AN:
This is an hommage to Nauti's "Power Outage", which had the most brilliant premise ever. Sadly, it was never finished, and it kept burrowing at my brain.
This is my own spin on powerless Buffy VS Spike, in her bedroom. With gratuitous furry demon bits.
This was betaed by the awesome Sally. Without her, I wouldn't be able to remotely write anyone vaguely American-like.
This is set during the summer between S3 & S4
POWER STRUGGLE
"Hm, well." Giles's voice crackled over the phone. The long-distance call to wherever he was in England was iffy. "Can you describe the demon again?"
Buffy huffed at a strand of hair falling across her nose as she tilted her head down toward her shoulder to keep the phone from falling to the ground. "Oh, it was ugly, Giles. I mean, I've seen hideous little imps before but this one took the fugly-fudgy cake. It was small and fat. And, like, really furry. And the teeth!" she scrunched up her eyes in disgust. "Bright. Orange. Like, I'm pretty sure that thing never saw a toothbrush in its life. And it wore a cape, it was total camp, let me tell you. Did I tell you about the eyes already? Real beady. Yuck." She shuddered.
"I see. And what did he say, exactly?"
"I wasn't really listening. I mean, I tried, but I kept getting sidetracked by the teeth."
On the other end of the phone, Giles sighed. Buffy recognized it as sign #45 that his patience was wearing thin. She backpedaled quickly. "I mean, let me think… Okay, so it talked about the… ancestral wisdom of its clan? Something like that, anyway. And about some kind of ancient spell that made its enemies powerless and desperate at the sight of it." She paused, twirling the phone cord over her finger. "I mean, looking back, I kinda get it now. Because phooey, if I really have to see that thing again, I'm gonna get a bit desperate too."
"Buffy…"
Uh oh, patience warning sign #46.
"Anyhoo, yeah. Ancient wisdom, spell, and a potion. And something about licorice? I think? And then it scurried away before I could slay it."
"Did it have a tail?"
"Yeah! Like a big, disgusting rat. And it kept rubbing its hand, like a… a crazy raccoon." She made a face, remembering the small gnarly fingers of the thing. "Yuck again."
"I see." Buffy could tell that Giles was nonplussed as ever by the ickiness of the demon. "And this morning, you say you woke up with your Slayer powers gone?"
"Yep," said Buffy, popping the p. "Hence the panicky cross-Atlantic call."
"From what you describe, it must be a R'gondin," Giles said, making a horrible throaty sound to pronounce it. "Mm, impressive. I thought them quite extinct, to be honest. The last one was sighted in France in 1812. Pity, I would have loved to – "
"Giles, less about the beastie and more about the cursie."
Giles scoffed. "I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. They used to be much stronger, centuries ago, but now they're merely glorified rodents. Also, that curse is pretty much the extent of their capacity to harm. The spell in itself requires quite a lot of work, and they can't maintain it much more than a day at best if I recall correctly. If I were you, I'd just stay indoors until things resolve themselves."
"So it's just going to take my powers away for a day and… that's it? It kinda sucks, as far as nefarious plans go."
Giles chuckled. "Well, there's a reason they're nearly extinct, isn't there?"
"Huh. And what's got licorice to do with it?"
"Ah, well," Giles mused. "That, I have no clue." The line crackled again, reminding Buffy that this was a long-distance call and she'd better keep it short.
"So, I just stay home today? No patrolling?" she asked optimistically.
"No, dear. You take the day off."
"Okie dokie!"
She cut the call short soon after that, hastening to bid nice summer vacay to her Watcher as soon as he started making noises about her training. After all, it was the summer holidays. Giles didn't need to know her training was on hold, replaced by ice cream binging and shopping with her mom.
000
As the last ray of sunlight disappeared over the horizon, the R'gondin peered at his bubbling cauldron and coughed a bit at the fumes. He really wished he could have found some licorice to take the edge of the stench.
But no matter. The potion was ready. Now he just needed to drink it to take his berserker form, which would allow him to hunt down the Slayer and to kill her. For nearly two centuries now, the ancient wisdom of his clan had been lost, meaning none of his brethren could transform into their fighting form. But he had found the sacred scrolls describing the elixir of power. His beady eyes glinted in the dark.
Tonight, he would tear the Slayer's throat with its own long teeth and restore the fear of the R'gondin in the heart of men.
The furry imp cackled evilly, forgetting where he was. Sadly for him, the Hellmouth did not take kindly to overly campy evil during the summer months. Fate had to intervene to restore the universal balance.
Thus, as the R'gondin was still crowing to the pollution-covered skies, he never saw the black steel behemoth hurtling toward him at full speed. The screech of tires was the last thing he heard, as a monstrous DeSoto ran the Welcome to Sunnydale! sign over, sending the imp and his vile potion to an early, but very much deserved grave.
000
Spike stepped out of his car with ominous purpose. He paused to listen to the sounds of the night, but the only thing he could hear was the motor of his baby pinging as it cooled down. Yeah. As expected, the Hellmouth was dead during the summer.
He thought about lighting a fag, but he wasn't in the mood.
He would either kill the Slayer or be killed by her. Tonight. No going back. This nonsense with Dru had gone long enough. He wasn't gonna grovel at her feet anymore.
He inhaled a deep lungful of Californian air and frowned. He sniffed again, to make sure. Yeah, he was smelling demon blood alright. And some other godawful stench. Cautiously, he stepped toward the front of his car, where the loathsome pong was coming from.
"What the…"
What demon was idiotic enough to stand behind the Welcome sign?
