yes, feels so good," she breathed as a burning need rose inside her. Her pussy throbbed with desire, desperate to be filled, as her slick juices flowed like honey from her yearning depths.
Spike sucked down sharply on one erect nubbin as his fingers lightly pinched the other, and Buffy bucked beneath him, a shrieking gasp of surprised pleasure exploding from her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed as she lost herself in the sensations he was pouring over her, taking his time, making love to her entire body. It was utterly frustrating and perfectly delectable all at once. The need for 'MORE' surged through her, while at the same time she never wanted this fluttering feeling of delicious desire to end.
The sounds she was making, and the way she was moving and writhing beneath him, nearly undid Spike more than once. She was fucking glorious. Radiant. Passionate. How she could ever think anything about her wouldn't be enough, would be less than earth-shattering, he had no idea. Well, he did have an idea; Angelus was a master craftsman in psychological warfare, and he'd known exactly where to sink the first dagger. Fucking lying bastard. Spike was determined to replace those words that had been driven into her heart with his own words, reverent words, loving words, true words.
He began moving further down her body, tracing wet paths over her flat stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel, and making her giggle, which sent his heart soaring yet again. "So beautiful, so perfect, Buffy... can't tell you, no words for what you do to me... Bloody hell, woman, got me about to explode like a fucking wet-behind-the-ears fledge, and I haven't even tasted you yet. Fuck..."
Spike kissed her jutting hipbones. "Sexy as fuck, you are." And traced the groove between her hip and her thigh with velvet fingers. "Love how you move, how you feel." He settled down onto the sheets between thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders. "You smell like heaven... gonna taste you now. You want my tongue inside you? Want me to fuck you with my mouth?"
He looked up her body and met her eyes, which were burning with a green flame. "Tell me, pet... tell me you want me."
"I... want... you," she croaked breathlessly.
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he lowered his mouth to her slit and slipped it between her slick, swollen folds, unerringly finding her clit.
Buffy gasped and threw her head back onto the pillow, her body jerked and spasmed beneath him, her hips bucking against his questing tongue. "Spike! Yessss! Oh, god... yessss!" she screamed as a wave of euphoric bliss slammed into her. The build-up had been too perfect, the need too great—just one touch sent her tumbling over the edge.
"Fuck, Buffy," he murmured against her honey-blonde curls before he dove into her throbbing cunny in earnest. He sucked down on her clit, making her thrust her hips against him and scream again, and then he plunged two fingers into her, deep and hard, and began pumping in and out of her slick, tight channel.
Her back arched off the bed and her thighs closed against her lover's head in a vise-grip as fireworks exploded behind her closed lids and rained down in a waterfall of sparks, engulfing her from head to toe in pure rapture.
She was a fucking goddess, full of passion and fire. Christ, he was gonna jizz all over the bloody sheets just feeling her cum around his fingers and grind her clit against his mouth. Her cunt was strangling his digits, only the coating of slick, hot cum kept them from being trapped inside her spasming channel. Every word from her lips, every scream, every gasp for air made him fuck her harder, faster, desperate to coax more from her, to keep her flying beyond the moon, beyond the sun, and through the gates of heaven itself. He licked and sucked her swollen clit as he pounded his fingers into her, the demon's covetous growl vibrating into her.
The Slayer's hands closed over the sheets at her sides, shredding them beneath her nails, her toes curled, and her clasped thighs kept Spike's mouth trapped against her, not that he was trying to escape. Buffy soared and floated and roared through the stratosphere. It was too much. It was not enough. It was love and lust, and heaven and hell. It was everything that ever was and a complete vacuous oblivion. The stream of obscenities she shouted came from somewhere deep inside her, and were out of her control, as was her body, and her mind. It was wild abandon, total freedom, and utter release the likes of which she'd never felt before.
After a subjective eternity, she felt herself floating, falling, drifting back to herself. Her chest heaved as she panted in deep, cool lungfuls of air, and she felt her body begin to relax, her tense muscles unclenching. And then she felt Spike's cool tongue on her hot, sensitive skin, sliding up from her taint to her clit. A shiver of pleasure ran through her as she blinked her eyes open and watched him consuming her, eagerly devouring every drop of cum that had spilled from her burning core. "Spike, baby... god... I... god..." she rasped, her throat raw with her shrieks of release.
He looked up at her, his blue eyes ravenous, sparkling with need, his face coated in her spendings, slick and wet. Then he was above her, kissing her, his cock pressing hard against her stomach. He tasted like her. Like him. Like love. Like forever. She could taste all his pretty words on his tongue and his lips, in the salty slickness of her cum, and the desperate way his mouth devoured her.
