FIC: Sunshine (M) Spike/Sunshine (1/2) (Final Version)
Nothing new here if you've read the beta copy. I'm posting this cleaned-up version for archival purposes.
TITLE: Sunshine
AUTHOR: europanya
WEBSITE: www.geocities.com/europanya/spike.html
EMAIL: europanya@yahoo.com
LIVEJOURNAL: www.livejournal.com/users/euro_fics
PAIRING: Spike/Sunshine (Yeah, from the Peppermint Stick! Except, we all know that's probably not her real name.)
RATING: M
SUMMARY: In a dark alley after club hours, a girl finds herself getting rescued by an unlikely hero in black leather. And that's just how the evening begins…
NOTES: I've been itching to write this one ever since I watched the first half of AtS S5 on DVD. I loved Spike's dark dank apartment and his lonely hero act--asking damsels out for beer and Sex Pistols. I thought, what if you took Spike to bed and didn't know he was a vampire? Didn't even know demons existed? How sexy would that be? And how sweet and lonely and gentlemanly could he be? It's story time! Don't worry, Buffy gets a nod, too. But let's face it, he's a guy and when was the last time he got any? And no, Harmony doesn't count!
Sunshine
by europanya
"Fucking asshole!" Carlene kicked at a Coke can and watched it tumble down the back steps of the club. 2:30 in the morning and Bobby still hadn't shown to pick her up. Even if he did show, he'd be so fucking drunk no way would she be getting in the van with him.
"Need a ride, Car?" Timothy was at the back door, trash bags in his large hands. Last dump of the night. In another fifteen minutes the last of the lights would go out and the bolts would slide into place.
"Thanks, Tim. But even if you got me home, I've got no way of getting in. Asshole's got my only set of keys."
"We could break a window," he suggested, tossing the bags over the railing and down into the dumpster with a thud.
"Naw, Bobby would freak. I've had enough of that this week."
"Listen, Car, don't let no pinky-dick mess with you. You've got more brains than that."
She shrugged. "He's not that bad, really. Just selfish and pigheaded and couldn't give a shit about anything that doesn't come in a 16 oz bottle."
"Come on, Car. Let me walk you to Norms."
Carlene shifted her dressing bag higher up her shoulder. "Yeah, alright."
Tim held the door open for her but she declined. "I'm gonna have a smoke first, Timmy. I'll meet you around the front."
"Okay, sweetness. Be right back."
Carlene dug around in her bag and found her pack. She slid a cig between her lips and sucked on the filter while she dug further for her lighter. Silky g-strings, tassels, curling iron cords and fishbowl heels had woven themselves into a hopeless knot. Then she remembered, she'd loaned the lighter to Tanya about three hours ago for her break. The bitch had promised to toss the Bic back in her sack. Goddammit.
Carlene pulled the cold cig out of her mouth and stepped down off the loading platform and made for the alley to swing around to the front to ask Tim for a pack of matches. No sooner had her sore feet squeaked in their sneaker soles around the bend when she was grabbed from behind.
"Shit!" A cold strong hand covered her mouth, the other twisted her arms back and thrust her face-first into the block wall. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
"Hey there, girly. Wanna date?" The voice was high and wheezy. The fingers bruising her mouth felt thin and bony. He couldn't have been much bigger than her, but shit he was strong. She shook her head and his fingers left her mouth to close over her throat instead in a tight squeeze. She couldn't breathe.
Don't want to die. Let him have it and you'll walk away, Carrie. You will, just be still. Her heart beat furiously. He pressed his dick to the ass of her jeans, pinning her more firmly.
"Mmmm, you smell good, girly," the piece of shit sneered.
She gasped for air as he pulled her t-shirt collar down with a rip. His cold tongue licked her throat.
"Nice and tasty…"
"Hey, you, arseface! Hands off the girl."
"What the fuck?!" Her attacker whipped her around, still holding her by the neck and arm. Another man was walking into the alley, thumbs hooked in his belt, approaching at a casual gait. Carlene forced her lungs to scream but all that came out was a sick whimper. "Scram, dickhead. I got to this one first."
The man reached into the pocket of his long black coat and pulled out a knife. Holy Jesus. He twirled it about in his hand like some John Wayne fucker as he came close. The streetlight glowed off his hair.
"I'm the one your nanny told stories about," he said and knife and man moved faster than Carlene's eyes could follow. She felt something heavy strike the freak behind her and then, nothing. She was free. She drew in a ragged breath and stumbled forward into the legs of the man in the black coat. She gathered herself and sent him a knee to remember.