The thing was dead alright, its blood splattered all over the front of the DeSoto. As well as some bright green sludge, still steaming hot. Spike glowered at it. If the demon ichor or this sodding concoction corroded his best girl's paint, he was going to bring the damn thing to life just to kill it again. Only much, much slower.
There was fur caught on the front grille, too. Spike threw his hands up in disgust. This was going to be a bitch to clean.
But he didn't have time for this tonight. He had a Slayer to kill.
000
Uuugh.
Okay.
Buffy hated being powerless. As if once was not enough with the Cruciamentum, nooo. She had to deal with a repeat performance.
Also, she was bored out of her mind. Stupid demon. Couldn't have it picked another time? Summer was the worst time to be stuck home. Especially now, when her mom was away for the weekend, Willow was on vacation with her family, Xander was on a soul-searching road trip, and the summer TV reruns were abysmal. Worse, she'd run out of Ben & Jerry's twenty minutes ago. Things were quickly reaching a critical point.
Maybe she could sneak out and try to find the beaver imp and kick its furry butt. Sure, she didn't have her powers, but how hard could it be to slay a rodent anyway? Even one of unusual size?
She twirled a lock of hair around a finger, musing. Suddenly, she gasped in horror. Was that a split end?
That's it, she needed to do a hair mask, pronto. Finally, a mission worthy of Slayer Lite. Buffylocks to the rescue!
Spike's grand plan to wait for the Slayer to go on patrol and ambush her had fizzled rather quickly.
After roving over the cemeteries, he'd gone out to the Bronze where he'd waited a grand total of two minutes before stalking out at full speed, coat billowing in the night. He'd checked all her usual haunts but zilch. Nada. He'd hadn't caught a whiff of his bleeding grandsire either, which was damn odd.
He was going to do a last sweep over the cemeteries and swing by her house, see if she was there. If she was away on holiday, he'd have to do something dastardly to keep busy. Like, paint the town red with the blood of innocents. That, or find a bottle of Scotch and get hammered good and proper.
Body clean and split ends dealt with, Buffy set back the showerhead on its holder, humming. She felt better. Maybe it wasn't so terrible to stay in, after all.
As she was about to step out of the shower, something crossed her mind. She felt almost good tonight, which hadn't happened in a long while. But there was something, some restlessness in the background of her mind. A deep undercurrent of tension that pushed to be let out. She eyed the showerhead thoughtfully, pondering.
Truth was, she hadn't been able to come for a couple of months now. Well, she had not exactly been in the mood at first, what with the Ascension backlash and Angel leaving. But when she'd tried to touch herself, a couple of weeks ago in her bed, she'd been unable to come. Since then, every time she came close to orgasming, her mind flashed back to the time when Angel had drunk from her. And then she thought of Faith. Of everything that had happened. Then the mood died completely, and she ended up crying over Angel again.
But maybe if she tried in the shower…
Since it was not exactly her hand, but the water jet, maaaybe. Maybe it could work.
Way too much time later she gave up, skulking. She'd just made things worse. Now she was even more wound up than before. Her shoulders were stiff and her whole body was itching for release, but her mind had clamped the iron curtain down. No fun for Buffy. No release of any kind. Ugh! Angel had ruined everything for her. Even orgasms. She rested her forehead against the cool tiles. At least she wasn't crying. Progress, schmrogress.
Sighing, she stepped out of the tub and decided to run herself a very hot bath to try to unwind. Shower and bath on the same day, her mother would yell herself hoarse if she was here. Bah. Buffy swore to take an extra short shower the next day to make up for it.
Ten minutes later, she was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, wrapped in a fluffy towel. She kept her legs crossed to try to ignore the dull pulsing in between. Her stiff nipples chafed against the towel. Urrrrrgh. She hated this. And she couldn't even go slay something to take her mind off things.
Thankfully, the bath was ready. She'd soak for an hour until things calmed down. She bent over the water to twist the faucet closed when a sharp noise made her whip around.
She shook her head a bit in disbelief. She blinked quickly, trying to dispel the ludicrous illusion. But nope. Spike was still there, leaning on the bathroom door jamb.
The vampire leered down at her.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here, Slayer?"
Buffy felt her whole body grow cold.
Spike was here. Her powers were not.
"Looks like someone forgot to disinvite me. Again."
She was sitting, defenseless, weaponless, in her bathroom. She was as good as dead.
Her grip tightened reflexively on the faucet, making it turn sharply, effectively closing the water but making her lose her balance and tumble backward into the tub with a yelp.
Her plunge in the scalding water muddled everything for a second, she didn't know what was up, what was down, and her hands grappled uselessly for purchase across the smooth edge of the tub. Her legs were still scissoring stupidly out of the water when two strong arms plunged in, pawed at her towel, and dragged her to the surface.
Spike was smirking down at her, vamped out.
"What are you trying to achieve here? Making me Slayer tea? Don't bother, crumpet. I'm more than happy to drink directly from the tap."
As she spluttered for an answer the soaked towel came undone, baring her boobs.
This was it. She was going to die in the most ridiculous way possible, legs sprawled over the tub's edge, choking on bubble bath, and giving a full-frontal to Spike.
But that last development seemed to have stopped the vampire's killing mood in its track. He'd reverted to his human face as he stared at her breasts with baffled delight.
Buffy decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. She silently thanked her boobies for taking one for the team and made the best of his distraction by pulling at his duster to heave herself out of the water. She kneed him in the neck in passing, sending him sprawling headfirst in the water, as she dove for the door. Maybe she had no strength left, but she still had some of her reflexes.