"Need you, Buffy... need to be inside you now," he croaked, the plea of a starving man.
"Yes... yes... now," she gasped back, wrapping her legs around his slim waist as he guided his cock to her entrance.
He froze then, their eyes meeting as he hovered above her on strong arms. "I love you, Buffy Summers, the Slayer from Sunnydale."
Buffy blinked the emotion from her eyes and swallowed the lump clogging her windpipe as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you, William Pratt, the vampire from York Street."
And then he was pressing into her, opening her, filling her. They both gasped in sharply as the sensation of connection, of becoming one with another person, with the person they loved, washed over them. Their eyelids fluttered, but then their gazes met and held as he slid into her supple, welcoming heat.
"Fuck, Buffy..." he groaned as her cunt wrapped around him, tight and slick.
"Spike..." was all she could manage past her heart, which had lodged in her throat.
"You're bloody perfect. So tight... so hot. So full of fire, you are," he murmured as he slowly buried his cock in her to the root. She was fucking glorious, and she loved him, truly, and she was his and he was the luckiest bloke ever to walk the Earth. Her cunt was heavenly beyond anything he'd ever known or even imagined, and he found himself afraid to move lest he spill into her right that moment. 'Think o' something else... 6 x 4, 24, 6 x 5, 30, 6 x 6, 36, 6 x... oh, sod it, where was I?'
Buffy tugged on his shoulders, and Spike's elbows gave in to her request, lowering himself down atop her. "Hold me...hold me a minute, just like this, still and quiet… oh god, I just want to feel you inside me. The way you fill me up, it feels... God, Spike... I... this... we... you feel so good. Is this... okay?"
"Buffy, my beautiful, amazing girl... my strong, shirty Slayer. Not a sodding thing about this, or about you, that's less than fucking magnificent. Like touching sunbeams and rainbows."
Her body shook beneath him with a half-laugh, half-sob as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. The words rambled out from some deep well inside her where her love and her lust twirled in a heavenly dance. "Holding you is like holding starlight, cool and bright and timeless... a sparkling jewel lighting the night... shining on my heart, saving it from the darkness."
Spike pulled back to look at her, his eyes filled with wonder. "Think you've been holding out on me, Slayer. Second time you've gotten all poetical on me."
Buffy smiled up at him, reaching up to rearrange his curls with her fingers. "Maybe I'll write you another limerick... if you're very nice to me."
"How nice do I have t' be to get a proper poem?"
"Limericks are proper poems... I have it on very good authority that Shakespeare wrote limericks," she informed him haughtily, her smile widening.
"Cheeky little thing, aren't you?"
"If 'cheeky' means happy, then, yeah... much with the happy. And... maybe a little... um..."
"Randy?" Spike provided, arching a brow. He swiveled his hips against her, grinding his pubic bone against her clit and shifting the angle of his cock inside her.
Buffy moaned, her eyes closing a moment, before looking back up at him. "I don't know what that means," she grated out breathlessly. "But I really wish you'd do that again," she admitted.
Spike lifted onto his elbows for more leverage and obliged her... several times, swirling his hips in a figure-eight, making sure his cock and pelvis hit every sensitive spot he could find.
"Yes, god," she moaned as she clamped and released her inner muscles around the hard length of him in a blistering tempo.
It was Spike's turn to moan as his eyelids slid down. "Fuck, pet... like that... keep doing that... Fuck... yes," he rasped, forcing his eyes open so he could see her flushed face, kiss-swollen lips, and sparkling green eyes. "You are a bloody revelation, Buffy... a muse, a goddess, a heavenly nymph. You keep that up, and you'll be drowning in daft, corny, very piggy poetry."
She squeezed down again and held, a pleased smile curving the corners of her mouth. She lifted her head up to touch a soft kiss onto his lips. "I love your piggy poetry and corny depths... do your worst," she murmured.
Spike captured that cheeky smile in a vehement kiss as he pulled nearly out of her tantalizing cunt, and plunged back in, driving a shriek of pleasure from her, which he swallowed greedily.
"Tell me you want me," he begged, gazing down at her flushed face and wild halo of golden tresses.
"I want you," she replied immediately, trailing her hands up his arms as he pressed them straight.
"Tell me you love me."
"I love you."
"Forever," he added hopefully. "Give me forever."
Buffy's teeth closed over her lip a moment before she said, "All of my tomorrows are yours."
Spike jerked his hips forward, driving his cock into her again. Her body lurched beneath him, her perfect tits bouncing. He dipped his head and bit down on one rosy-tipped nipple, just enough to make Buffy's back arch and her eyes glaze.
