"Crap."
Buffy pulled her hand sharply away from the rosebush she was halfway through pruning.
A spot of blood blossomed on the pad of her middle finger.
She'd been doing so well. Her shift at the Doublemeat had been canceled, and rather than spend the day wallowing in front of the TV, she'd decided to be proactive and tackle the monstrosity of overgrowth and weeds that had taken over the back garden since Tara had moved out.
After pulling up at least a mile of bull thistle and ground ivy from the garden borders, she'd mowed the lawn with an ancient rotary-bladed lawn mower. She'd trimmed back the rho… the rhoder… rhododendeder—she'd trimmed back the big, puffy, flowery bush by the back gate with a rusty pair of shears she'd found in the shed, and had even managed to plant some seeds she'd discovered beneath the kitchen sink.
It had been exhausting and therapeutic.
But she just hadn't expected the horticulture to start fighting back.
A fat, glistening ruby of blood swelled until it spilled down into a delicate trickle.
Dammit.
Buffy glared. It took a lot to make her bleed, but apparently floral mishaps weren't covered by her Slayer warranty.
"Stupid thorn—"
"What are you doing?"
She jumped, spinning with her hand still elevated as the blood pooled at the base of her finger.
Spike stood watching her from the shadows of one of the trees enclosing the garden, the blanket he'd used to shelter himself from the bright mid-afternoon sunshine clasped lightly in his hand.
"Just… um—" She was about to answer when his gaze fixed on her hand with alarming concentration. "...Gardening," she ended weakly.
"You're bleeding," he noted, a dazed grin lifting one side of his mouth, and Buffy let out an unimpressed huff.
"Ew, gross," she bit out."I can see you sniffing the air, you major cliché."
True to form, he licked an incisor. "Come here."
"No."
"I'll kiss it better."
"Even more no."
"Buffy," he breathed, elongating her name into a purr dripping with greed.
Buffy stiffened her spine even as the rumble of his voice attempted to liquify it.
"All. The. No." She turned, intending to make for the kitchen and the antiseptic spray—
She yelped as his arms were suddenly around her waist, yanking her back into him and spinning her to press her against the tree he'd previously been leaning against.
"Spike—"
"I'll behave," he begged, kissing her quick and hard and momentarily stalling the arguments lacing her tongue. "Honest, I will," he breathed against her lips. Buffy pulled back enough to raise an incredulous eyebrow at him, and he sucked his teeth in a half chuckle, already grinning sinfully wide. "Well, alright, fine, I bloody won't, but let's not pretend that doesn't get you hot." He didn't wait for her to argue before pressing his lips against hers again, nipping her lip until breathlessness forced her to relent, gasping briefly before his tongue slid over hers.
He slumped into her as he cupped her jaw, and instinctively, she wrapped the forearm of her non-bleeding hand around his neck, breathing him in with deep, desperate gulps. It was inevitable. Whenever he crossed the chaste/not-chaste line of personal space, she couldn't help but sink towards him as though gravity had suddenly decided to start working horizontally.
Heat was rising, flames licking the base of her stomach. Buffy pinched her thighs closed around the sudden wet flush between her legs, but couldn't close her throat around the moan pushed out from her lungs as Spike squeezed her ribcage with a brutal grip.
A hand slid to her wrist.
"Give me your hand," he growled between kisses, rapidly turning more frantic.
Too light-headed to protest, she let him steer her hand up to his mouth, swallowing down a whimper as his eyes—dilated almost to night-sky blackness—pinned her to the tree.
Panting slightly—though unnecessarily—he started with a kiss on her wrist, just above her pulse, and gently brushed his lips upwards. A second kiss on the fleshy base of her thumb. Another on her palm.
"Spike…"
The flat of his tongue brushed the crease of blood at the joint of her middle finger and a deep groan tumbled from him, vibrating her skin as he dragged his tongue up the digit, eyes rolling before fluttering shut with a hedonistic sigh.
Buffy suppressed a groan and shut her eyes so she wouldn't witness her finger disappearing into his mouth. It didn't help, only heightened sensation as his teeth pinched her at the first knuckle to stop any retreat, his tongue curling as he sucked.
An unstoppable shiver wracked her frame, stiffened her nipples, and caught her breath.
Weird how good that feels…
As she managed to catch the tail end of a gasp—stopping a full-body shudder sending lightening up her spine—Spike pressed his thigh into her core, his groin into her hip, rock hard beneath the denim of his jeans. He ground against her, unmistakably grazing his erection against her as his leg lifted slightly, adding tantalizing pressure just where she needed it.
"I hate you," she muttered, and he grunted in unbothered acknowledgment. With a firm hand on her wrist, he drew her finger back out of his mouth to gather her index with it, taking them both deeper, resting the tip on the back of his tongue as he swallowed. The fluttering feeling around the digits dragged a moan out of Buffy's throat.
Oh God—
His tongue split her fingers, laving between the juncture with tickling flicks as the back of his free hand trailed from her hip. With soft, scratching digs of his fingers, he rucked up the checked shirt she'd tucked into her jeans, excavating her bare stomach.
A slight digging-in sensation popped the button of her jeans, and rough tugs lowered the zipper before his fingertips rested at the elastic of her cotton underwear.
Buffy was shivering despite the blistering Sunnydale sunshine cooking the air around her. Every gasp filled her lungs with the scent of his leather, the cigarettes he smoked, the perfume of his skin, interwoven with the flowers surrounding them and recently the cut grass. Contradictory and intoxicating.
She bit her lip hard enough to leave indents as he raised his thigh another inch.
Oh God, please—
She arched her back, pressing her hips to him in acquiescence, and without further pause he dipped his hand beneath the waistband.
She jolted as cool fingers slid down, brushed her clit briefly. Rather than slipping lower as she'd expected, he tugged down her jeans and panties until they were resting on her trembling thighs, her bare skin flush against the bark of the tree.
His hand left the join of her legs, and Buffy jolted when the pad of his thumb brushed across her mouth. The tips of his middle and index fingers pressed in, and she parted her lips instinctively, lapping her tongue between them, as he had.
He played his fingers across her tongue, grazing her teeth as he withdrew, and pinched her lip between finger and thumb before dropping his hand back between her legs and cupping her fully.
Buffy moaned so loud that blood flooded her cheeks, and Spike's mouth tightened in a grin around her fingers as he continued to suck. As his tongue flicked against the underside of her knuckle, he delicately parted her folds with wet fingers, meeting her moisture with soft, slick circles at her entrance.
"Oh—" Her free hand gripped his bicep through his coat, clinging on as he sank two fingers into her, teasing her with just the first knuckle. He added a thumb to her clit; the lightest graze making her hips lurch forwards into his hand, seeking more pressure. He danced on the edge of giving over, swirling lightly across nerve endings begging to be touched.
Buffy gasped, and her legs shook. He knew how to make her come undone no matter the setting. How to make her whimper. How to get her to beg, and she wasn't above it any longer.
"Spike, please—"
He pressed into her fully, scissoring his fingers as she let out a shivery breath of thanks, pumping her slowly as his thumb rubbed her clit in loose circles.
He swallowed around her fingers, making her clench tight, eliciting a low groan from his throat that vibrated her fingertips. She shuddered against his frame, still flush against her, with only just enough room between her legs to move his hand. Slack-jawed, spine bowed, fingers curling into his leather coat and around his tongue, her thighs started to burn with that muscle-numbing glow. She could feel it cinching her lungs, drying her mouth as his fingers surged deeper.
Oh God, pleasepleaseplease—
"I'm going to—"
He drew her fingers out of his mouth, cupped her cheek, and kissed her, tongue tangling with hers just as the wave crashed down, stealing the strength in her legs and forcing her to slump down against the tree, Spike's thigh between her legs the only thing still holding her up.
"Buffy…"
He withdrew enough for her to catch her breath, panting against his shoulder as he kissed across her cheek and down her neck, still working her in slow pumps as the trembling began to dwindle—
"Buffy?"
They both jolted at the sound of Xander's voice.
"Shit," whispered Spike as he pulled his fingers back too fast for her dwindling orgasm to cope with. She caught the pathetic whimper on the back of her tongue as she spotted Xander over Spike's shoulder, coming down the back porch steps.
Spike turned, shielding Buffy as she steadied herself and started yanking her jeans back into place.
"Alright, mate," he greeted with uncharacteristic geniality, hurriedly (and damningly) wiping his lip with the back of his hand. "Fantastic day, innit? Granted, bit sunny for my tastes, but—"
Xander's eyes widened.
"What are you doing?" he asked, cutting Spike off mid-ramble, his tone making it clear he knew exactly what they were doing but was desperately hoping there was some kind of explanation—however implausible—that would let him continue to think they weren't doing it.
"Uh…" Buffy stuttered, hurriedly stuffing her shirt back into her jeans' waistband. "We were… we were just… um—"
She glanced pleadingly at Spike. Help!
"Was just… getting the Buffybot to do some yard work," said Spike suddenly, clearing his throat.
Xander raised an eyebrow. "Yard work?"
Spike nodded as Buffy did so even more vigorously. "Place is a shambles, really," he continued. "Thought we'd lighten the load."
Xander's gaze panned slowly to Buffy.
Buffy and her flushed cheeks.
Buffy and her rattling breath.
Buffy and the extremely unrobotic sheen of sweat along her brow.
"The robot," Xander said and nodded carefully as Buffy offered a peppy plastic grin to seal the deal. "Right." He shifted as a burning blush worked its way up his collar. "Clearly."
"Obviously," agreed Spike.
"Definitely," rasped Buffy, as perkily as she could accomplish.
"Sure…" Xander chewed his lips, whatever reason he'd dropped by visibly about to be abandoned in favor of a speedy exit. "Well… I better go. Anya…Anya said she was—"
"Got your own lawn to trim, right?" Spike snickered and grunted as Buffy elbowed him hard in the ribs.
"Right," Xander replied coolly and then seemed to decide on something more to say, even as the flare of red crept higher. "Uh… I think…" He faltered again, his gaze hitting his shoes. "Er... I think it's good. All things considered... That the Buffybot is helping with the gardening, I mean."
Buffy's brow furrowed. "Yeah?" she prompted cautiously, hope blooming with delicate trepidation.
Xander's jaw tightened as he cast a glare over Spike—an inaudible warning staking him in place—before he let the tension go, and shrugged stiffly.
"Yeah," he said begrudgingly, meeting Buffy's eyes with a half wince as though he was loathing the halfway mark he was struggling towards. "Whatever helps."
Buffy tightened her lips, offering him a thankful half-smile as she bobbed her head, still partially hiding behind Spike.
Behind his back, he laced his still-damp fingers with hers and squeezed.
An awkward silence stretched before Xander coughed out the lump in his throat, muttered a "see you later", and left abruptly through the back gate.
Spike let out a huff of breath and leaned against the tree as Buffy straightened her collar.
"That went well," he noted with a look of surprise.
Buffy shot him a look of disagreement before softening slightly. "Definitely could've gone worse."
He hooked a finger into one of the belt loops of her jeans and tugged her close, crowding her side as his nose brushed the hair away from her ear.
"We could go upstairs?" he suggested as his hands linked around her waist. "Finish what we started."
"I am finishing what I started," Buffy replied, batting his hands away. "I'm trimming that rosebush even if it's out for blood."
"Oh." Spike grinned lecherously, following after her, eyes glazing as his tongue darted out to lick his lip. "Don't tease, luv."
AN:
A second birthday present for my wonderful beta Renae! *Two* gifts! I'm wholly way too generous, but I just couldn't resist this extra little something ;)
Beta'd by the best: Spikelover4ever and Em_Kayelle, and bannered by CD85, you guys are my total girl Fridays, the total bombs.