She didn't look back at his angry roar.
"Not fair, Slayer! Time out! Let me salvage my leather!"
Yeah, sure. Time out. As if he would give her the courtesy when he discovered she was powerless. She sprinted to her room instead.
She rushed to her nightstand first, grabbing the stake she had there. Once it was safely in her hand, she snatched one of her oversized sleeping T-shirts laying at the foot of her bed. She barely had time to slip it on before Spike came barreling in, dusterless. He was soaked from head to waist, bleached hair falling over his flashing eyes.
She raised her fist, stake at the ready, but Spike wrenched it away from her easily and snapped it in two. He threw the pieces under the bed with a dark chuckle. Shit. There went her plan A. She inched toward her weapon chest next. If only she could grab an axe… or a sword… But Spike saw right through her and he pounced first, kicking the chest clean across the hall. Bye-bye, plans B to Z.
The vampire closed her bedroom door with a slam that nearly broke the hinges and turned around to leer at her.
"Nuh huh. We're gonna fight this mano a mano, love. No weapons. Just you, me, and death."
000
That was it. Tonight he would bag his third Slayer, or be killed by her.
Honestly, Spike was past caring. Both were fine by him. The last few months had been spent in a slow descent in despair and ignominy. Finding Dru in bed with the Chaos demon had been the last of many blows and he couldn't take it anymore.
Some part of him still loved his sire. He suspected he always would. But he couldn't stand her anymore. He couldn't stand what he was becoming around her. Bitter and beaten? That wasn't him.
So yeah. Either he killed the Slayer or he died. But it would be a death on his own terms. Not a slow and cheap rotgut-induced waste.
The Slayer tried to dive around him, going for the door, but he grabbed her damp hair and flung her back with a vicious snarl. She darted for the window next, but he grabbed her by the throat and threw her at the nearest wall. She fell across a small desk with a yelp, sending the trinkets piled up on it scattering across the room.
He felt his body hum with adrenaline. The Big Bad was back in his element.
With a joyous howl, he vamped out and threw himself at her.
000
This was officially of the very, very bad.
She was still reeling from her landing on the vanity that he was already upon her. She barely had the time to block the next hit, raising both forearms to shield her face against his oncoming fist.
When it connected with her flesh, she howled. It felt like a sledgehammer blow straight to the bone. For a second, she was almost sure he'd broken both arms. But Spike did not leave her the time to mull over it. She had to toll to the side quickly and curl up to deflect the next blow, her right thigh catching an uppercut aimed at her flank. She ground her teeth down so hard she tasted blood.
Before she had time to even think of scrambling away, Spike grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and hauled her up in front of him, close, way too close, his fingers digging painfully at the base of her skull.
"What are you doing, Slayer? Fight me!"
She clawed at his face, trying to dig her nails in the soft skin under his jaw, but he batted her hands away effortlessly. "Are you kidding me?" he asked, incensed.
He gripped both her wrists in one hand, his fingers feeling like steel bands around her frail human bones. "Fight me, damnit!"
"I can't!" she yelled back, spitting mad. "I don't have my powers right now!"
The vampire stilled, clearly shocked, his face suddenly switching back to human. Buffy saw it as another diversion to cash in. She lunged for his nose, but he dodged back, lightning-fast, and her teeth closed over empty air.
"Did you just try to bite my nose off?" he yelped indignantly.
Instead of answering, she snapped her teeth viciously at him again.
"And what do you mean, you don't have your powers?" He looked like a petulant kid on Christmas morning, asking why there were no presents under the tree. "Goddammit, what happened in Sunnyhell while I was gone?!" He shook her again by the scruff of her neck as if she was a misbehaving animal.
"Let me go!" she yelled, diving once more toward him, her teeth managing to catch his lower lip this time. His fingers tightened instantly around her nape. You bite my lip off, I tear your neck off, was the silent promise she read in Spike's eyes.
They stayed like this, in a teeth and lip lock of a stalemate for a small eternity. Then something shifted. The pressure went off in Spike's fingers and she slumped slightly against him, her teeth pulling at his lip. She let go. He released her wrists. Off-balance, she caught herself on his upper arms.
000
Well, this was just his luck, wasn't it? Come all the way to the Hellmouth to seek the Slayer and she was powerless.
Everything had gone arse over teakettle the moment he'd seen her tits, he was sure. A fight to the death with a naked Slayer? In a bathtub? With bubbles? Hah. As if the universe would ever be that kind to him. Why not two Slayers going at it in a mud bath while he wanked on the sidelines? He should have known it was too good to be true.
Well, he couldn't fight her, now, could he? There was no glory in killing a powered-out Slayer.
"When do your powers return?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
"I don't know," she answered mutinously. "Sometime during the night, I guess."
"Oh. Good." He scratched at his neck awkwardly. "I'll come back tomorrow, then."
She scoffed. "You sure you don't want to finish me today? Because let me tell you, that's the only way you'll ever be able to take me."
He chuckled. "Oh, Slayer," he hummed low, tilting his head at her. He raised one hand to her neck, splaying his long fingers over her jugular. "I can take you all kinds of ways."
He saw her cheeks redden, heard her breath hitch, felt her heartbeat double up under his palm, and smelled her sudden arousal. It all happened in less than a second, but each change felt like a mighty wallop at each of his senses, boxing him in.
Brow furrowing, he tried to keep his head amid this sensory assault that was going straight to his cock. He bit his lip reflexively.
Bad choice. His lower lip was still coated with the echo of her flavor and as he tasted it, he was swamped by lust.
000
Buffy wriggled a bit on the desk, trying to ignore the surge of arousal she'd felt at his stupid double entendre. Maybe if she tried to… Nope, there she went, she could feel herself growing wet already.
Stupid Spike. Why did he have to be so… so… Manly. Being all coy smiles and wide shoulders… strong hands and soft skin… and that absurdly good smell. When she was powerless and fun-less Buffy. Stupid sexy Spike.
Her body was going on overdrive, sending contrary, 'Vampire! Slay!' and 'Hot vampire! Sex!' signals to her brain. She felt like kicking her libido in the kneecaps.
She started to slide down from the desk, but Spike didn't budge.
"Huh, Spike? Mov – "
Her words died on her tongue as she looked up at him. He was looking at her hungrily, his pupils blown, nostrils flared. She felt his fingers curl ever so softly around her neck.
The 'Vampire! Slay!' signals all dissolved and joined the growing ranks of her libido's supporters.
She felt her resolve crumbling. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Like, literally. Spike had turned to stone and her vanity was digging at her back.
The thing she missed the most, she reflected dizzily, was probably not the sex. It was the kisses. She'd always been a natural at kissing. Maybe because she dove right in with gusto or because she was, deep down, a very tactile person. When she allowed herself to be. Anyway, she loved kissing. And she missed it, so much.
So, so much.
She stared at Spike's lips, transfixed. She'd held the bottom one between her teeth, not one minute ago. At the memory of her tongue tasting the plump cool flesh, her sex contracted, sending a ripple of pleasure all over her body, from her toes to the tip of her boobs. She felt her nipples harden under her T-shirt.
Spike growled low. His lips glistened in the half dark, only illuminated by the faint streetlight coming from the open window.
She leaned closer, confusingly thinking of maybe biting him again. He stood eerily still until her lips brushed his.
Then he erupted in a flurry of movement, raising both hands to cup her face, diving for her mouth, pushing her back against the vanity, his lips devouring hers.
Yeeees, she thought as she opened her mouth greedily to welcome and meet his tongue, enthusiastically kissing him back. She slid her hands up his drenched T-shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest under her fingers. He deepened the kiss and she moaned hungrily, sliding her tongue against his. A kiss, finally! And what a kiss… All tongues and teeth and passion, lips bruising, and eyes scrunched up to better focus on the sensations. She lost herself in it for a couple of seconds more before her brain caught up with her.
Uh oh. Spike, current Big Bad, all-time Big Bane of her existence was frenching her, and as if that wasn't bad enough, she was encouraging him with needy moans and grabby hands.
Well, it was not as if she could do anything to stop him, what with her puny fists, courtesy of Mr. Furrybottom. So, it was probably a good thing that her reptilian brain was down with it and all, but still.
She should want him to stop. 'Should' being the operative word, here. Because hot damn, she never wanted this to end.
He crowded her, his fingers twisted in her hair, bearing down on her, almost making her bend over backward over the vanity. Which, nice, but… Owie. Maybe now would be a good time to pack the reptilian brain away and to get back in charge.
She shoved uselessly at his chest and, of course, he didn't budge an inch.
Hello again, puny fists.
"Mmpf!"
He finally let go of her lips, but he remained close, crowding her. He looked down his nose at her, lips curving in a smirk.
"Don't start something you're not ready to finish, kitten."
Anger flared up again in her chest. Yep, that was Spike alright. No one had the gift to aggravate her half as fast as him. She pushed him again, putting all her strength behind her shoulder and pushing back at the vanity with her hips. This time he was not expecting it. He stumbled slightly and took half a step back.
Whoowie. Half a step. Big up, Buffylocks.
But that only seemed to fuel his fun. He was still grinning at her in carnal way. Ugh, that vampire had way too many teeth. She would happily knock some out, when her strength came back. He looked way too pleased with himself, right now. And his stupid nicknames! He'd been treating her like a kitten all evening, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and tutting at her.
She was sick and tired of being viewed as a stupid little girl by all these patronizing men. Him, Angel. And even Giles and the Council! Because yeah, the imp adventures had kinda brought back the Cruciamentum memories. And while Buffy forgave, sure, she did not forget. They all thought they knew best, didn't they? They thought they could push her around. Tough luck. Buffy was ready to fight back. Well. Sort of.
Spike was looking at her with laughter dancing in his eyes, unaware of the rage brewing inside her. He was mocking her. The gall of the man! Vampire.
She took a step forward and climbed him like a damn tree, pulling at his shoulders, swinging her legs around his waist. Once she was flush against him, she took her turn looking down her nose at him and smirked, before mashing her mouth on his.
Hah. That'd show him.
Show him what exactly, she wasn't sure. That she was randy?
Spike didn't lose any time. He opened his mouth greedily to welcome her kiss and his tongue met hers right away. He grunted, the sound reverberating against her lips and he curled his hands under her thighs, pulling her closer, hoisting her hips flush against his.
Huh-oh, was that a hard-on? Because, well, kissing was one thing, but that was another matter altogether, and…
And nothing, because at that moment Spike dragged her hips forcefully down his jean-clad length, her still swollen clit connected with the coarse material, and a shiver of pure heat speared her from navel to brain.
With a last roar of her libido's cheering squad, her common sense deserted her for good and she ground herself against Spike's jeans, moaning wantonly in his mouth. This. That's what she had been craving. To be touched. To be kissed.
She slid one hand from her death grip on his shoulders to his nape, burying her fingers in the damp hair at the back of his head. His dive in the bathtub had melted most of his gel and his hairdo was coming apart, water droplets and Mr. Bubbles suds falling from the damp curls. Huh, Spike has curly hair, said some still-functioning part of her brain in a nonplussed voice.
She snaked her other hand under his jaw, angling his mouth for better access. Damn, but the Big Bad could kiss. She wanted to mold her tongue against his, to never let go.
000
He tried to decide if this could be a dream, or possibly a trap, but he quickly gave up.
Whatever it was, it was really happening. He wasn't just too clear on the 'why' part yet, but honestly, he didn't give a fig about it. In any case, it was unlikely to be a trap since this Slayer was not much one for planning either.
So yeah, this was happening and the chances of him surviving the night were close to bugger all any way he looked at it. If she didn't finish him once her senses and her powers returned, his grandsire would only be too happy to obliterate him with maximum prejudice.
But his prick had decided that it would be worth it, and who was he to contradict it? The poor sod had been neglected too long. Miss Palm and her five sisters made for a very poor substitute to real pussy.
He was fucked arseways anyway, so better make the most of it. 'Kill, pillage, and wet your dick when you can' was the New World Order, apparently. And Spike and his cock were down for it.
She ground herself down on him again and as his fingers tightened into claws around her legs, she tore his mouth away from him with a yelp.
Ah, yes. The Slayer was not operating at full power right now. He had to be careful, or he'd break a bone or two.
He half started to open his mouth to apologize for manhandling her, but something in her face made him stop. She had scrunched up her brow mutinously and was glaring at him, thunder in her eyes.
Buggering fuck, but she was adorable.
He sniggered and plodded forward, unceremoniously plonking her down arse first on the desk once he reached it. He sneaked both his hands under her T-shirt to cup her damp breasts.
She arched against him, mouth open and eyes closed.
Her glistening lips and open mouth were too tempting. He closed the gap and plunged his tongue hungrily down her throat. She moaned, low and needy, and snaked her hands around his neck, pulling him closer. Her tongue was hot and unyielding against his, driving him crazy with want.
They may have taken her strength away, but her combativeness was intact. Under the deceiving frailness of her body, her spirit was pure Slayer.
Kissing her was not enough. He wanted to swallow her whole.
He pulled away incrementally, his lips were a hairbreadth away from hers.
"You're good enough to eat, Slayer."
And he ripped her shirt open, baring her tits.
Oh yeah. These were nice.
000
Her mind scrambled, trying to think what T-shirt Spike had just shredded. That'd better not have been the one from the Gap, she liked that one!
But Spike's wet mouth closed around one nipple and his fingers started mauling her other breast, effectively eradicating any trace of indignation on her side. With an animalistic wail, she buried her fingers deep into his curls and mashed his head closer to her boob. She could feel his tongue, cool and slick, flicking at her nipple and she wanted more.
What was he doing? Why did it feel like her whole skin was on fire? More importantly, how was she going to keep him there for-fricking-ever?
Her legs were turning to Jell-O, but she still managed to clamp her thighs around his hips and to grind her crotch down his jeans, letting out frustrated moans as the friction proved not enough.
Spike chuckled heartily and let go of her chest before flattening one hand on the small of her back, lifting her hips up and allowing for more friction.
"I got you, love, I got you," he all but crooned in her ear.
She was torn between swooning at the new sensation and cursing him for taking his lips off her breast. She needed his mouth back on her, stat! She batted weakly at his shoulders. "Don't…" she choked, her breath shuddering. "Don't stop…"
He gazed heatedly at her through hooded lids, sucking at his teeth, as if pondering an answer. He pulled back a little and she got almost scared for a second. Was he going to change his mind? She really, really needed an orgasm. Please?
But he just grabbed at his soaked T-shirt and took it off nimbly, chest and shoulder muscles rippling softly as he shucked it over his shoulder. She had to bite her tongue a little as she ogled him. Spike had a chest like that, under his shabby black T-shirts? Life wasn't fair!
Not paying any attention to her moue, he leaned toward her again, one hand moving back to the small of her back, the other laying flat on the vanity for balance. He dipped his head low, down to her neglected breast, then he licked a straight line from the bottom of it up to the shell of her ear, tongue flat. She dissolved. Yes to this. To all of this.
"More…" she panted hungrily.
He closed his lips around the shell of her ear, and hissed, low and heated:
"Happy to, ducks"
And he was back at her breast, tongue toying with the hard bud of her nipple.
It was getting hard to breathe, her skin felt hot and prickly. It was overwhelming, but she still needed more. She was grinding herself against his length, her breath coming out in rushed gasps, hands roving over his chest, almost frenzied. She dug her heels in the small of his back, trying to gain more traction. She was so close, she could sense her orgasm building already. She felt delirious with need, after all these weeks of frustration.
000
Fuck, but she was raring to go. He'd wanted to take his time tasting her, but he was already half-blinded by lust. He let go of her nipple with an audible pop and stepped back.
The scent of her arousal was everywhere and he could see the wetness coating her pretty curls and the top of her thighs. Boy, but the poor chit was gagging for release. The sight of her like that made him painfully hard.
As if on cue, she whimpered her disappointment. He cupped her thigh reassuringly.
"Just moving things ahead a bit, luv."
"Huh?" was her clever comeback. Hmm. He wasn't the only one blinded by lust.
Hand almost quivering with anticipation, he dipped a finger in her heat.
"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth, sliding another finger in. "You're wet."
And there she was, fucking his hand already, her knuckles going white where she grabbed the edge of the desk for balance. In nearly 150 years on God's green Earth, he'd never seen anything so tantalizing. His cock was so strained it was almost hurting. His vision tunneled, focusing successively on his fingers disappearing inside her, on her bouncing tits, on her shining lips. There was cotton in his ears, the only sounds coming through were her little gasps of pleasure and her accelerating breaths.
He twisted his fingers inside her, thumbing her clit and she let out a whimper fit to raise the dead.
000
Buffy couldn't spread her legs wide enough, take his fingers deep enough. Some part of her was scandalized at her behavior, but the rest was firmly down on the "put your flexibility to good use" side.
Spike kept pumping inside her with his left hand, using his right to push her thigh up against her chest, widening his access.
"You like that, pet?" If his voice was tight and curt, his eyes were smoldering.
"Hgn… ah… fnnh…"
That was it. Even her mouth had abandoned her.
One handed, Spike unbuckled his belt, making quick work of the loops, tearing at the zipper, and pushing his pants down mid-thigh in a swift movement.
Buffy ground to a halt, mesmerized by the sight before her. That pale, muscular body glowing eerily in the low light, the only touch of color being the pale pink head of his thick –
Welp! That's a lot of dick, her brain helpfully chimed in.
He was hard already, a drop of precum leaking at the top. She gulped. He slipped his fingers out of her and he pumped himself a couple of times with his left hand, smearing her juices all over himself. Grunting his pleasure low in his throat.
Her mouth went dry. This was happening. This was not a drill, William the Bloody was going to fuck her on her vanity. She would never be able to put on eyeliner here again.
Last call to the brain cells. Speak now or forever hold your shit.
Spike brought his glistening hand to his mouth and sucked on his fingers ravenously.
"Fuck, love. You taste good." She could see his tongue curl around his thumb, which sent a shudder down her stomach. "Gonna bury my tongue in your cunt later."
Brain cells went kaplooey. The only thing making any sense to her right now was her sex, alive and loud, pulsing steadily with need and arousal.
Spike stepped closer again, grabbing a handful of her hair to raise her lips to his and fisting his dick with the other hand. He caught her mouth in a searing kiss before letting go and softly brushing his nose against hers. "I'm gonna fuck you good and hard, ducks."
Some part of her normal self swam back in control for half a second and decided it was the right time to be snippy and taunt the vamp. So she started to answer with "Promises, pro-" but the words died on her tongue when she felt him enter her.
Her brain shorted as a supernova went off, somewhere down in her stomach. She had been looking straight into his eyes when he started sliding in her, and now she couldn't tear her eyes away from his.
He was sooo thick. She could feel him stretch her open, filling her inch by inch. There was no pain, no discomfort, only waves and waves of pleasure washing over her.
She had to open her mouth to suck in more air in; she felt faint. Like the supernova had burned up all the oxygen in her lungs. Meanwhile, his heated gaze was already lighting another blazing path straight down to her sex.
Her first time, her last time, her only time, it had been lovely, really. Sure. But she'd been focused on all the external factors, she'd not really paid attention to what was happening, feeling-wise. They were more pressing matters requiring her attention, like 'Is it going to hurt?', 'Is his thing going to fit in?', 'How am I going to feel?', and most importantly, 'Please don't do anything stupid, Buffy.'
Now, there was just a sense of wonder as he slowly stretched her. That, and fireworks going off everywheeeere.
What. was. that.
Spike moaned, a throaty, needy whine that sent another supernova off, somewhere deep in her belly. Ricocheting from her clit, up to her spine, like a crazed pinball. She realized she was moaning as well, a long, drawn-out groan that sounded treacherously like his name.
Her whole universe folded on itself, zeroing on Spike, his hands caging her face, tethering her eyes to his, his mouth slightly open and letting out breathy moans as he slid deeper and deeper in her.
000
William, mate, it's not your first fuck. Please, please do not disgrace yourself like a schoolboy, coming afore your prick's fully wet.
It was not his first fuck, but bugger all if he wouldn't die happy if it was his last. The sheer heat of her. Her cunt was the fiery crucible that would forge him anew. Or burn him alive. Dead. Whatever. He was past caring.
And the noises she made, God. She was going to be the end of him.
He was buried to the hilt, now. He'd planned to go slow, no wanting to hurt her in all her human and nearly virginal frailness, but he'd slid in like home, so wet she was.
A bead of sweat rolled down her temple and he caught it with his tongue. Ambrosia.
"You good?"
"Ah unh?" she nodded dazedly.
He swiveled his hips a little to test her reaction and she threw her head back, baring her throat and moaning loudly. His cock strained painfully, in her.
He pulled away and slid back in unhurriedly, her hips already meeting his. He started pumping in and out faster and he moaned back, lost in the rapture. He wished to all the High Priests of Hell this could last forever.
But she was close, so close to coming, he could already feel her start to tighten and spasm around him. He needed to play his cards carefully. Because now that his cock was buried in her cunt, he never wanted it to end.
And she was about to come, clutching desperately at his upper arms, breath puffing in short stunned gasps, growing sharper with every slam of his hips. She let go of his arms to grab the corner of the desk again, to anchor herself as she was stumbling over the edge, keening urgently.
As she reached her peak, he grabbed her hips and pulled her arse almost off the desk to impale himself deeper in her.
Keeping her hips snug against his pelvis, he started pumping her brutishly up and down the length of his cock, raking her clit on his hard stomach all the way up and back down.
He watched her eyes widen with surprise (and was that the tiniest bit of terror?) and he hummed with glee as her breathy pants turned into wilder moans.
Oh yeaah. Now we're cooking.
000
Again, what the ever-loving fuck was happening.
As her orgasm had been peaking, Spike had done something, he'd started grinding her against him, and now her orgasm wasn't stopping. There was no cresting of that wave, nuh-no. The feeling just kept growing, up and up, and dragging her higher and higher.
She couldn't stop the sounds coming off her, she was moaning louder and louder, trying to find an outlet for the emotions that were filling her up to the brim. She was convulsing on his dick, unable to do anything else but ride out this monster of an orgasm. He was completely controlling her, like a puppet. That's what she had been reduced to. Spike's Wonder Dick Puppet.
To be honest, if the job came with never-ending orgasms like that, suggested a treacherous part of her mind, she could be Spike's dick puppet forever.
He was mauling her, but she welcomed it, the aftershocks still wracking her body.
If he stayed buried in her cunt, he'd come in five minutes flat. Not that it'd keep him from getting back on track twice as fast, but still. He had his pride. With a last kiss on her puffed lips, he slowed down and slid out of her. He picked her up by the waist, twirling her around and setting her up on her hands and knees on the desk.
"Now that the edge is off, kitten, let's go with the main course, yeah?"
"What…" she started, trying to sit up, but he glided both hands up her shoulders, pushing her upper body down and making her plush arse stick out.
There. She was just at the right height. The glistening folds of her sex were right in front of his face, her clit peeking through at the bottom, still swollen from her orgasm. He'd been wanting to taste her since he'd licked his fingers coated with her juices. She'd been almost sweet, as fragrant as a sun-drenched plum.
With a lustful grunt, he dove his nose between her folds and wrapped his tongue around her clit.
000
Her heart was beating hard and fast in her chest, egged on by the roller coaster of emotions she was going through. As the tail end of her orgasm had still been coating everything in a nice warm afterglow, she'd been yanked back bluntly to anger, because really, who did he think he was, to manhandle her like that? And then there had been confusion, pushed out quickly by a hefty dollop of shame at feeling so exposed with her butt in the air.
But his cool tongue on her heated sex soothed everything. The fury and the discomfort slid further and further away with every run of his tongue up and down her folds. She felt every movement to her core. He was alternating broad strokes along her center and small, almost delicate nips at her clit. When he licked her there, his nose was pressed between her folds and she could feel him humming into her, making her crave more.
Spike pushed lightly down on her shoulders, to make her arch even more against his face.
Her last shreds of embarrassment dissolved, and she laid the side of her face on the cool desk, grinding her pussy against his face. He rewarded her with a low growl against her clit that made her shudder and whine. His hands left her shoulders to slide back down to grab her boobs. As he started flicking her nipples at the same pace he was sucking at her clit, she couldn't hold back a strangled "Yes!"
000
He'd never tasted a quim like this. He wanted to dive his whole tongue in her cunny and suck her dry. He wanted to bite at the artery humming at the junction of her thigh and taste her sweet blood. Just a sip. Just to see which was sweeter, her blood or her come. The thought made him impossibly hard and he growled. She bucked against his face, driving his nose deeper in her folds.
Gods. What wouldn't he give for her to ride his face when she was at full power. She would be magnificent, mounting him like a fun size Valkyrie. The fantasy made him suck harder on her clit, alternating with broad, swiping licks along her cleft, drowning himself in her sweet nectar.
Her legs started trembling, indicating the oncoming onslaught of another orgasm. Good. He couldn't wait to have his cock in her again.
As she started orgasming, he dragged her down her perch none too gently and barely waited for her feet to touch the ground before spearing himself violently in her, nearly seeing stars as he did so.
000
She was pretty she'd never wailed that hard in her life. What were the neighbors going to say?
Whatever they wanted, apparently, because Spike diving in her still shuddering sex was her only care and she couldn't stop her yelping going crescendo every time his hips slammed into hers. She'd barely enough time to draw a breath in between each cry, but her body found had found the rhythm easily enough. Her orgasm was still happening, somewhere in the background, and every crash of his hips against hers seemed to press her further into the pleasure. He was so stupidly thick, filling her and stretching her to the point of ecstasy. She pushed against the vanity, arms straining, trying to mold herself into him. She needed more, more, "More!"
Spike doubled up his already wild speed, fingers digging at the small of her back as he growled and she caved under the pleasure, mouth open in another impossibly loud wail as her whole body shuddered.
She folded like a rag doll on the desk, her arms unable to support her anymore. Her hair spilled over her face. Absentmindedly, she watched it fly up a little with every puff of her breath. She was spent.
Spike had slowed down as she'd ridden out the waves of her orgasm. Once her last shudder died down, he slid out of her, softly gathering her hair to bare her face. He laid a kiss under her ear and chuckled low.
"Stay with me, pet. I'm not finished with you yet."
She shuddered again. She couldn't move. And to be honest, she wasn't sure she would be able to deal with more sex today. She tried to open her mouth to say something. Maybe protest, maybe ask for a time out and some Ben & Jerrys, because why not. If Spike could give her two earth-shattering orgasms back to back, maybe he could conjure ice cream out of thin air too. But no sound came out.
Spike flipped her around and hefted her over his shoulder, almost gently, before walking to the bed and laying her down on her back. She tried to regain her breath as he sat down to untie his boots and shuck them across the carpet.
She still couldn't move. She stayed there, looking as his back muscles ripple in the low light as he got rid of his jeans. He turned to face her and gave her a crooked smile. His hair was mussed, making him look suddenly so much younger.
He swiftly covered her, kissing his way up to her face. What was the word she's heard the other day on the TV? Pantherine? Pantherish? Panther-pish, posh, but the man moved like a wildcat.