"Mine," he growled against her salty flesh, drawing back and hammering into her again. "Mine, mine, mine," he repeated, matching each word with another long, deep stroke. She was more than he'd ever dreamed; soft skin, taut muscles, shapely curves, slick, tight cunt that might be the dust of him. She was a fucking passionate lover, a loving woman, a giggling girl, and a growling Slayer. And she was his. How the fuck had he ended up here? With her? With her love? With her green eyes burning into his? With her body responding perfectly to his every move?
"Love you, love you... God, Buffy, I love you," he chanted as they found a rhythm, their bodies moving together in the dance, meeting and parting and meeting again. Softly, slowly, quickly, furiously. The wet sounds of his cock driving into her and pulling out filled the room. That sinful symphony was accompanied by their moans and gasps, declarations of need and love, and their promises of tomorrow... tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. All their tomorrows.
Buffy had never in her wildest dreams thought it could be like this. Spike was at once fierce and tender, lust-crazed and loving. His eyes burned like dancing flames, but the soft edges were suffused with adoration. She tried to not look away from them, but then he'd do something that was too much, too overwhelmingly blissful, and her eyes closed as she fell up into the clouds, floating on starlight, soaring on rainbows. And his voice was there with her, pouring his honeyed words over her, drowning her in dazzling desire.
Forever. Yes. She wanted forever. She would give him forever if she had it to give. But she only had tomorrow... one or hundreds of them, she didn't know. However many she had, she promised them to him, promised with all her heart, because she knew he would be there. It was safe. It was Spike. He would be there for all her tomorrows, and he would love her through them all. And she would love him. Because he was right—they were good together. Better than good, they fit, they understood, their hearts had been shattered in just the right places to fit with each other, to make the other whole.
"Tell me what you want, pet."
"Forever... you... always."
"You've got me... forever. Always," he vowed. "Tell me how to touch you... what do you need... what do you want."
"More... more..."
"Harder?"
"Yes... harder... deeper..."
"Want me to fuck you like a monster?" He drew back and slammed into her with all his strength, driving his cock against her cervix, jarring her entire body.
"YESSSSS! GOD, YES!" she shrieked as shockwaves of pleasure ricocheted through her.
"Like the demon driving into you? Tell me, Buffy... tell me what you want. Talk to me."
Buffy blinked her eyes open and met his intense blue gaze. Suddenly the words spilled from her, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, "Yes... harder... fuck me hard... give me... everything."
Spike snarled and sat back on his knees a moment, pulling her with him, never leaving the strangle-hold of her hot quim. He pulled her legs from his waist and pressed them forward, up toward her shoulders, folding her in half. "Gonna fuck you hard... that what you want?" he rumbled, his voice as rough as ten miles of bad road as his face shifted and his yellow eyes stared down at her with the same love, lust, and devotion as was always on display in the blue.
Buffy could barely breathe, her heart was pounding, and her lungs couldn't seem to find enough air, but she managed, "Yes... yes..."
"Say it, Slayer... tell me how you want it," he growled.
"Hard... fuck me hard... God, Spike... please."
The 'please' nearly undid him. He lunged forward with all his strength, all his weight coming down on her, driving into her madly. His balls slapped against her arse, adding another layer of bliss to the symphony that engulfed them.
Buffy screamed and bucked against him, clawing at his arms, his shoulders, his back, taking his passionate blows and giving back as good as she got. There was a fire flaring in her core, building and building, like a volcano on the verge of consuming her, as he roared ferociously and drove into her, jarring her higher and higher with every brutal thrust. Her pussy spasmed and throbbed around his cock, squeezing tighter and tighter as the eruption growing inside her gathered intensity.
The words came first. Curses and shrieks. She couldn't stop them. Didn't want to stop them. Had no control over them. "Fuck-shit-yes-fuuckk! Yes! No... god-god-oh-god-fuck-god-fuuuckk!" And then his name was there, bursting off her tongue as her body began to convulse in paroxysms of rapture. "SSSSppiiikkkke! FUUUCKKKK! YESSSSSSSSSS!"
Spike felt her fall, if her shrieks hadn't told him, her body sang with it. Her tight cunt turned into a slick, hot vice of painful pleasure. He couldn't have held back his own climax even if he'd wanted to. His balls were on fire with the pure passion of her, burning in the solar flares that radiated from every cell of her glorious body. Her name was a howl of feral release as he spilled into her, spewing his jizz in blast after blissful blast. Again and again and again, it seemed to last forever, continuing long past the air in his lungs was spent and his howl went silent.
