Friday was a day of glorious sunshine, streaming in through the kitchen windows and backlighting Spike as he sipped a coffee, book in hand leaning against the kitchen counter.
The sun did nothing to touch his stark pallor but he enjoyed the warmth it brought across his shoulders as he held one of Joyce's old paperbacks resting between his little finger and thumb. His own collection was still meager after Xander's rampage the year before.
The bouncy thumps of Dawn's footfall on the stairs brought his attention away from the chapter, but he kept reading until she bounded into the kitchen.
"Hey, Bittybug," he greeted as Dawn headed for the fridge.
"Morning!" she called out over her shoulder, extracting the grapefruit juice carton and turning to grab a glass from the cabinet. "I had the weirdest dream last night; I dreamt that me and Willow were on one of those Disneyland boat rides and—Whoa!" she shouted as she turned around and got a proper look at Spike's face. "Whoa-whoa! Eyebrow piercing!" She rushed over, and Spike leaned away from her fingers as they prodded the flesh raised over the silver barbell above his left eye.
"Yeah, easy," he growled, batting her hand away from his face with the paperback before dumping it on the kitchen island.
"When did you—does it hurt—did you do it yourself—?" she asked in a rush.
"Just turned up this morning," he replied, smirking as Dawn rolled her eyes before a thought flashed across her face.
"Can you do my nose?"
"No."
"Please! Please-please!"
"Slayer-extraordinaire would have an enormous stake-shaped problem with me sticking needles in her kid sister, ergo definitely not. You want the look, get one of your toddler group to help you."
"Bitch," Dawn huffed at him, and Spike chuckled as she resumed pouring herself a glass of grapefruit juice.
"So," he said, leaning casually against the kitchen sink. "Guess how much I won at poker last night."
Dawn flicked a disinterested look at him. "I thought you played for kittens."
"Guess," Spike insisted.
Dawn shrugged. "The way you play; negative four dollars."
"Now who's the bitch?" he retorted and with a beckoning flick of his index finger motioned her to guess higher.
"Positive four dollars?" she answered, slipping onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. Spike shot her a deadly unimpressed look and she sighed, taking the assignment more seriously. "Fifty?"
Another beckoning flick of his index.
"Hundred?"
A shake of his head.
"Two hundred?"
"Double and a bit," he responded with a half-shrug as though the specific amount was beneath him.
"Wow," Dawn said, suitably impressed. "You've been practicing your slight of hand, huh?"
Spike scowled as she smirked into her juice before he reformed his expression to one of begrudging affection.
"Give you half," he offered, dripping nonchalance into his tone. "All for the low, low price of clearing out tomorrow night."
Dawn swallowed her juice with deliberate slowness, her eyebrow raising suspiciously over the rim of her glass.
"You're gonna pay me two hundred dollars to spend Saturday night at Janice's?" she confirmed.
A flash of sharp teeth glinted at her in a wicked smile as Spike's trademark grin curled around his face. "Generous, huh?"
Dawn's mouth tightened in teenage disgust. "You're planning something gross."
Spike waited her out, his eyes cast down to his hand as if he was growing bored of the conversation, thumb scratching off the nail polish coating the nail of his index.
"Two-fifty," Dawn bartered, pouring her second glass of juice.
"Two-ten," he countered, kohl-rimmed eyes snapping back to hers.
"Forty, and you pierce my nose."
"Thirty, and I bloody well don't. Final offer."
Dawn pursed her lip before her head tilted in acquiescence, and she stuck out her hand. Spike shook it and reached into his back pocket, fishing out his wallet and counting out the notes.
"Thank you," Dawn enunciated with a snatch that earned her an unimpressed glower just as a knock at the front door sounded, signaling her school lift with Tara had arrived. She downed the last of her juice and tucked the cash into her back pocket, hoisting her book bag over her shoulder.
"Stay out of trouble," she called over her shoulder with a smirk before Spike could utter the same.
"Smartarse," he muttered and returned to his book.
He was another chapter in before he heard Buffy stir in the room above; soft padding feet heading to the bathroom, the sound of the shower running, the hair dryer blowing. He straightened his back as she descended the stairs.
He caught the blink of surprise flit across her face, the slight rigidity of surprise to her posture, before she deftly brushed it away.
"Hey punk-rocker," she said, leveling an incredulous smirk at him as she skirted the kitchen island, deliberately not making a big deal about the silver flashing showily in his eyebrow. "The Eighties called, they said it's over, let them die."
Spike snorted, unscathed, and dropped the paperback on the counter. "Never."
