Bake Me a Bloody Cake (1/3)
Title: Bake Me a Bloody Cake
Summary: Response to the Bloodshedverse Challenge #374. Set about a week after the events of Something Blue but before the beginning of Hush. Buffy has reluctantly agreed to vampsit while Giles is out for the evening, and is desperate for something to distract her from the annoyingly perceptive vampire and the memories of their brief engagement. Kind of fluffy, silly, and smutty, with a smattering of insight . . . and sprinkles!
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Blood Play, Adult Content (w/ some plot), Adult Language.
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em. I’m just borrowing them for a while.
Author’s Note: Thanks to always_jbj for betaing. Challenge details at the end of the story. This is a one-shot that's too long for LJ's liking, so I'm posting it in three parts. Part 1 of 3.
Bake Me a Bloody Cake
*~*
“Bloody hell, Slayer, what is it now?”
Realizing she’d been caught, Buffy quickly looked away from the irritated vampire sprawled across Giles’s couch like he owned it. The couch, by all rights, that should have been hers to sprawl on. After all, she was here to Spike-sit and had even resisted complaining - much - before agreeing to do it. Certainly, her graciousness should have awarded her couch privileges, right? Apparently not. Next time, she was so making sure that was a part of the benefits package before telling Giles she’d keep an eye on the bleached pest - the same bleached pest currently expressing his extreme displeasure over her eye-keeping.
From the chair in the corner, Buffy huffed and crossed her arms. “Making sure you don’t do anything evil.”
Spike scoffed disgustedly. “Hard to do much of anythin’ with your righteous, beady li’l Slayer eyes on me all the time.”
“My eyes are not beady!” Buffy protested, grumbling indignantly and returning her attention to her magazine, feeling Spike’s gaze lingering. When he persisted far longer than was necessary, she dropped the magazine and growled, “What?”
Spike snorted. “Oh, so it’s fine when it’s you watchin’ me?”
“I,” she answered, crossing her arms and glaring at the smugly grinning vampire, “am not evil. Therefore, I do the watching and you do the . . . the not being evil because I’m watching!”
Spike raised a less-than-impressed eyebrow. “Stay up at night coming up with that drivel, Slayer?”
Why had she agreed to do this? Ten minutes on and he had already surpassed irritating and was well on the way toward aggravating. “Just. Shut. Up,” she grunted, scowling as she turned again to her magazine, which was only mildly interesting but certainly beat whatever ridiculous program the vampire was watching.
The insufferable bleached idiot had managed to get hold of the remote control, too.
Buffy did her best to ignore the continued staring of her malignant charge, though the vampiric attention made her usual vamp senses go on overdrive, the persistent tingling at the back of her neck making focusing difficult. She refused to look at him, to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his attempts at riling her were very much working, but even so she could practically feel his smirk burning into her forehead along with that ridiculously blue stare.
The memory of those blue eyes looking into hers as he held her in his lap, in the very chair she was sitting in now, brought a sudden and very much unwelcomed rush of wet tingles someplace completely other than her neck, and Buffy squirmed uncomfortably as she fought to suppress the effects of that flash of remembrance.
Stupid Willow’s stupid spell, she grumbled to herself, feeling her face flush bright red with embarrassment when she heard the vampire’s low chuckle, realizing he’d certainly picked up on her distress, whether from her suddenly racing heart or something else entirely too icky to think about. The thought that he could probably smell her pushed itself inside her head anyway and made her squirm a little more, though she was unsure of whether she was seeking the friction her body was screaming for, or trying to wiggle away from her current problem. She scowled in disgust at her rebellious body and its insistence that images of Spike’s emotive eyes and succulent, oh-so-kissable lips should cause the immediate and nearly overwhelming lustful feelings currently holding it hostage.
He was still staring at her.
And oh, damn it. She was staring back.
Leaping from the chair in a flash, Buffy hurried off to the bathroom, tossing over her shoulder a rather lame comment about too much coffee before shutting the door on the highly amused vampire’s laughter. Growling to herself, she caught a quick glimpse of her very flushed face in the mirror before dropping down onto the toilet, willing her body to smarten up.
There will be no lusty thoughts about Spike, she told herself, even as her brain continued to provide memories of spell-induced kisses and cuddles and entirely inappropriate touches in front of Giles’s unseeing eyes.
“Naughty slayer,” Spike purred in her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and nibbling, sending shivers down her spine and tingles of anticipation to her throbbing clit.
Buffy’s fingers continued to trace the outline of Spike’s cock through the strained denim, marvelling at its size and her own boldness. Of course, they weren’t doing anything wrong - they were in love, and about to be married! So Giles was technically there . . . as long as they were quiet, he certainly wouldn’t know what they were up to. No harm done if he couldn’t see, right?
“Kitten likes to play, does she?” Spike asked, trailing fingers down her arm and over the hand that continued to touch him. He reached for the button of his jeans and popped it open, the zipper following easily with a quick tug. Buffy licked her lips as the object of her attention jumped free of its confines and into her waiting hand. Spike hissed softly as she wrapped her fingers around his cool, rigid shaft, and as she tentatively began to stroke him, he rumbled, “Here kitty, kitty.”
The frank sexuality oozing from his voice and his whole demeanour made her entire body tremble. She was already wetter than she’d thought possible, and was growing impossibly more so as she locked eyes with Spike’s intense gaze, hand slowly pumping him as she took in the blazing lust and complete adoration in those endless blue depths.
Spike bit his lip against a threatened moan, while somewhere in the back of her mind Buffy registered Giles’s panicked query about why they had suddenly become so worryingly quiet. Ignoring her former watcher, Buffy leaned in to whisper in Spike’s ear.
“Touch me, Spike.”
A wicked grin his only reply, Spike’s fingers travelled with tantalizing slowness up her inner thigh, brushing firmly and deliberately against her aching clit through her pants before reaching for the clasp. He opened it one handed and slipped inside, Buffy shifting to allow him better access while ensuring she had ample room for her own explorations.
She gasped as his cool fingers delved into her curls, dipped into the wetness of her slit and slowly drifted up until they found her clit. He swirled around her swollen nubbin, soaking it with her juices and causing her to buck involuntarily against his hand. She stifled her moan of contentment by burying her face into his neck as he slowly circled her sensitive bundle of nerves with talented fingers.
Buffy groaned and tossed her head back, realizing belatedly that she had become so engrossed in the fantasy/memory that the fingers on her clit were her own, having slipped at some point beneath her skirt to add even more fire to her already precarious state. Recognizing even as she continued to touch herself that no good - save the obvious - could possibly come from this, Buffy submitted to the sensation, drifting back inward and allowing the memory to overtake her once again.
“Buffy? Spike? Oh bloody hell, would you two please stop whatever it is that you’re doing and answer me?”
Spike’s smirking lips and the sparkle in his eyes at Giles’s rising panic would have made Buffy giggle, had she not needed to clamp her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from alerting their unseeing audience to what was actually going on. The motion of Spike’s thumb over her clit and the two fingers slipping rhythmically in and out of her, hitting with each descent some previously unknown spot that rocked her body with potent bolts of exhilarating pleasure, had her spiralling perilously close to what promised to be one powerful orgasm. Buffy’s hand moved around Spike’s erection in a steady, increasingly sure stroke that made the vampire pant quietly and bite his own lip. The occasional soft moan escaped from each of them, and Buffy felt wondrously full, both physically and spiritually, sharing this special first with the man she loved.