When the rapture finally released his trembling body from its grasp, he collapsed like a wet towel atop the burning flame of his salvation. Buffy's legs slipped from his non-existent grasp and fell like wet noodles alongside his onto the shredded sheets. He'd be happy to never move again, to remain buried in her sweet quim, to have her burning flesh heating his body, but somewhere in his muddled mind he thought he should roll off, not smother her... she needed to breathe. Moving was a distant, foggy idea, and, anyway, she'd drained him as surely as if she were a vampire, taking every drop of his power into her depths.
Her chest heaved beneath Spike, rising and falling, lifting and lowering him, creating a semblance of life that he didn't possess on any level. He could feel her heart hammering against him and, in his stupor, could imagine it was his own that vibrated his jellied flesh.
"Spike, I..." she croaked breathlessly.
Her words cut through some of the fog. 'Right. Move...' Maybe he could just let gravity take over, if he could roll to the side a bit and let it pull him down... But as soon as he started to slide to the side, her arms were around him, stopping his feeble attempt at motion.
"Stay... please... I... I mean, if you want, if... if it's okay..."
Christ, fucking Angelus.
The anger that boiled inside him for his bastard of a grandsire burned away the last of the mist that shrouded his brain, and awakened the satiated demon from its stupor, letting it fade back, allowing the man's guise to slip to the fore. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and captured her lips in a hungry kiss. Buffy was panting again when he pulled back, his blazing eyes flashing with specks of gold as he gazed down at her. "You're a bloody miracle, Buffy. Never... Christ, woman, you've no idea how fucking amazing you are, how you feel, what you do to me when you scream my name and squeeze my cock like Aphrodite come to life. I'd stay right here, buried in your dripping cunt for the rest of my fucking days if I could. Never leave this bed, never leave you for a bloody minute."
Buffy searched his dark blue eyes and saw nothing but single-minded conviction in them. "Really?"
He arched a brow at her. Did she really have to ask that?
"Then why...?"
"Didn't want t' smother you, pet. As you're so fond o' pointing out when I need a fag, you've got working lungs."
Her watery smile was another ray of sunshine blazing over his heart. She tugged him back down against her decisively. "I'm not a wilting violin," she reminded him, her breath a warm tickle against his ear. "I'm the Slayer... You make with the staying put. I can breathe."
Spike chuckled at her twisted maxim, picturing a violin as painted by Dali. "Bossy little wench, aren't you?" he teased, relaxing against her and slipping his arms beneath her shoulders again.
"I think you like bossy wen... um, strong women."
"Too right, I do. Told ya before, pet. Your willing slave."
"Don't want a slave... just want you. Beside me. Loving me."
"Always," he promised.
He felt her swallow, and her body tense, as if gathering her courage or steeling her nerve. "What, pet?" he asked when she didn't speak. "Tell me... anything."
Buffy cleared her throat nervously. "Also want you... inside me... like, always and forever."
"No place I'd rather be, nothing I'd rather be doing than making you scream with pleasure, fucking you, filling you with my spunk. Forever. You're everything I could ever want in a lover, Buffy. You're perfect and we're bloody brilliant together. Bloody hell, woman... can't get enough o' you."
The sigh that fell from her lips was heaven. The way her body melded into his was divine. The way she held him as if she'd never let him go was luscious. The feel of her heartbeat against his chest made his own long to beat, to echo hers, their rhythms as synchronous and sure as their love for each other. "I love you so much, Buffy... so bloody much."
"I love you... also with the muchness. So very muchness." Her eyes drifted closed as she breathed in the scent of him, of them, and reveled in the feel of his body against hers, holding her, loving her. His cock, though spent, only half-hard, remained inside her, and she was loathe to move lest he slip out.
This was how she always thought it would be, and so different than her first time, her only other time. She knew Spike would erase every last bit of pain and hurt from that disastrous mistake. It had only been once with Spike, but his touch and his words had calmed her fears. He made her feel beautiful and powerful. There was no doubt in her mind that he was satisfied. More than satisfied…with her. This time she could relax and let her sated body, full heart, and blown mind slip away into dreams with no fear of waking to a nightmare.
And so she did. Her body, heart, and soul safe in her lover's arms.
-X-
Chapter End Notes:
Did you think I was gonna ruin it all in the middle there? Even I'm not THAT evil! Hope this was worth the wait. {{chews nails nervously}}.
I promise there will be MUCH MORE sexy goodness to come. You know how they are once they get started! Can't keep their hands off each other.
Buffy was thinking of the term 'shrinking violet' when she said 'wilting violin'.
'Tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow', while also an amazing fic by Sunalso, is from Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 5 Scene 5...
There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.