She laid a kiss on his lips before reaching up tender fingers. He didn't bat these ones back down, but let them gently stroke around the bump made by the bar beneath his eyebrow's scar. Her palm brushed his cheek and he turned into it, scoring his teeth delicately across the thin skin of her wrist, relishing the way her pupils dilated ever so slightly, the way her heart skipped a beat on cue.
Buffy let out a shivery sigh.
"Alright, admittedly it is sexy," she conceded, and let her hand drop to his chest, bringing the other up to rest next to it.
"Bad boys do it for you, huh?" he asked with a grin and a slightly raised eyebrow, exaggerating the barbell's swell.
"Mm, I guess so," Buffy replied lightly, as his arms swaddled her lower back. "Or at least this one does. Just this particular bad boy," she added.
"Ah-huh, dark wood and such," he said, smirking even as she pinched him through his t-shirt.
The kiss was soft, the kind he loved, the early morning ease that he'd become enthralled by; the perfume of her skin, heady from her shower, the softness of her breasts against his chest and her hips under his hands, married to the heat of the late morning sun warming his back. Heavenly. Or at least he assumed so, she'd be the expert in such matters.
Buffy made to break away but this time he chased her mouth, widened her lips, and angled the kiss deeper, inhaling the soft moan she poured into his throat as his tongue skimmed over her teeth to twine with hers—
She pulled out of the kiss with a lurch, and in a flash got hold of his bottom teeth with a hooked thumb, dragging his mouth open wide as he made a less than surprised, half-chuckled "ungh—" sound.
"You got your tongue pierced?!" she cried, eyes widening in shock. "What the hell is going on with you?"
"Guess I'm just feeling nostalgic," he replied after a nip on her thumb forced her hand to retreat.
"Is that why you've been all weird and secretive this w-huhh!"
Spike dipped his head to her shoulder, and dragged his tongue up the column of her neck, causing a gasp to swallow the last part of her sentence. He felt her spine arch under his hands as the barbell skimmed the nerve endings beneath her ear, and snickered as her eyes fluttered closed.
"Spike…"
A nip of her ear made the breath in her lungs catch.
"Do you like it, baby?" he purred, relishing the slight shiver it sent down her arms, pulling her in closer with hard fingers at her waist. "I think you do."
"It's… different," Buffy conceded, settling her hands on his shoulders as he kneaded her back, forcing her hips into a light sway against him.
Spike chuckled darkly. "Oh, on the fence, huh?" he teased, and she shot him a glare. "Likely need the full experience before you can make a decision."
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, but there was a fond giggle lurking at the edge of her cautious tone.
He didn't answer, but his hand dropped from her hip and cupped her straight through her slacks, the middle and ring finger of his left hand gliding with deliberation over what Buffy decided was entirely not substantial enough fabric.
"It means upstairs."
He knew it was a yes as soon as the tops of her ears turned pink from the heat spreading upward from her cheeks. But Buffy liked to hold out, even if only for a couple of seconds. And in fairness, he liked it just as much. Liked to feel like he'd won a round off her. Their dynamic hadn't changed, only shifted form.
"It's midmorning," she answered, the crack in her voice undermining her already melting frosty resolve. "I'm not going back to bed, Spike."
Spike dug his thumbs in underneath the waistband of her slacks, using the taut fabric over her hips to hold her still. "Here then," he sneered.
She batted his hands off her hips, shaking her head as she turned away from him. "Put your new sparkly tongue back in your mouth."
He followed after her, pressing close, one arm banding around her waist to stop her walking away, the other in her hair with a light tug. "Would rather put it in you."
She pushed him back, and with a laugh was running, dodging his grip through the dining room.
He caught her on the stairs, a firm wrist round her ankle that tripped her even as she spun to face him, bracing her hands on his chest as he barreled down over her. The tongue stud clipped her teeth as he forced her lips wide with his own, fingers already around the button to her trousers before she shoved him away again, scrabbling up on her elbows until there was enough space away from him to continue her flight up the stairs.
With a growl he was after her, catching up to her in their room and with both arms around her middle lurched her to a stop, hauling her up and letting gravity do the work as he toppled her down onto the recently made bed.
The button broke as he ripped the slacks off her hips, and Buffy made a minute sound of protest that was immediately swallowed by his mouth whilst his hands pushed her trousers roughly off her legs, taking her panties, sneakers, and socks with them. Her shirt and bra joined them on the floor, pulled off with rough yanks and tugged over her arms.
"Got a challenge for you, pet," he said, the dark glint in his eyes lending the affectionate term its own leash as she crawled back into the pillows.
Buffy wet her lip as he climbed onto the bed between her legs. A wave of vulnerability swept from her toes all the way to her hairline, feeling like a moth mounted on a board under Spike's fully clothed and still-booted presence as his gaze traveled the length of her.
"What?" she asked, tipping her head to the side in what she assumed read as coy. An "ask anything" gesture.
"Want you to stay nice and still," he answered with a grin. "No squirming, no wriggling. just wanna feel you quiver against me this time."
"Pervert," she chided, but let him edge her legs up into narrow arches with his hands on her ankles, exposing her further, her feet tucked close and up on the balls of her feet, digging into the mattress.
With his arms braced on either side of her shoulders he kissed her hard—no longer the soft sweetness of early morning intimacy, but a hair pull expressed with lips and tongue—and nipped her chin as he slid down.
She settled her hands on the duvet as he kissed over her throat, her collarbone, over her heart, already shivering slightly as his teeth scraped a nipple, pulling it into his mouth without further preamble.
She moaned from the familiar suck, the deep pull of pressure—
And then jolted as the bead in his tongue swiped across the pebbled flesh, unexpected and intrusive, her fingers scrunching tight into fists.
"I said stay still," he admonished, as he released her from his mouth, laying a quick chastising bite on her breast before moving to the other.
"Hate you," Buffy breathed out with a stunned laugh and managed to remain still when he swiped the stud a second time, the brush of it so much harder than his tongue and visceral in the way it sent a bolt of lightning through her gut.
He kissed down her sternum, over her stomach, and Buffy had to really focus on not flinching from the tickle of it, bit her cheek to will herself to stay rigid.
She strangled a whimper as he licked a long line up her inner thigh, then the other, her muscles straining with the instinct to wrap around his head and take back even just an inch of control. It was a game they were well versed in. Sometimes she wrung the pleasure out of him, his wrists shackled as he strained towards her touch, letting out feverish panting gasps as she teased him past endurance.
Thoughts of returning the torment blacked out like a blown lightbulb as his lips met her labia, nudging her open with his mouth and she couldn't hold down the yelp this time when his tongue made itself known, licking a hard line up to her clit. Just the tip first, no extra play but the hard, deliberate circles against that knot of flesh, until he flattened out his tongue and she screamed.
"Ohhh, God—oh weird, oh God—"
Her legs ached with the instinct to kick out, to lurch away from the strange feeling of the tongue stud nudging her directly and indirectly and swiping across her out of sync with Spike's tongue. He dragged a line up from her core, the barbell its own intense line of sensation.
"Doing alright, honey?" he asked, in a tone that made it clear he wasn't going to stop whatever the answer.
"Screw you," she rasped in reply and he grinned sinfully, watching her underneath his lashes as he set his mouth back over her.
Buffy gulped in a sudden lungful of air as he rested his tongue over her clit and worked her in low, torturous laps, the silver bead building her up to an edge and at the same time keeping her back from it, distracting her from giving over to the freefall, forcing her to remain on the precipice of it as her thighs spasmed and her calves locked.
"Lower your knees," Spike instructed sternly in between flicks, a couple of bites, and Buffy moaned, stopping her back from bowing by sheer will even as sweat began to sheen her hairline. She adjusted her hips to widen her legs and hit a high note of shock as he dipped to her entrance, the barbell tracing her folds before it was inside her, working against his tongue as he pressed into her fully, both hands bracing her thighs from snapping back against his jaw.
"Going to… Spike, I'm going to—," she whimpered, choking a protest as he pulled out just as she was reaching the breaking point, replacing his tongue with two fingers, the tongue stud returning to her clit and edging her upwards all over again. Up and towards that glow that seemed impossible as the barbell needled at her concentration like a wasp banging on a window pane until his fingers crooked and hit a spot that elicited a full-throated moan.
So fucking close—
Another pause just an atom away from release hit her in the gut like a sucker punch, hands fisting the bedspread enough to nearly rip them to shreds.
"I'm definitely going to kill you," she whispered, her throat too raw for a threat with more volume. His answering chuckle sent goosebumps up her thighs and over her stomach.
She was soaked down to the comforter, thighs shaking when he pulled his fingers back and stuck them in his mouth. Not sucking clean, as he sometimes did, but visibly wetting them further. Buffy let out a bewildered almost-laugh, choked by the tightness in her throat.
"I really don't think I nee—whoa!" she broke off in a squeal as his fingertips trailed down her entrance, collecting more moisture and spreading it lower, over her perineum towards puckered flesh, hypersensitive and inexperienced, an electric shock of a touch. "Spike—" she started to object, her hips edging away from his fingers when he stilled her with his hand on her thigh, brushing again deliberately.
Lightly.
Gently.
Coaxingly.
The sensation was alien and intense, filling her stomach with a thousand butterflies, her heart in her mouth.
"Relax, luv," he murmured, and the very idea of relaxation seemed absurd, but when she lifted her gaze to his eyes his enraptured expression eased her minutely. "That's my girl." Another atom of calm slackened tension slightly, bringing her knees down out of the flinch around Spike's shoulders.
"I've never—," she stammered, her breathing beginning to hitch as he pressed just an ounce more firmly against her, still breaching nothing, but massaging a little harder in slick, tight circles.
"Trust me," he whispered and her stomach somersaulted, a neat flip that continued up to her throat as he dipped his head, tonguing her in tight circles with the flat of his tongue.
He took his fingers away to wet them again, and the second time—to her rapidly depleting wells of mortification—she raised her hips to welcome the touch. Her ears burned as he snickered at the point in his favor, stroking his middle finger against her harder until the ring of muscle breached and he was inside, sliding slowly up to the first knuckle.
"Oh—" The stretch was obscene. Her spine arched, head thrown back until she thought her neck might snap, all her attention cascading down to the digit sliding deeper, inevitable and unrelenting.
"Relax," he repeated, pumping slowly, and after a trembling few moments Buffy let out a rush of breath and forced herself to unclench, releasing her grip on the bedspread and breathing deeply. "Good," he breathed against her, making the muscles of her thighs dance from the brush of air before he lowered his lips around her clit and sucked.
"Fuck—!" She arched into his mouth and he slid fully to the knuckle, the final cresting wave that he'd hauled her down from several times hitting her with full force, clamping everything tight and making retreat impossible for his hand. She rode it anyway, bucking against his mouth as the last shuddering volts of lightning dwindled in her veins.
After a long pause filled with trembling muscles and rasped breaths, he drew back from her, crawling up her body as she convulsed, and wrapped his arm around her waist, spooning close. The overstimulation burned over her skin for a second before she sank into him, twitching pathetically.
She stifled a yelp as his nose brushed her ear—still shivering as he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck—but lifted her head to let the other arm wind underneath, pillowing her cheek against his bicep.
"Keep the stud?" he murmured against the skin of her shoulder, and she managed a weak smile in reply.
"Yeah. Keep the stud."
He stroked delicately up the curve of her waist. Down again as though he was gentling an animal and nuzzled into her shoulder, more kisses, soft and sugary light dappling her neck.
"And sensations wise?" he prompted, sliding a hand down to cup her ass, squeezing meaningfully.
She bit her lip hesitantly but nodded. "Yeah. Good… Weird. But good."
Spike chuckled, low and pleased. "Gotta favor to ask you."
Buffy hummed in acknowledgment, shifting further back into him so her spine was flush with his stomach. "If it's a kneeling kind of favor you'll have to wait until my legs work again."
He chuckled, his breath reigniting the goosebumps at the nape of her neck. "No, luv. Like where your head is, though."
Buffy shifted, rolling so she could face him directly for whatever favor he was about to propose.
"Something else?"
He pursed his lips as though in consideration, but she could see the sparkling glint of a plan in action already sparkling in his eyes and thought dully how she could've possibly missed it earlier.
"Got the place to ourselves tomorrow."
Buffy smiled sweetly. "Do we now?"
He inched even closer. "M'planning a little event. Think you'll like it," he said and after a pause Buffy raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to get to the point, unintentionally igniting one of Spike's trademark grins that set a low fire burning in her belly like magic. "Was wondering how you'd feel about dressing up in something special?" he asked.
"You want to take me shopping?" she asked with an intrigued giggle, wriggling into him so their hips were flush.
"You shop. I'll pay," he confirmed, laying a kiss on her cheek. Another on her jaw.
"Shop for what?" Buffy asked, practically purring as his lips reached her ear, feeling them pull into a smile.
"A corset."Something else?"
He pursed his lips as though in consideration, but she could see the glint of a plan in action already sparkling in his eyes and thought dully how she could've possibly missed it earlier.
"Got the place to ourselves tomorrow."
Buffy smiled sweetly. "Do we now?"
He inched even closer. "M'planning a little event. Think you'll like it," he said and after a pause Buffy raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to get to the point, unintentionally igniting one of Spike's trademark grins that set a low fire burning in her belly like magic. "Was wondering how you'd feel about dressing up in something special?" he asked.
"You want to take me shopping?" she asked with an intrigued giggle, wriggling into him so their hips were flush.
"You shop. I'll pay," he confirmed, laying a kiss on her cheek. Another on her jaw.
"Shop for what?" Buffy asked, practically purring as his lips reached her ear, feeling them pull into a smile.
"A corset."