“God, Buffy . . .” Spike purred in her ear, too low for Giles to hear. “Feels bloody good, love. My hot li’l slayer.”
Not knowing what to say, Buffy locked her eyes on his and tried to convey how she felt without the words that always seemed to get in the way. The look of blinding love shining back at her from Spike filled her heart with bliss and she graced him with a brilliant smile, one he returned with alacrity. Buffy let her eyes fall shut and dug her free hand into Spike’s arm as the thousands of sensations surging through her threatened to topple her over with their intensity.
Buffy was still stroking him, even as his nimble fingers brought her to the edge. She teetered at the cusp for a long, heavenly moment before she fell, planting her face in Spike’s shoulder to smother her roar of rapture, not missing, even in the midst of her shuddering climax, that Spike had joined her in release. With a final cry, muffled into near silence by the wad of black cotton in her mouth, Buffy slumped bonelessly against the love of her life, who held her close and whispered in her ear precious endearments as she drifted in the weightless euphoria of their afterglow.
The back of Buffy’s head hit the wall behind her as her orgasm crashed over her. She was too caught up in the moment to care that she hadn’t bothered being quiet and the vampire in the other room that was the source of all her troubles had most certainly heard every whimper and moan. Breathing hard as she came back down, Buffy planted her face into her hands, mortified when the truth of her situation hit. She had absolutely no desire to face Spike again after what he’d undoubtedly heard her doing, but if she didn’t go back out, then he really would get up to something evil and she’d have totally shirked her duties. She was the Slayer after all. It was her job to keep the evil undead in line, and what excuse did she have for not doing so?
Sorry, Giles, I couldn’t watch Spike because I was locked in the bathroom after touching myself in tribute to our grope session from last week.
Yeah, that would go over really well.
Taking one deep, steadying breath, and then another, Buffy moved to the sink and washed her hands, then splashed cold water over her face in an attempt to cool herself down and ease away the scarlet flush of her cheeks. She straightened her skirt, flushed the toilet as an afterthought, and bravely stepped out of her sanctuary.
Buffy was certain, as she took each reluctant step back toward the living room, that the first thing she’d see when she arrived would be Spike’s smirking face leering at her from the couch. Instead, as she passed through the arched doorway from the hall, she was met with neither a smirk nor a leer, but rather an open-mouthed, wide-eyed look of astonishment. The accompanying air of blatant desire nearly stopped her dead in her tracks, but she forced herself to tear her eyes away from the addled vampire and walk sedately past him. Her belly fluttered when she noted, as she settled into the chair that had played an important role in her fantasies, the button of Spike’s jeans was undone and the zipper only half fastened.
Crap.
Whatever edge Buffy had taken off with her solo bathroom tryst slipped away and another powerful surge of lust coursed through her as she watched, through her lashes, Spike fumbling to properly close his jeans. While she’d been . . . he had been . . .
Crap.
The magazine she’d cast aside in her haste to reach the bathroom lay on the floor near her feet, and Buffy scooped it up, grateful for the distraction. She could feel Spike’s eyes on her again, but she resisted the urge to look up and meet that smouldering gaze, resolutely forcing her eyes to remain focused on the article in front of her. Of course, beyond comprehending that the text was actually English, Buffy found herself quite unable to read it. Struggling to keep her breathing slow and measured, even as the fiery flutter in her belly moved lower, Buffy flipped through the uninteresting periodical, steadfastly sticking to the ridiculous ruse. Of course Spike knew. Hello, vampire?
What she needed, Buffy thought, was a distraction that would actually distract her from the sort of distraction Spike, and her unruly brain, had in mind. There was absolutely no way she was going to go there . . . again. It was one thing to use the memories of what happened under the spell to stoke her inner fire in moments of need - of which she’d had rather more than usual in the past week - and another thing entirely to want to do it again. She was innocent of blame for what had gone on, her actions not her own. In her right mind, she would never touch Spike. Buffy was quite willing to pretend that none of it had ever happened. Any part of her that thought otherwise was to be thoroughly ignored as simply a residual effect of the spell.
And thank goodness that ended when it had, before they’d had the chance to move beyond just touching to the harder-to-pretend-it-didn’t-happen sex promised by their kissing session on the floor of the crypt. But damn if being around him wasn’t bringing back, completely against her better judgement and with shocking intensity, all the feelings and desires she’d experienced while ensorcelled.
No, she amended emphatically, not all. Just the lust. . . yep, all lusty-Buffy here, no feely-Buffy at all. Bad enough just wanting the evil, soulless, beyond sexy vampire...
“Gah!”
“Problem, love?”
Buffy’s head snapped up to find Spike regarding her with those irresistible, smouldering blue eyes she’d been avoiding, smirking with amusement and not-so-casually framing those wicked fingers around the renewed bulge at the front of his jeans.
Buffy gulped, caught like a deer in the headlights, unable to turn away from him, body tingling all over with lively shivers of excitement. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. Managing to flick her eyes away for a second, Buffy spied the topic on the newly-turned page of her magazine and grinned in triumph.
Standing swiftly, she looked in Spike’s general direction - at a spot somewhere slightly to the left of his head - and replied, “Nope, no problem here. Problem-free Buffy.” Magazine in hand, she walked around the couch, heading for the kitchen. “I was bored, but now I’m going to bake a cake.”
Spike chuckled. “’S that what you’re callin’ it these days?”
“Shut up!” she called cheerily over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen, endlessly pleased with having found a cake recipe, of all things, in this month’s Cosmo.
Buffy busied herself digging through Giles’s cupboards for mixing bowls and ingredients, thankful that he seemed to have everything she needed. She rose from kneeling to grab the large bag of flour and set it on the counter, then glanced over at the open page of the magazine to find the first step.
“Do you even know how to bake a cake?”
Spike’s rumbling voice, ridiculously close to her ear, made Buffy gasp and jump back in surprise. She hadn’t even heard him follow her into the kitchen with his creepy vampire stealth, and in her shock she found her back pressed up against his chest with the very firm evidence of his desire pushing insistently at her backside. The moment of contact was electric, and she stood paralyzed, held in place by some unseen force, heart pounding, clit throbbing, chest heaving with the magnitude of this something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
Spike’s hands sliding sensually up her arms snapped her out of her immobility, and with far too much effort, she pulled away from him, bracing her arms on the counter as she willed her breathing to calm. Spike remained behind her, far enough away that they weren’t touching, but close enough that she could feel his presence and the tickle of his unneeded breath on the back of her neck.
“Know your way round a cake pan, then, Slayer?” he repeated, peering over her shoulder at the gathered ingredients and equipment.
“Of course I can make a cake,” Buffy replied, trying for terse but ending up with husky, scowling to herself when the vampire snickered behind her. Putting in the effort to sound cheery and completely not bothered, she continued. “As long as I have a recipe, I’m a great cake-baker, and look,” she gestured toward the magazine on the counter, “recipe!”
Spike reached around her and pulled it off the counter, taking it back with him behind her to study. After a moment, he let out another snicker that promised nothing but evilness, and crooned in her ear, “I’d be delighted to help you test that claim, pet.”
“Huh?” Buffy asked. “What are you talking about?”
Spike thrust the magazine under her nose, thumb just beside the heading for the recipe. “Read it.”
“Better than . . . oh my god!” Buffy felt her face start to flame as the words, Better Than Sex Cake, jumped out at her in garish red from the glossy page in front of her.
Shit!
She was so screwed.
Slowly, Buffy placed the traitorous magazine back atop the counter, and with hands that were suddenly trembling, pulled the mixing bowl and flour in front of her. Spike still hovered just behind her, peering over her shoulder as she checked the recipe, organized her ingredients, and tried to pretend she wasn’t aware of him.
“So you’re gonna make the thing, then?” Spike queried.
He didn’t say it, but Buffy heard the question anyway. Spike obviously knew she wanted him - her body’s intense reaction to him from little more than eye contact was too damning a truth for even her brain to deny - and he was asking, subtly and yet very much not, if she was going to give in to that desire. Was she going to admit he was the source of her racing pulse and the sodden, throbbing ache between her legs, and more importantly, was she going to do something about it? Was she going to bake that cake, and prove with him the folly of its presumptuous title?
He nudged her backside pointedly with his erection, reminding her vividly that whatever was happening here tonight was far from one-sided. His lips brushed across the nape of her neck, raising every hair and shooting shivering tingles down her spine. They came to rest near her ear, planting a gentle kiss beneath it before parting to allow his tongue to sneak out and lightly trace its curve. “Gonna bake that cake, Buffy?”
His use of her name sent a sudden thrill through her, and she closed her eyes, briefly giving in to the sensation of it, and of his face now nuzzling her neck. Buffy took in a very deep breath, knowing that as soon as she spoke, there’d be no going back. “Yes.”
The moment she finished speaking, Spike was gone.
Buffy spun around to find him perched on the span of counter space between Giles’s ancient green refrigerator and the sink cluttered with remnants of Spike’s experiments in the betterment of pigs’ blood. Ignoring that bit of unpleasantness for the moment, Buffy narrowed her eyes at the ever-infuriating vampire with his swinging legs and pleased-with-himself grin.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded shrilly, annoyed at herself for the obvious neediness to her tone.
Spike chortled with amusement and tipped his head toward the accumulated baking paraphernalia. “Your cake, Slayer, not mine,” he answered, grinning wider when she failed to hide her scowl of frustration. “‘M gonna supervise.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly at his comment. “Supervise?”
“Tha’s right.” Spike shrugged, the innocence of the gesture belied by the lasciviousness of his tongue-and-teeth grin. “Someone’s gotta be around to lick the beaters.”
As far as suggestive statements went, that one was perhaps the lamest she’d heard in a good while. Incongruously to its pathetic, baking-themed nature, however, Buffy’s knees nearly gave out on her as her brain flashed first to an imagined image of Spike very literally licking a beater clean of cake batter, and then jumped, with an accompanying surge of desire, to that of Spike, cake batter moustache and all, licking a sticky path between her breasts, down over her belly and beyond. The insistent throbbing and fresh burst of wetness from fantasy-Spike’s intended target made Buffy groan aloud and turn hurriedly away from real-Spike’s laughing eyes and toe-curling grin.
God, I am depraved, she thought, as further visions of exactly what he could do with his battered tongue flitted teasingly across her mind’s eye.
With her back to the vampire, Buffy allowed her shaky-at-best veil of nonchalance to slip as it sunk in that she had all but agreed to have sex with Spike. Sure, she hadn’t actually said the words - neither had he - but the implication lay out in the open and both of them had caressed it. Try as she might to change her mind, to tell him she hadn’t meant it, Buffy knew that Spike would persist and she would give in. Her body had control tonight and it had its sights set on reliving that spell and then some. Buffy was torn between acceptance of the idea, that she could find Spike attractive and that it was perfectly reasonable for the two of them to do whatever the heck they wanted, since they both clearly wanted, and the little voice in the back of her mind, one that sounded suspiciously and oddly like both Giles and her mother, reminding her of her calling and sacred duties and the many, many reasons why relationships with vampires were a very, very bad thing.
Whoa there! Relationship?
Stuffing that frightening and highly errant notion away as deeply as possible, Buffy turned her focus to the matter at hand - the cake that started this whole mess to begin with. Well, perhaps it hadn’t started things - Buffy was pretty sure her flight to the bathroom had been the true beginning of the end - but it had certainly played its part in perpetuating this particular freak show.
Avoiding Spike’s eye, Buffy moved to the oven and started it heating, then began mixing the dry ingredients together as indicated by the recipe. Behind her, Spike was alternately humming and singing some old rock song, and Buffy smiled as she stirred. The sound of his voice, though too low for her to make out the words, was not unpleasant. In fact, like everything else about Spike and quite in contrast to the obviously poppy-sounding number, it had a purely sensual quality to it. That wasn’t at all surprising, considering the highly seductive nature of his speaking voice, but the melodic sound of the quiet singing added even more depth to its power. She couldn’t help imagining, as she added the cocoa and watched it slowly darken the dry mixture, that deliciously rumbling voice singing naughty things into her ear.
The singing halted when Buffy turned and headed for the fridge for milk and eggs. She caught Spike’s eye in the process, and it wasn’t the sheer, hungry desire she saw there stopped her mid-step, but the tender adoration entirely too reminiscent of the looks he had given her while under Willow’s spell. It was gone in a flash, replaced by that wetness-inspiring grin, but she had seen it, and couldn’t begin to fathom what that meant. She could handle his obvious lust. She wasn’t sure what to do about the other.
Feeling more than a little weak in the knees, Buffy retrieved the refrigerated ingredients and moved to return to her bowl. She was not surprised to hear the sound of Spike sliding off the counter as she turned her back to him, and when she resumed her cake-making, Buffy felt him hovering behind her. He hadn’t touched her, but feeling him there, feeling his eyes on her, renewed that shivery tingling in her spine that was partly her slayer sense, but mostly just Spike.
A wisp of air flitted over the back of her neck as she poured the milk into the bowl, followed by a soft, purely sensual growl. Buffy set the measuring cup down, breathing hard with anticipation. She felt, with the same supernatural senses that told her when he was watching her, Spike’s hands moving, fingers following the contours of her body without touching. The air around her felt charged, heated, and the ever-present flush of her face deepened, travelling down her neck with the nearly overwhelming sensation. Buffy didn’t know how he could effect her so thoroughly without even touching her, but she wasn’t about to ruin the moment by asking.
She stared into the bowl, milk and eggs and other moist ingredients soaking into the flour mixture while her own wetness soaked into her panties. When Spike finally touched her, hands setting down at her hips, Buffy gasped and braced herself against the counter. Behind her, Spike rumbled with soft laughter, as his left hand drifted slowly downward to toy with the end of her skirt. The right he slipped around to her front, fingers splaying low across her belly, and tugged her back against him.
“Best get stirring, love,” Spike murmured, fingers slipping under the hanging fabric. “Wouldn’t want that nummy treat to go to waste.”
While Spike began tracing feather-light circles on her thigh, Buffy took the spoon in her trembling hand and brought it to the bowl. When her tremulous motions caused it to knock against the glass, Spike tsked her and gripped her wrist in his right hand, guiding her and the spoon toward the bowl’s contents.
Buffy’s mind was whirling, and not with the slow, steady spirals of the spoon as Spike, still holding her wrist, guided each methodical turn. She felt hopelessly confused, completely frightened, and ridiculously turned-on all at the same time. She knew, in theory, what was happening here, and was more than a little surprised by the fact that she wasn’t more bothered by it. Spike was everything she was supposed to despise, not desire, and yet the way her body responded to the barest touch - or no touch at all - left little doubt that she did. A brief feeling of guilt settled in her stomach when she realized that, for all he represented the coveted normal, for all she was genuinely interested in getting to know him better, not once had Riley Finn inspired the same, intense feelings she was having now for Spike. She wanted this vampire with a fierce, possessive passion that came upon her out of nowhere, and the way the night was headed, she was going to get him. Therein lay the problem, as with each wave of lust coursing through her body in reaction to the slowly rising caresses of Spike’s fingers, she was reminded painfully of her very limited experience in the lovemaking department.
Lovemaking?
No! No no no. Lusty, sweaty, sexy . . . sex. Just sex! No lovemaking! Gah!
In tandem with her mental cry of exasperation, Buffy groaned and dropped her head back. Spike’s circling fingers reached her upper thigh, and of their own volition, her legs drifted apart, bare feet sliding soundlessly on the smooth kitchen floor. The answering chuckle in her ear flared the fire in her womb, and the next sound to escape her parted lips was undeniably more of a moan. Fingernails lightly scratched the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and Buffy inhaled sharply, holding her breath while he explored. His touches remained soft, a brushing of fingertips or a gentle scratching of nails, and Buffy felt herself going mad from the building tension. She knew he was deliberately drawing things out, and part of her wanted to smack him and tell him to get on with it, while the rest of her thought she might just orgasm from this alone. Despite the coolness of his fingers, his touch sent tremors of heat shooting up from his caresses and straight to her throbbing clit.
His fingers brushed across the front of her panties, too lightly to bring even the slightest relief to the unbelievable need for friction, and Buffy grumbled in frustration. Predictably, Spike chuckled, a rumbling laugh that vibrated from his chest and through her body, and with his hand resting at her pubic bone, ground his erection eagerly into her ass.
“Oh God,” Buffy gasped, wondering if it was possible for a person to actually die from lust alone.
Breathing heavily, Buffy let her eyes fall shut while Spike’s fingers traced the elastic along the top of her panties. The fingers drifted down in the crease of her leg, following the lines of her underwear but touching her skin, this caress as fiery, and as teasingly light, as all the others. He repeated this motion, drawing his fingers back up before slowly drifting down. Buffy could feel Spike’s breath on her neck and was partly surprised that he was breathing at all, but mostly thrilled at the thought that he was breathing for her.
Just when Buffy thought Spike would continue the teasing up-and-down touches that were simultaneously pleasing and taunting, his fingers drifted over top the lace of her panties in a tickling, swirling motion. He cupped her with a curved hand, one finger pressing unerringly against her clit, and with a groan of mixed pleasure and frustration, Buffy bucked her hips forward. Spike thrust against her backside with a soft growl and then nipped with blunt teeth at her neck.
“What’s goin’ through that head of yours, Summers?” Spike whispered, the one finger now circling her clit through the lace, while he continued to guide her stirring motions with his other hand.
But Buffy found herself with a suddenly tied-tongue, as the ever increasing pressure of Spike’s circling fingers set her pulse racing and her body alight with surges of long-awaited pleasure. Spike’s continued attention to her neck, an exhilarating mixture of kisses, licks, and nibbles, made her breath quicken and her eyes fall shut from the forbidden thrill. It was not lost on her that she had a vampire at her back, albeit a fangless one currently lusting after something other than blood, with full access to her neck and everything else. A small portion of her brain demanded that she pull away, put an end to this blasphemy before things got even more out of hand. The rest of her, however, desired this too much to stop.
In the bowl, the batter was more or less mixed, but Spike kept her stirring slowly. The circling of his fingers moved away from her clit, and he chuckled at her mewled protest.
“Didn’t answer me, pet,” he murmured, slipping his fingertips beneath the lace. “What’s goin’ through that pretty li’l head o’ yours?”
“I . . . I don’t . . . know . . .”
Fingers slowly sliding down her smooth skin, the bulge of his cock nestled in the crack of her ass, Spike blew a cool breath into her ear, chest rumbling when the motion made her shiver and moan. “Thinkin’ ‘bout what you want me to do to you?” he suggested, as his fingers reached the margins of her trimmed patch of coarse curls.
“Mmmhmm,” Buffy answered, sucking in her breath as his fingers slipped even lower.
Bypassing her swollen, throbbing clit, Spike slipped two fingers into her slippery folds, coating them with her wetness while he teased her opening. “Ooh, Slayer,” Spike cooed, the pleasure at finding her so completely soaked evident in his voice.
Fingers finally moved to her needy clit, and Buffy gasped at the contact. Spike clearly recalled their encounter under Willow’s spell with as much detail as Buffy, for he did not take time with explorations into what sorts of strokes or motions she’d respond to most. Instead, nimble fingers set straight away to the half-circles and twisting pinches that had her moaning and thrusting into his hand in no time.
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this since the spell, haven’t you?” Spike said, his voice low and sensual, lips just brushing her ear as he spoke. “Been lyin’ in your bed at night, pretendin’ it’s my fingers touching you, makin’ you sweat and sigh as you try an’ hide what you’re doin’ from the little witch in the next bed.”
That he was more or less correct only heightened Buffy’s full-body arousal, leaving her lightheaded and panting as she squeaked out her affirmation.
“Naughty girl,” Spike continued, the fingers on her clit moving in slow, steady circles, perfectly timed to the stirring of the batter. “Dreamin’ of demons when there’re men ready ‘n willing. But there’s been nobody but me an’ your own sweet digits since the spell, am I right, Slayer?”
“Yes . . .” Buffy breathed, gripping the counter in front of her with white-knuckled strength.
“Do you imagine my voice, Buffy?” Spike went on. “Whisperin’ in your ear as you touch yourself? Is it my face you see when you scream your release into your pillow?”
Her head was swimming, coherency lost as she struggled to form a reply. All she managed was a strangled, “Guh!”, followed immediately with a moaning sigh as Spike’s talented fingers continued to generate heated, tingling waves of pleasure, while his voice in her ear and the nature of his words made her body shiver deliciously.
“Was it my fingers touchin’ you in the bathroom?” he wondered. “You rememberin’ what we did in that chair? How you moved those sweet hips against my hand while you pumped my cock in yours?”
His blunt teeth nibbled her earlobe, then nipped at the sensitive place just below it. Buffy shuddered and gasped, and Spike growled approvingly. She felt the growl rumble down her spine even as she heard it, close to her ear, while he continued to nibble.
He fell silent then, turning his attention away from his evocative words to focus on her neck. There was something incredibly erotic about the predatory nature of his motions. While undoubtedly his intentions were sexual, Buffy recognized that, for vampires, and apparently for herself, the two concepts were more closely related than she could have imagined. There was as much sexuality to the hunt as there was an element of the hunt involved in sex.
Spike had nibbled his way down to where her neck met her shoulder, and after dropping a kiss there he trailed a path of small kisses back up toward her ear. His fingers stilled their motions and she felt his lips hovering, preparing to speak. Her clit throbbed with unanswered need as he whispered, “What’s it like, Buffy, when you touch yourself?”
( To Be Continued in Part II)
Summary: Response to the Bloodshedverse Challenge #374. Set about a week after the events of Something Blue but before the beginning of Hush. Buffy has reluctantly agreed to vampsit while Giles is out for the evening, and is desperate for something to distract her from the annoyingly perceptive vampire and the memories of their brief engagement. Kind of fluffy, silly, and smutty, with a smattering of insight . . . and sprinkles!
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Blood Play, Adult Content (w/ some plot), Adult Language.
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em. I’m just borrowing them for a while.
Author’s Note: Thanks to always_jbj for betaing. Challenge details at the end of the story. This is a one-shot that's too long for LJ's liking, so I'm posting it in three parts. Part 1 of 3.
Bake Me a Bloody Cake
*~*
“Bloody hell, Slayer, what is it now?”
Realizing she’d been caught, Buffy quickly looked away from the irritated vampire sprawled across Giles’s couch like he owned it. The couch, by all rights, that should have been hers to sprawl on. After all, she was here to Spike-sit and had even resisted complaining - much - before agreeing to do it. Certainly, her graciousness should have awarded her couch privileges, right? Apparently not. Next time, she was so making sure that was a part of the benefits package before telling Giles she’d keep an eye on the bleached pest - the same bleached pest currently expressing his extreme displeasure over her eye-keeping.
From the chair in the corner, Buffy huffed and crossed her arms. “Making sure you don’t do anything evil.”
Spike scoffed disgustedly. “Hard to do much of anythin’ with your righteous, beady li’l Slayer eyes on me all the time.”
“My eyes are not beady!” Buffy protested, grumbling indignantly and returning her attention to her magazine, feeling Spike’s gaze lingering. When he persisted far longer than was necessary, she dropped the magazine and growled, “What?”
Spike snorted. “Oh, so it’s fine when it’s you watchin’ me?”
“I,” she answered, crossing her arms and glaring at the smugly grinning vampire, “am not evil. Therefore, I do the watching and you do the . . . the not being evil because I’m watching!”
Spike raised a less-than-impressed eyebrow. “Stay up at night coming up with that drivel, Slayer?”
Why had she agreed to do this? Ten minutes on and he had already surpassed irritating and was well on the way toward aggravating. “Just. Shut. Up,” she grunted, scowling as she turned again to her magazine, which was only mildly interesting but certainly beat whatever ridiculous program the vampire was watching.
The insufferable bleached idiot had managed to get hold of the remote control, too.
Buffy did her best to ignore the continued staring of her malignant charge, though the vampiric attention made her usual vamp senses go on overdrive, the persistent tingling at the back of her neck making focusing difficult. She refused to look at him, to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his attempts at riling her were very much working, but even so she could practically feel his smirk burning into her forehead along with that ridiculously blue stare.
The memory of those blue eyes looking into hers as he held her in his lap, in the very chair she was sitting in now, brought a sudden and very much unwelcomed rush of wet tingles someplace completely other than her neck, and Buffy squirmed uncomfortably as she fought to suppress the effects of that flash of remembrance.
Stupid Willow’s stupid spell, she grumbled to herself, feeling her face flush bright red with embarrassment when she heard the vampire’s low chuckle, realizing he’d certainly picked up on her distress, whether from her suddenly racing heart or something else entirely too icky to think about. The thought that he could probably smell her pushed itself inside her head anyway and made her squirm a little more, though she was unsure of whether she was seeking the friction her body was screaming for, or trying to wiggle away from her current problem. She scowled in disgust at her rebellious body and its insistence that images of Spike’s emotive eyes and succulent, oh-so-kissable lips should cause the immediate and nearly overwhelming lustful feelings currently holding it hostage.
He was still staring at her.
And oh, damn it. She was staring back.
Leaping from the chair in a flash, Buffy hurried off to the bathroom, tossing over her shoulder a rather lame comment about too much coffee before shutting the door on the highly amused vampire’s laughter. Growling to herself, she caught a quick glimpse of her very flushed face in the mirror before dropping down onto the toilet, willing her body to smarten up.
There will be no lusty thoughts about Spike, she told herself, even as her brain continued to provide memories of spell-induced kisses and cuddles and entirely inappropriate touches in front of Giles’s unseeing eyes.
“Naughty slayer,” Spike purred in her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and nibbling, sending shivers down her spine and tingles of anticipation to her throbbing clit.
Buffy’s fingers continued to trace the outline of Spike’s cock through the strained denim, marvelling at its size and her own boldness. Of course, they weren’t doing anything wrong - they were in love, and about to be married! So Giles was technically there . . . as long as they were quiet, he certainly wouldn’t know what they were up to. No harm done if he couldn’t see, right?
“Kitten likes to play, does she?” Spike asked, trailing fingers down her arm and over the hand that continued to touch him. He reached for the button of his jeans and popped it open, the zipper following easily with a quick tug. Buffy licked her lips as the object of her attention jumped free of its confines and into her waiting hand. Spike hissed softly as she wrapped her fingers around his cool, rigid shaft, and as she tentatively began to stroke him, he rumbled, “Here kitty, kitty.”
The frank sexuality oozing from his voice and his whole demeanour made her entire body tremble. She was already wetter than she’d thought possible, and was growing impossibly more so as she locked eyes with Spike’s intense gaze, hand slowly pumping him as she took in the blazing lust and complete adoration in those endless blue depths.
Spike bit his lip against a threatened moan, while somewhere in the back of her mind Buffy registered Giles’s panicked query about why they had suddenly become so worryingly quiet. Ignoring her former watcher, Buffy leaned in to whisper in Spike’s ear.
“Touch me, Spike.”
A wicked grin his only reply, Spike’s fingers travelled with tantalizing slowness up her inner thigh, brushing firmly and deliberately against her aching clit through her pants before reaching for the clasp. He opened it one handed and slipped inside, Buffy shifting to allow him better access while ensuring she had ample room for her own explorations.
She gasped as his cool fingers delved into her curls, dipped into the wetness of her slit and slowly drifted up until they found her clit. He swirled around her swollen nubbin, soaking it with her juices and causing her to buck involuntarily against his hand. She stifled her moan of contentment by burying her face into his neck as he slowly circled her sensitive bundle of nerves with talented fingers.
Buffy groaned and tossed her head back, realizing belatedly that she had become so engrossed in the fantasy/memory that the fingers on her clit were her own, having slipped at some point beneath her skirt to add even more fire to her already precarious state. Recognizing even as she continued to touch herself that no good - save the obvious - could possibly come from this, Buffy submitted to the sensation, drifting back inward and allowing the memory to overtake her once again.
“Buffy? Spike? Oh bloody hell, would you two please stop whatever it is that you’re doing and answer me?”
Spike’s smirking lips and the sparkle in his eyes at Giles’s rising panic would have made Buffy giggle, had she not needed to clamp her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from alerting their unseeing audience to what was actually going on. The motion of Spike’s thumb over her clit and the two fingers slipping rhythmically in and out of her, hitting with each descent some previously unknown spot that rocked her body with potent bolts of exhilarating pleasure, had her spiralling perilously close to what promised to be one powerful orgasm. Buffy’s hand moved around Spike’s erection in a steady, increasingly sure stroke that made the vampire pant quietly and bite his own lip. The occasional soft moan escaped from each of them, and Buffy felt wondrously full, both physically and spiritually, sharing this special first with the man she loved.
“God, Buffy . . .” Spike purred in her ear, too low for Giles to hear. “Feels bloody good, love. My hot li’l slayer.”
Not knowing what to say, Buffy locked her eyes on his and tried to convey how she felt without the words that always seemed to get in the way. The look of blinding love shining back at her from Spike filled her heart with bliss and she graced him with a brilliant smile, one he returned with alacrity. Buffy let her eyes fall shut and dug her free hand into Spike’s arm as the thousands of sensations surging through her threatened to topple her over with their intensity.
Buffy was still stroking him, even as his nimble fingers brought her to the edge. She teetered at the cusp for a long, heavenly moment before she fell, planting her face in Spike’s shoulder to smother her roar of rapture, not missing, even in the midst of her shuddering climax, that Spike had joined her in release. With a final cry, muffled into near silence by the wad of black cotton in her mouth, Buffy slumped bonelessly against the love of her life, who held her close and whispered in her ear precious endearments as she drifted in the weightless euphoria of their afterglow.
The back of Buffy’s head hit the wall behind her as her orgasm crashed over her. She was too caught up in the moment to care that she hadn’t bothered being quiet and the vampire in the other room that was the source of all her troubles had most certainly heard every whimper and moan. Breathing hard as she came back down, Buffy planted her face into her hands, mortified when the truth of her situation hit. She had absolutely no desire to face Spike again after what he’d undoubtedly heard her doing, but if she didn’t go back out, then he really would get up to something evil and she’d have totally shirked her duties. She was the Slayer after all. It was her job to keep the evil undead in line, and what excuse did she have for not doing so?
Sorry, Giles, I couldn’t watch Spike because I was locked in the bathroom after touching myself in tribute to our grope session from last week.
Yeah, that would go over really well.
Taking one deep, steadying breath, and then another, Buffy moved to the sink and washed her hands, then splashed cold water over her face in an attempt to cool herself down and ease away the scarlet flush of her cheeks. She straightened her skirt, flushed the toilet as an afterthought, and bravely stepped out of her sanctuary.
Buffy was certain, as she took each reluctant step back toward the living room, that the first thing she’d see when she arrived would be Spike’s smirking face leering at her from the couch. Instead, as she passed through the arched doorway from the hall, she was met with neither a smirk nor a leer, but rather an open-mouthed, wide-eyed look of astonishment. The accompanying air of blatant desire nearly stopped her dead in her tracks, but she forced herself to tear her eyes away from the addled vampire and walk sedately past him. Her belly fluttered when she noted, as she settled into the chair that had played an important role in her fantasies, the button of Spike’s jeans was undone and the zipper only half fastened.
Crap.
Whatever edge Buffy had taken off with her solo bathroom tryst slipped away and another powerful surge of lust coursed through her as she watched, through her lashes, Spike fumbling to properly close his jeans. While she’d been . . . he had been . . .
Crap.
The magazine she’d cast aside in her haste to reach the bathroom lay on the floor near her feet, and Buffy scooped it up, grateful for the distraction. She could feel Spike’s eyes on her again, but she resisted the urge to look up and meet that smouldering gaze, resolutely forcing her eyes to remain focused on the article in front of her. Of course, beyond comprehending that the text was actually English, Buffy found herself quite unable to read it. Struggling to keep her breathing slow and measured, even as the fiery flutter in her belly moved lower, Buffy flipped through the uninteresting periodical, steadfastly sticking to the ridiculous ruse. Of course Spike knew. Hello, vampire?
What she needed, Buffy thought, was a distraction that would actually distract her from the sort of distraction Spike, and her unruly brain, had in mind. There was absolutely no way she was going to go there . . . again. It was one thing to use the memories of what happened under the spell to stoke her inner fire in moments of need - of which she’d had rather more than usual in the past week - and another thing entirely to want to do it again. She was innocent of blame for what had gone on, her actions not her own. In her right mind, she would never touch Spike. Buffy was quite willing to pretend that none of it had ever happened. Any part of her that thought otherwise was to be thoroughly ignored as simply a residual effect of the spell.
And thank goodness that ended when it had, before they’d had the chance to move beyond just touching to the harder-to-pretend-it-didn’t-happen sex promised by their kissing session on the floor of the crypt. But damn if being around him wasn’t bringing back, completely against her better judgement and with shocking intensity, all the feelings and desires she’d experienced while ensorcelled.
No, she amended emphatically, not all. Just the lust. . . yep, all lusty-Buffy here, no feely-Buffy at all. Bad enough just wanting the evil, soulless, beyond sexy vampire...
“Gah!”
“Problem, love?”
Buffy’s head snapped up to find Spike regarding her with those irresistible, smouldering blue eyes she’d been avoiding, smirking with amusement and not-so-casually framing those wicked fingers around the renewed bulge at the front of his jeans.
Buffy gulped, caught like a deer in the headlights, unable to turn away from him, body tingling all over with lively shivers of excitement. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. Managing to flick her eyes away for a second, Buffy spied the topic on the newly-turned page of her magazine and grinned in triumph.
Standing swiftly, she looked in Spike’s general direction - at a spot somewhere slightly to the left of his head - and replied, “Nope, no problem here. Problem-free Buffy.” Magazine in hand, she walked around the couch, heading for the kitchen. “I was bored, but now I’m going to bake a cake.”
Spike chuckled. “’S that what you’re callin’ it these days?”
“Shut up!” she called cheerily over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen, endlessly pleased with having found a cake recipe, of all things, in this month’s Cosmo.
Buffy busied herself digging through Giles’s cupboards for mixing bowls and ingredients, thankful that he seemed to have everything she needed. She rose from kneeling to grab the large bag of flour and set it on the counter, then glanced over at the open page of the magazine to find the first step.
“Do you even know how to bake a cake?”
Spike’s rumbling voice, ridiculously close to her ear, made Buffy gasp and jump back in surprise. She hadn’t even heard him follow her into the kitchen with his creepy vampire stealth, and in her shock she found her back pressed up against his chest with the very firm evidence of his desire pushing insistently at her backside. The moment of contact was electric, and she stood paralyzed, held in place by some unseen force, heart pounding, clit throbbing, chest heaving with the magnitude of this something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
Spike’s hands sliding sensually up her arms snapped her out of her immobility, and with far too much effort, she pulled away from him, bracing her arms on the counter as she willed her breathing to calm. Spike remained behind her, far enough away that they weren’t touching, but close enough that she could feel his presence and the tickle of his unneeded breath on the back of her neck.
“Know your way round a cake pan, then, Slayer?” he repeated, peering over her shoulder at the gathered ingredients and equipment.
“Of course I can make a cake,” Buffy replied, trying for terse but ending up with husky, scowling to herself when the vampire snickered behind her. Putting in the effort to sound cheery and completely not bothered, she continued. “As long as I have a recipe, I’m a great cake-baker, and look,” she gestured toward the magazine on the counter, “recipe!”
Spike reached around her and pulled it off the counter, taking it back with him behind her to study. After a moment, he let out another snicker that promised nothing but evilness, and crooned in her ear, “I’d be delighted to help you test that claim, pet.”
“Huh?” Buffy asked. “What are you talking about?”
Spike thrust the magazine under her nose, thumb just beside the heading for the recipe. “Read it.”
“Better than . . . oh my god!” Buffy felt her face start to flame as the words, Better Than Sex Cake, jumped out at her in garish red from the glossy page in front of her.
Shit!
She was so screwed.
Slowly, Buffy placed the traitorous magazine back atop the counter, and with hands that were suddenly trembling, pulled the mixing bowl and flour in front of her. Spike still hovered just behind her, peering over her shoulder as she checked the recipe, organized her ingredients, and tried to pretend she wasn’t aware of him.
“So you’re gonna make the thing, then?” Spike queried.
He didn’t say it, but Buffy heard the question anyway. Spike obviously knew she wanted him - her body’s intense reaction to him from little more than eye contact was too damning a truth for even her brain to deny - and he was asking, subtly and yet very much not, if she was going to give in to that desire. Was she going to admit he was the source of her racing pulse and the sodden, throbbing ache between her legs, and more importantly, was she going to do something about it? Was she going to bake that cake, and prove with him the folly of its presumptuous title?
He nudged her backside pointedly with his erection, reminding her vividly that whatever was happening here tonight was far from one-sided. His lips brushed across the nape of her neck, raising every hair and shooting shivering tingles down her spine. They came to rest near her ear, planting a gentle kiss beneath it before parting to allow his tongue to sneak out and lightly trace its curve. “Gonna bake that cake, Buffy?”
His use of her name sent a sudden thrill through her, and she closed her eyes, briefly giving in to the sensation of it, and of his face now nuzzling her neck. Buffy took in a very deep breath, knowing that as soon as she spoke, there’d be no going back. “Yes.”
The moment she finished speaking, Spike was gone.
Buffy spun around to find him perched on the span of counter space between Giles’s ancient green refrigerator and the sink cluttered with remnants of Spike’s experiments in the betterment of pigs’ blood. Ignoring that bit of unpleasantness for the moment, Buffy narrowed her eyes at the ever-infuriating vampire with his swinging legs and pleased-with-himself grin.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded shrilly, annoyed at herself for the obvious neediness to her tone.
Spike chortled with amusement and tipped his head toward the accumulated baking paraphernalia. “Your cake, Slayer, not mine,” he answered, grinning wider when she failed to hide her scowl of frustration. “‘M gonna supervise.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly at his comment. “Supervise?”
“Tha’s right.” Spike shrugged, the innocence of the gesture belied by the lasciviousness of his tongue-and-teeth grin. “Someone’s gotta be around to lick the beaters.”
As far as suggestive statements went, that one was perhaps the lamest she’d heard in a good while. Incongruously to its pathetic, baking-themed nature, however, Buffy’s knees nearly gave out on her as her brain flashed first to an imagined image of Spike very literally licking a beater clean of cake batter, and then jumped, with an accompanying surge of desire, to that of Spike, cake batter moustache and all, licking a sticky path between her breasts, down over her belly and beyond. The insistent throbbing and fresh burst of wetness from fantasy-Spike’s intended target made Buffy groan aloud and turn hurriedly away from real-Spike’s laughing eyes and toe-curling grin.
God, I am depraved, she thought, as further visions of exactly what he could do with his battered tongue flitted teasingly across her mind’s eye.
With her back to the vampire, Buffy allowed her shaky-at-best veil of nonchalance to slip as it sunk in that she had all but agreed to have sex with Spike. Sure, she hadn’t actually said the words - neither had he - but the implication lay out in the open and both of them had caressed it. Try as she might to change her mind, to tell him she hadn’t meant it, Buffy knew that Spike would persist and she would give in. Her body had control tonight and it had its sights set on reliving that spell and then some. Buffy was torn between acceptance of the idea, that she could find Spike attractive and that it was perfectly reasonable for the two of them to do whatever the heck they wanted, since they both clearly wanted, and the little voice in the back of her mind, one that sounded suspiciously and oddly like both Giles and her mother, reminding her of her calling and sacred duties and the many, many reasons why relationships with vampires were a very, very bad thing.
Whoa there! Relationship?
Stuffing that frightening and highly errant notion away as deeply as possible, Buffy turned her focus to the matter at hand - the cake that started this whole mess to begin with. Well, perhaps it hadn’t started things - Buffy was pretty sure her flight to the bathroom had been the true beginning of the end - but it had certainly played its part in perpetuating this particular freak show.
Avoiding Spike’s eye, Buffy moved to the oven and started it heating, then began mixing the dry ingredients together as indicated by the recipe. Behind her, Spike was alternately humming and singing some old rock song, and Buffy smiled as she stirred. The sound of his voice, though too low for her to make out the words, was not unpleasant. In fact, like everything else about Spike and quite in contrast to the obviously poppy-sounding number, it had a purely sensual quality to it. That wasn’t at all surprising, considering the highly seductive nature of his speaking voice, but the melodic sound of the quiet singing added even more depth to its power. She couldn’t help imagining, as she added the cocoa and watched it slowly darken the dry mixture, that deliciously rumbling voice singing naughty things into her ear.
The singing halted when Buffy turned and headed for the fridge for milk and eggs. She caught Spike’s eye in the process, and it wasn’t the sheer, hungry desire she saw there stopped her mid-step, but the tender adoration entirely too reminiscent of the looks he had given her while under Willow’s spell. It was gone in a flash, replaced by that wetness-inspiring grin, but she had seen it, and couldn’t begin to fathom what that meant. She could handle his obvious lust. She wasn’t sure what to do about the other.
Feeling more than a little weak in the knees, Buffy retrieved the refrigerated ingredients and moved to return to her bowl. She was not surprised to hear the sound of Spike sliding off the counter as she turned her back to him, and when she resumed her cake-making, Buffy felt him hovering behind her. He hadn’t touched her, but feeling him there, feeling his eyes on her, renewed that shivery tingling in her spine that was partly her slayer sense, but mostly just Spike.
A wisp of air flitted over the back of her neck as she poured the milk into the bowl, followed by a soft, purely sensual growl. Buffy set the measuring cup down, breathing hard with anticipation. She felt, with the same supernatural senses that told her when he was watching her, Spike’s hands moving, fingers following the contours of her body without touching. The air around her felt charged, heated, and the ever-present flush of her face deepened, travelling down her neck with the nearly overwhelming sensation. Buffy didn’t know how he could effect her so thoroughly without even touching her, but she wasn’t about to ruin the moment by asking.
She stared into the bowl, milk and eggs and other moist ingredients soaking into the flour mixture while her own wetness soaked into her panties. When Spike finally touched her, hands setting down at her hips, Buffy gasped and braced herself against the counter. Behind her, Spike rumbled with soft laughter, as his left hand drifted slowly downward to toy with the end of her skirt. The right he slipped around to her front, fingers splaying low across her belly, and tugged her back against him.
“Best get stirring, love,” Spike murmured, fingers slipping under the hanging fabric. “Wouldn’t want that nummy treat to go to waste.”
While Spike began tracing feather-light circles on her thigh, Buffy took the spoon in her trembling hand and brought it to the bowl. When her tremulous motions caused it to knock against the glass, Spike tsked her and gripped her wrist in his right hand, guiding her and the spoon toward the bowl’s contents.
Buffy’s mind was whirling, and not with the slow, steady spirals of the spoon as Spike, still holding her wrist, guided each methodical turn. She felt hopelessly confused, completely frightened, and ridiculously turned-on all at the same time. She knew, in theory, what was happening here, and was more than a little surprised by the fact that she wasn’t more bothered by it. Spike was everything she was supposed to despise, not desire, and yet the way her body responded to the barest touch - or no touch at all - left little doubt that she did. A brief feeling of guilt settled in her stomach when she realized that, for all he represented the coveted normal, for all she was genuinely interested in getting to know him better, not once had Riley Finn inspired the same, intense feelings she was having now for Spike. She wanted this vampire with a fierce, possessive passion that came upon her out of nowhere, and the way the night was headed, she was going to get him. Therein lay the problem, as with each wave of lust coursing through her body in reaction to the slowly rising caresses of Spike’s fingers, she was reminded painfully of her very limited experience in the lovemaking department.
Lovemaking?
No! No no no. Lusty, sweaty, sexy . . . sex. Just sex! No lovemaking! Gah!
In tandem with her mental cry of exasperation, Buffy groaned and dropped her head back. Spike’s circling fingers reached her upper thigh, and of their own volition, her legs drifted apart, bare feet sliding soundlessly on the smooth kitchen floor. The answering chuckle in her ear flared the fire in her womb, and the next sound to escape her parted lips was undeniably more of a moan. Fingernails lightly scratched the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and Buffy inhaled sharply, holding her breath while he explored. His touches remained soft, a brushing of fingertips or a gentle scratching of nails, and Buffy felt herself going mad from the building tension. She knew he was deliberately drawing things out, and part of her wanted to smack him and tell him to get on with it, while the rest of her thought she might just orgasm from this alone. Despite the coolness of his fingers, his touch sent tremors of heat shooting up from his caresses and straight to her throbbing clit.
His fingers brushed across the front of her panties, too lightly to bring even the slightest relief to the unbelievable need for friction, and Buffy grumbled in frustration. Predictably, Spike chuckled, a rumbling laugh that vibrated from his chest and through her body, and with his hand resting at her pubic bone, ground his erection eagerly into her ass.
“Oh God,” Buffy gasped, wondering if it was possible for a person to actually die from lust alone.
Breathing heavily, Buffy let her eyes fall shut while Spike’s fingers traced the elastic along the top of her panties. The fingers drifted down in the crease of her leg, following the lines of her underwear but touching her skin, this caress as fiery, and as teasingly light, as all the others. He repeated this motion, drawing his fingers back up before slowly drifting down. Buffy could feel Spike’s breath on her neck and was partly surprised that he was breathing at all, but mostly thrilled at the thought that he was breathing for her.
Just when Buffy thought Spike would continue the teasing up-and-down touches that were simultaneously pleasing and taunting, his fingers drifted over top the lace of her panties in a tickling, swirling motion. He cupped her with a curved hand, one finger pressing unerringly against her clit, and with a groan of mixed pleasure and frustration, Buffy bucked her hips forward. Spike thrust against her backside with a soft growl and then nipped with blunt teeth at her neck.
“What’s goin’ through that head of yours, Summers?” Spike whispered, the one finger now circling her clit through the lace, while he continued to guide her stirring motions with his other hand.
But Buffy found herself with a suddenly tied-tongue, as the ever increasing pressure of Spike’s circling fingers set her pulse racing and her body alight with surges of long-awaited pleasure. Spike’s continued attention to her neck, an exhilarating mixture of kisses, licks, and nibbles, made her breath quicken and her eyes fall shut from the forbidden thrill. It was not lost on her that she had a vampire at her back, albeit a fangless one currently lusting after something other than blood, with full access to her neck and everything else. A small portion of her brain demanded that she pull away, put an end to this blasphemy before things got even more out of hand. The rest of her, however, desired this too much to stop.
In the bowl, the batter was more or less mixed, but Spike kept her stirring slowly. The circling of his fingers moved away from her clit, and he chuckled at her mewled protest.
“Didn’t answer me, pet,” he murmured, slipping his fingertips beneath the lace. “What’s goin’ through that pretty li’l head o’ yours?”
“I . . . I don’t . . . know . . .”
Fingers slowly sliding down her smooth skin, the bulge of his cock nestled in the crack of her ass, Spike blew a cool breath into her ear, chest rumbling when the motion made her shiver and moan. “Thinkin’ ‘bout what you want me to do to you?” he suggested, as his fingers reached the margins of her trimmed patch of coarse curls.
“Mmmhmm,” Buffy answered, sucking in her breath as his fingers slipped even lower.
Bypassing her swollen, throbbing clit, Spike slipped two fingers into her slippery folds, coating them with her wetness while he teased her opening. “Ooh, Slayer,” Spike cooed, the pleasure at finding her so completely soaked evident in his voice.
Fingers finally moved to her needy clit, and Buffy gasped at the contact. Spike clearly recalled their encounter under Willow’s spell with as much detail as Buffy, for he did not take time with explorations into what sorts of strokes or motions she’d respond to most. Instead, nimble fingers set straight away to the half-circles and twisting pinches that had her moaning and thrusting into his hand in no time.
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this since the spell, haven’t you?” Spike said, his voice low and sensual, lips just brushing her ear as he spoke. “Been lyin’ in your bed at night, pretendin’ it’s my fingers touching you, makin’ you sweat and sigh as you try an’ hide what you’re doin’ from the little witch in the next bed.”
That he was more or less correct only heightened Buffy’s full-body arousal, leaving her lightheaded and panting as she squeaked out her affirmation.
“Naughty girl,” Spike continued, the fingers on her clit moving in slow, steady circles, perfectly timed to the stirring of the batter. “Dreamin’ of demons when there’re men ready ‘n willing. But there’s been nobody but me an’ your own sweet digits since the spell, am I right, Slayer?”
“Yes . . .” Buffy breathed, gripping the counter in front of her with white-knuckled strength.
“Do you imagine my voice, Buffy?” Spike went on. “Whisperin’ in your ear as you touch yourself? Is it my face you see when you scream your release into your pillow?”
Her head was swimming, coherency lost as she struggled to form a reply. All she managed was a strangled, “Guh!”, followed immediately with a moaning sigh as Spike’s talented fingers continued to generate heated, tingling waves of pleasure, while his voice in her ear and the nature of his words made her body shiver deliciously.
“Was it my fingers touchin’ you in the bathroom?” he wondered. “You rememberin’ what we did in that chair? How you moved those sweet hips against my hand while you pumped my cock in yours?”
His blunt teeth nibbled her earlobe, then nipped at the sensitive place just below it. Buffy shuddered and gasped, and Spike growled approvingly. She felt the growl rumble down her spine even as she heard it, close to her ear, while he continued to nibble.
He fell silent then, turning his attention away from his evocative words to focus on her neck. There was something incredibly erotic about the predatory nature of his motions. While undoubtedly his intentions were sexual, Buffy recognized that, for vampires, and apparently for herself, the two concepts were more closely related than she could have imagined. There was as much sexuality to the hunt as there was an element of the hunt involved in sex.
Spike had nibbled his way down to where her neck met her shoulder, and after dropping a kiss there he trailed a path of small kisses back up toward her ear. His fingers stilled their motions and she felt his lips hovering, preparing to speak. Her clit throbbed with unanswered need as he whispered, “What’s it like, Buffy, when you touch yourself?”
( To Be Continued in Part II)