And suddenly she wasn't so sleepy anymore. This was not a man. This was Spike. An unsouled vampire. In her bed. Between her legs, for crying out loud.
Kissing her throat.
She tensed and Spike stopped immediately, standing very still over her. Time expanded and contracted as her heart seemed to catch in her throat.
He shifted slowly to meet her eyes and, gazing silently at her, he propped his chin on her shoulder.
She could feel his erection pressing on her thigh and that sent a shudder up her spine. A very small shudder, she assured herself. Barely there, really.
Still staring intently at her, he dropped a kiss to her collarbone. The shudder came back with a vengeance. She let go of the breath she'd been holding, slowly.
He got up on his elbows, threading his fingers through her hair and bringing his lips down on hers. He kissed her for a long time, languidly, there was no pressure behind it. He kept kissing her softly until her body started relaxing again, until the pendulum swung all the way back and the banked fire in her stomach rose to life again.
Until flames of desire started licking at her chest every time his bare skin brushed her nipples.
Until the sparks of his kiss made her lips tingle, willing her to deepen the exchange in earnest. She arched into him, seeking more, raising her legs to cradle his hips. The smoldering embers of pleasure turned white-hot again in her sex. He growled in her mouth, sliding a hand underneath her head to cup the back of it, crushing her mouth to his. He started sliding his length against her sopping center, and she moaned low, locking her ankles across the small of his back as she felt the tip of his sex press through her folds.
He let go of her lips and pulled back a little to give her a crooked smile before sliding into her in a quick movement, suffusing her with a pleasure deep and sharp. He took a shuddering breath and she watched his pupils expand even more.
000
He took his sweet time at first, every plunge inside her pulling him deeper and deeper into pleasure. Brow against brow, noses brushing each other, he looked deep into her eyes as he started plowing into her. Next, he gave her messy, languid kisses, swallowing her whimpers of pleasure and making them his, drawing more ardor from them and plunging back in her with a fervor anew. She was a goddam revelation.
He needed to see more of her.
With a push of his elbow and a deft swivel of his hips, he rolled them around on the bed so he was lying on his back and she was draped over him. As she sat up, pushing on his chest with her dainty little hands, he rearranged her legs on either side of him. His hands slowly slid up from her thighs to grab her hips. He started rocking up into her, controlling her movements with his hands at her waist, making her ride him. She was so tiny. The span of his fingers was almost enough to circle her whole waist. Her hair was starting to dry, surrounding her like a golden halo.
He picked up the pace, grinding her quim down on his stomach. She hissed as her poor abused clit was dragged across his coarse hair again. He looked up at her face, chuckling.
"Crying uncle, love?"
She snorted prettily. "As if," she taunted, grinding herself further down on his cock, a defiant glint in her eyes.
He let loose then, driving up in her at a punishing speed, arching his back off the mattress, his grip tightening around her waist. She lost her momentum for a second and she had to brace herself back on his thighs. That made her pretty titties bounce even more and he nearly came then and there.
With a snarl, his hand flew to her tits, palming them and making her mewl in pleasure. He could hear her heartbeat accelerating, feel her cunt tightening around him. She was getting close again. He undulated his hips, slamming up into her and he twisted her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. She threw her head back in a howl and her fingers tightened into claws on his thighs, the nails drawing blood. He roared then, the sharp pain detonating inside him, catalyzing from his thighs to his groin into a powerful orgasm as he rutted into her. Everything turned white for a second.
When the ripples receded, she was slumped over his torso, her breath coming in short gasps and her hair sticking to her damp shoulders. He draped his arm over her back and smiled beatifically.
He must have blacked out for a little while, but something changed, the air shifted. That brought him back on focus double-quick, all hair standing on end. The Slayer was slowly sitting up astride him, all slackness having vanished from her stance and her supple body turning to steel under his hands. She was humming with power.
"Hello honey," she smiled dangerously. "I'm home."
Spike gulped. He remembered another night where she'd said the exact same thing to him. Fuck. That seemed eons ago.
He chortled weakly at the almost poetic irony of it all. "We've got to stop meeting like this, Slayer."
He was still dizzy from the afterglow, but hmm… yeah. Guess this was going to be his last fuck, after all. If it were not for the truly bitter regret of not being able to have this again, he would be perfectly happy with such an ending. What a way to go, tho. With a bang! Definitely worthy of his reputation. Because hey, he'd nailed his third Slayer, after all. Would they call him 'the Layer of Slayers', he wondered?
The Slayer's wolfish grin brought him back from his dreams of posterity.
Oh well. Time to die like a Big Bad.
He threw his arms to his side and arched his back, baring his throat and his heart to her.
That, and, well, flexing his pectorals and deltoids one last time.
There. He knew full well how much of a pretty picture he painted, lying like that. Take a good long last look, Slayer, and store the memory in your spank bank, coz we both know you won't have anything this good ever again.
But then she clenched her inner muscles, hard, and his cock went from blissed-out limpness to rock hard solidness in less than two seconds flat.
"As fun as being your dick puppet was," she said as she planted both hands on his chest, slamming his shoulders back flat on the bed aggressively and never letting up on the iron grip her cunt had on his prick, "it's my turn to run the show, now."
THE END
(…And what is an ending, but a new beginning?)
Author's note:
"Ragondin" is the French word for coypu/nutria. Contrary to what you would guess by the way I treated this one, I have a lot of love for them. But they do have bright orange teeth. And they're a bit useless.
Still. "Let the little furry and useless animals come to me, and do not hinder them, for the garden of Maï belongs to such as these."