"Bloody…ouch! Some thanks I get! "
She ran only a few steps before her bad ankle gave and she went sliding into the pavement. "Fuck!"
"Hey! Hey! Easy. Don't hurt yourself. I'm not giving chase. Just wanted to get you safe!"
Carlene scrambled to her knees, getting up onto her good leg, ready to hop the rest of the way around to the front of the club and fling herself against the front doors screaming for Tim. But shit, she knew this guy. He was the Englishman. At least that's what the girls all called him. Quiet, polite, eyes like ice and a voice like chocolate fondue. Paid $50 a lap dance instead of the house $30 special. Always sat in the right third row table with his boots up on the opposite chair drinking whisky. She knew him. Peppermint Stick regular.
"What the fuck do you want?" she asked.
He held up his hands and backed away. "No harm, little one. You want, I'll go fetch your bouncer. But I'm not letting you out of my sight to get caught by another rat. These streets are murder this time of night."
"What happened? You chase that other guy off? I saw you pull a knife."
"A knife? No such thing. Stake is all." He flipped the item in question out of his pocket and tossed it to the ground in front of her. She bent and picked it up. It was a thick piece of turned wood, whittled to a nice sharp point.
"You stabbed him with this?"
The white head nodded. "Works a lot better than you'd think."
"So that's what you do when you're not in the club? You go around stabbing assholes with a piece of wood?" She'd overheard a couple of the girls talk about this guy in a long black coat skulking around after hours. Rumor was he'd taken down a mugger last week and saved Katie her tip money. Same deal, the bad guy just vanished, and the coat guy had hailed the girl a cab. A real gentleman. Looked like their Englishman was some kind of moonlight vigilante.
The black coated mystery shrugged. "More or less. You want a smoke?"
"Sure, yeah," she said, straightening out her shirt and reaching for the offer from the end of his extended hand. "Gotta light?" He tossed her a silver Zippo. A nice one. She lit up and tossed it back so he could do the same. He smoked the same brand Bobby did. That was nice. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. You mind if I grab you a taxi? Get you where you're goin'?"
"I'm going to Norms."
"Funny thing, that. So am I. Mean blackberry pie. I'll walk you. Unless…you think I'm one of the baddies, too."
Carlene looked over her shoulder at the front door of the club. Tim hadn't shut off the lights yet. She just wanted a place to sit down. "Um, yeah, okay. What the fuck. Let's go."
In the diner light he looked different. Pale sonovabitch. Good skin, though. Nice eyes and a face by Michelangelo. He liked to talk and smoke between bites of pie and she just liked to smoke and drink coffee so it made for a decent way to pass the dregs of the evening. Lane, the night manager, didn't give a shit about the smoking laws after 2AM. Always a good thing.
"So I tell this wanker, lay off the bird or else your arse is flambe. He thinks it's all bollocks and throws an open bottle of Evian at me. As if that's going to hurt. So I go for the lighter, see, and before he can find his bloody…this bothern' you?"
"Huh? No. I've seen plenty of fights. I've been in enough of them, too. Not much surprises me. So what are you anyway? Some freelance ninja guy?"
He thought this over. "You mean the robot kind? Cause no. Real boy here. Well, more or less. Although robots, you see, they're serious business. Not a lot of folks know it but they can pass for anyone, the technology they got goin'. Wouldn't believe half the shit I see coming through the lab."
Every word he said was getting more confusing. Or maybe it was just the mud-like coffee. "Uh, lab? You work in some robot lab?"
He coughed on a puff of smoke and waved it from his face. "God, no. I'm a free agent, see. But the boss--and trust me when I say you don't want me to start gobshiteing over him--he runs the big show. Has all the pretty desks and cars and computers he likes. Bloody ponce. He's got too big for his trousers, no mistake. And you'd think he'd at least clear out a box room for the likes of yours truly, but no bleedin' way. Spike's gotta take what scraps he can get because…"
"Spike?"
"Uh, oh, yeah. That's my name…what?"
"Sorry. Didn't mean to laugh. It's just…" she thought of the stake souvenir she was carrying in her bag. "…appropriate. I guess."
He got quiet. For a moment at least. "Never thought much about it. Had it for ages. Just a name, you know."
"Ages? You're not that old. Are you?"
Spike looked a shade depressed.
"I'm sorry. I suck at small talk. I'm just really pissed off right now. I was supposed to get a ride after work, but the asshole didn't show up and I lost my key and now I'm locked out of my own home and fuck! That's the second time this week."
Spike shrugged. "I got a place close by. Not much. Hole in the ground. Sheets are clean. Oh, and that's not a come on, if you were wonderin'. I don't sleep much nights. Got telly and a gamebox. I can keep the sound low, if you like. Hate to think of you being stuck here all night, is all."
Carlene smiled despite herself. He had to be the oddest guy she'd ever met outside of work. Sweet, though. "I don't know. I don't suppose you're one of those charming serial killer types, are you?"
Spike shook his head vehemently. "Oh, no. Got a soul and everything. Harmless."
This made her laugh. "Look, I've heard you've been keeping an eye out for us girls. That's real nice. Thanks."
He grinned back. "No problem, Sunshine."
His place was a hole in the ground. Grey and dark but clean. Not much for windows or comforts. It freaked her a little at first, but she'd taken worse-seeming offers in her time. At least the place didn't smell like a meth lab. In fact it didn't smell like much of anything, except cigarettes.
"You just move in?" she asked, looking around.
Spike hung back, careful not to crowd her. "Yeah, a few months on now. Needs a woman's touch. I'm not one for decorating anymore. It's a place to sleep and shower, not much else."
"Looks like you don't eat here, either." She said, noting the general lack of anything on the kitchen counters.
"Nope. I eat at the office," he said, plopping down on the couch and flipping on the TV with an ancient remote. "Got some beers in the fridge if you like. Help yourself."
"Thanks. Uh, would I be a total bitch if I just took a shower and crashed?"
He looked up from his channel surfing. "No. Whatever you like. Help yourself. Towels are under the sink."
She grabbed her bag and opened the narrow door by the bed. Coat closet. Empty as well. Jeeze, this guy had nothing.
"Oh, it's over…"
"I figured it out. Thanks."
The bathroom was plain and nearly empty, too. Some basic hygienic supplies. Razor, hair gel, no toilet paper--pretty typical of single guys. Carlene peed in the shower while she washed her hair with his shampoo. It was manly and tingly and felt great. The wig she wore dancing always made her scalp itchy.
There were plenty of towels, nice big fluffy ones. She scrubbed her hair dry and snaked an inch of Colgate from the medicine cabinet for a quick finger brushing. Then it was what to put on. Her t-shirt was fucked. She put on a pair of shorts and held a towel up over her breasts to open the door.
"Hey, Spike. Got a shirt I could borrow? Mine's all beat up."
"Yeah, hang on." He got up off the couch and went to a low dresser. He fumbled around and started to pull out something pink, then changed his mind and pulled out something black and short sleeved. "Here you are, love," he said, coming over to hand it off to her, eyes averted. He really was sweet. Too bad about the bed. Didn't look like he was used to much company.
She stepped back in and exchanged the towel for the shirt. Soft cotton, nice and clean. A little big, but at least it didn't smell like armpit. She pulled a brush through her hair, and after taking care of a few blackheads, came out. Spike had turned the bed down for her and was now occupied with a beer and a game. "Bloody, buggering gremlins…"
He didn't look up from his pitched battle. She went over to the bed, slid in and turned off the table light. The mattress was lopsided, but the sheets were soft and smelled nice. She wrapped herself up in them and set her head on the pillow.
"Telly's not too loud, is it?"
"No. It's fine. I'm fine."
"Good. G'night, then."
Carlene closed her eyes and fell asleep. Disturbing images sprang into her head, all shook up from the scare in the alley and she jolted awake. Spike hadn't moved. He still had a beer between his knees (although less of it now) and a controller under his wiggling fingers. Shit, Carrie. Chill out. If he wanted to hurt you or something he'd have done it already. Hell, he could have done it behind the club. He's alright, this one. And not bad to look at, either. What the hell was his story anyway? Free agent for some guy downtown with ninja robots? Yeah, right.
She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. "I think I'll take you up on that beer." Spike set his buttons down and started to stand. "Oh, no. Don't get up. I can get it, really. You've been too nice already."
"It's no trouble," he said, half up. "I don't mind."
Carlene skittered into the kitchen and grabbed the fridge handle. "Got it!"
He shrugged and picked his game back up. Soft explosions and shouts resumed. The fridge was almost bare, too. There were a couple six-packs of Chinese or Japanese beer, a pizza box and the largest jar of peanut butter Carlene had ever seen. She pulled out a green bottle and shut the door. Damn, it was one of those real bottle caps. Foreign brands were always behind the times. She pulled the nearest drawer for an opener. Empty.
Spike was beside her. "Shit!"
"Whoa!" he said, catching the bottle before it slipped to the floor. "Lemme help with that." He knocked the top against the edge of the tiles and the cap went flying. Foam leapt up and over the sides.
"Sorry, oh, shit. It's on the floor," she said, taking the foamy beverage out of his hands and licking the runoff as best she could.
"No worries. Maid will get it," he said. "Sorry about startling you. I should have made a noise or something. Forgot this hasn't been the best of nights for you. That rat bastard hurt you at all?"
Carlene finished her swallow. Not bad for cheap Asian brew. Maybe it was Korean. She shook her head. "No, he didn't. I'm okay. Just jumpy."
"That's understandable. If you like, I'll join you at the table."
She looked at the vacant brown Formica. "Sure."
Spike flicked on the kitchen bulb and pulled a chair for her. He went to the fridge for a cool one and plucked an ashtray and cigarette pack from a cupboard. He popped his bottle cap on the counter and sucked down a third of it in two swallows. Nice throat.
"Can I bum another smoke?" she asked as he took the chair across from to her.
He grinned and pushed the pack and lighter toward her. "Ladies first."
"Thanks again," she said, lighting up. "I don't usually put them away like this. But fuck it, lousy night."
He nodded and lit one himself. He took a thoughtful drag and looked at her. "It's different."
"Huh?"
"Sorry, I was meaning your hair."
Carlene scrunched her spiky red bangs. "Oh, yeah. The blonde thing, that's a wig. Why, you prefer blondes?"
She'd meant to be teasing but he gave it thought. "I reckon I do. Well, no, not all the time." He looked a little embarrassed. Then sad again.
"It's Carlene."
"It's…? Oh, your name."
"My friends call me Car or Carrie. Whatever you want. I'm surprised you recognized me without the wig. Most guys just expect to see the act. The whole blonde bombshell thing. My whole family's redheaded, though."
"It's nice," he said. "Suits you. The name and the hair."
"Carlene's my grandmother's name. It's old South. I'm from Memphis originally. How about you? You from England or something?"
"Yeah, London."
"How long you been in the States?"
This took him a sec. "Uh, '72 or thereabouts. Was in New York for a spell. Then came to California. Been across the pond a few, but something about LA keeps pulling me back."
"1972? Did you come over with family?"
"Um, yeah. I did. With Dru."
Drew? Older Brother? Oh, shut the fuck up, Carrie, you're getting too nosy. "I'm surprised you kept the accent."
He chuckled at this. "Believe me, you don't want to hear me speak Yank."
"It's nice. Different. You're not like a lot of the guys who come in the club. We usually get the college frat boys or the aging 50-somethings who haven't had any in ten years. I guess that's why the girls talk about you."
"They do? Didn't think I was noticed much."
"Oh, get the fuck out. You with your coat and stake routine? You think people don't talk? What's your story, anyway? Why the midnight hero gig?"
Spike shrugged like he was going to blow her off, but then he stopped, took a swig of beer and looked at her. "Made a lot of bloody bad calls in my time. Just trying to make good, you know?"
"You like an ex-con or something?" That would make some sense, given his living arrangements. "It's okay if you are."
He grinned at this. "A little bit like that, yeah. I won't lie to you, I was a right bloody bastard most my life."
Carlene took another swallow. Now they were getting somewhere. "What made you change?" Let's hope it wasn't Jesus, or I'm outta here.
Spike smirked, shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
"All right. To the point. It was a girl."
"Isn't it always?"
"No, this one was different. She…fascinated me. Caught my eye in a way no bird had before. There was just something rare about her. Before I knew it I was in over my head. Arse over tit. Nothing I could do about it except try and be a better man. The kind of man I thought she wanted me to be."
"Did she love you?"
He gave her an odd smile. "She could hardly stand the sight of me most the time. Not her fault, I hadn't made much of an impression. Not to her kind, anyway. Had to take a good long look at myself, see what I could do about it."
"Did it work?"
"Not so much. I wasn't any good at it, being good. Hardly knew what it was anymore. Always been in it for myself. Selfish sod I was, I thought it'd be easy. She'd gone for the bad boy before, you see. So I thought I'd make a good show of it once or twice and have her in two shakes. Not so. She was much smarter than me. But then, most girls are. We were together, though. For a little while."
"How'd you manage that?"
"Had hardly a thing to do with me. It's what happened to her that changed things. Some bad bloody shit went down in her life and she went a bit barmy for a while. She got cold and hard and I guess wanted to beat it all out on someone. I was convenient, she said. She was right about that. Nothing in the world I wouldn't have done for her, suffered for her. Even if it meant nothing to her. All I had was hers. And for a while it was wonderful."
A wistful smile crossed is mouth a moment. Then he stuck a new cigarette in it. "Well, means sod-all, now."
"I don't get it…sod, what?"
He grinned as he worked the Zippo. "Means nothing. Whatever we had, it's gone. Long gone. Got no one but myself to blame for it."
"How long?"
He shook his head. "Years now. Hmm. Feels like yesterday. Love can be a damned bloody bitch, but I learned something from it all. You can't just have things by wanting them. You've got to earn it. I was so far beneath her. Had no business even asking her the time of day. But I went full out anyway. All I wanted was for her to love me. Just a little. She might have, there, at the end of it all. But it was all bollixed. I knew after she was gone what I needed to do."
"Amends?"
He winked. "Spot on."
Spike shifted in his chair and cracked his neck. He was done. "So what's your story?"
Carlene crushed out her cig and scratched her head. "Not much to it. Daddy was a prick so I left home at 15, worked my way to LA, took odd jobs. The usual. Didn't do the drug thing, though. I'm smarter than that. And dancing's the best way to make a living if you can shake it on the stage. I can clear $1500 a night if I work it right. I'm saving up for a beach trailer off Venice."
Spike looked impressed. Good, he didn't need to know the rest. Carlene looked over her shoulder at the TV. "So whatcha playing over here, Pac Man?"
"Some alien blasting lark. Therapy for me hands. Got in a spot of trouble a few weeks back." Spike wiggled his fingers and she could see a thin scar halfway up each forearm.
"Shit, how'd you get that?"
Spike shrugged, "What else. A girl."
"You think maybe you should lay off the girls for a while?" she teased.
Spike nodded and picked up the ashtray. "I have. Come on, I'll show you how to shoot."
Blowing up aliens was harder than it looked. Too many damn buttons to push. Spike set it up so they could fight the little blue fuckers together like a combat team. Except she had a little trouble adapting to being a team player.
"Now that there, you see. The red squishy you stepped over, that's your ammo. Push 'X' to load it. No, the other gun. That's the alien needler, you want the machine gun. Good, now, yeah, that's my fellow hollerin' cause you just shot him in the arse again."
Carlene smiled. "I like shooting you in the ass. It's fun."
Spike sighed. "Blighters are taking over the planet and you're just gonna let 'em have it. Aw, hell, there goes my head."
"Oops."
"Women." Spike cocked a look at her. "You've got it in for me, too, don't you?"
"What, me? Not a chance. Never shoot the hand that offers you free beer."
He grinned and paused the game, holding up his empty bottle. "Want another?"
"Naw, I'm good." He got up and strolled back to his kitchen. He had a walk on him, that was sure. Part swagger, part cat-like grace. She couldn't place it but something about this guy was really making her want to dig a little deeper. Dig in a way that didn't involve a whole lot of talking. He'd been in the club a lot over the last few months. She was remembering him now. Time was that a customer was just another face, not somebody you paid a whole lot of attention to. But she was sure she'd given Spike a jiggle once or twice, climbed up into his lap and did the grind--slow and low, that's how they liked it. She'd brushed over his leather while he sat on his hands. House rules. No touching.
She caught him up from behind while he was tossing the bottles into the trash under the sink. She put her hands on his back and he stood up quick, turning a surprised eye to her.
"I know you said this wasn't a come on. But there's something I'd like to do for you."
Spike looked uncertain. His hands gripped the counter as her arms slid around his middle. He was a cord of muscle--hard and tense--just like she wanted him to be under all that black. "Come here and sit down."
She led him over to one of the turned out kitchen chairs and parked him down on it. She straddled his lap and pushed his shoulders back until they rested against the chair back. He looked up at her, his lovely blues both a little confused and curious. His arms immediately dropped to his sides in compliance.
"No," she said, lifting his cool hand to her hip. "This time you get to touch."
Slowly, his other hand came up and found a match on her side. "If you want I can put on the wig. I've got it in my bag."
"No…" he said abruptly, releasing her. Carlene started to get up but he put his hands back on her. "No! No, I mean, yeah, but not the wig. I like the red hair fine." He trembled a bit. Embarrassment? