Spuffy Drabble: Ashes
Title: Ashes
Fandom: BtVS
Rating: R
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Timeline: Season 6
A/N: So, this drabble was just me writing with no idea what I wanted to write, or what was going to come out. Of course, it ends up being some weird season 6 angst thing. I'm not sure what to think about it. *shrugs*
His lips were cold, tracing a cool pattern down the flush of her cheeks, along the line of her jaw, bright and sharp against the heat of her skin as they lingered over the pulse point of her neck. His tongue was a cool and wet press against her throat, teasing, tasting.
Cold. And yet they burned together.
Like candles, the slow wet movement of wax falling from the wick, the sharp sudden sting of pleasurepain as it lands on skin, pooling in the curves of her body like the sweat on the dip of her hip that was lapped up by that same cool tongue.
Down here the only light came from those candles, dozens of them, reflected back in the mirrors and as she gasped and threw her head back she didn’t close her eyes against them, but let her eyes go soft and unfocused until they were a shifting, flickering blur, a color burn to match the heat twisting and thriving under her skin. His hands circled her wrists like shackles, grounding her as she twisted and thrashed, for one moment free and uncontrolled.
Here she was the phoenix, dying, burning up in a moment of light and heat and yes, only to open her eyes after, and take a breath that tastes like ashes.
Fandom: BtVS
Rating: R
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Timeline: Season 6
A/N: So, this drabble was just me writing with no idea what I wanted to write, or what was going to come out. Of course, it ends up being some weird season 6 angst thing. I'm not sure what to think about it. *shrugs*
His lips were cold, tracing a cool pattern down the flush of her cheeks, along the line of her jaw, bright and sharp against the heat of her skin as they lingered over the pulse point of her neck. His tongue was a cool and wet press against her throat, teasing, tasting.
Cold. And yet they burned together.
Like candles, the slow wet movement of wax falling from the wick, the sharp sudden sting of pleasurepain as it lands on skin, pooling in the curves of her body like the sweat on the dip of her hip that was lapped up by that same cool tongue.
Down here the only light came from those candles, dozens of them, reflected back in the mirrors and as she gasped and threw her head back she didn’t close her eyes against them, but let her eyes go soft and unfocused until they were a shifting, flickering blur, a color burn to match the heat twisting and thriving under her skin. His hands circled her wrists like shackles, grounding her as she twisted and thrashed, for one moment free and uncontrolled.
Here she was the phoenix, dying, burning up in a moment of light and heat and yes, only to open her eyes after, and take a breath that tastes like ashes.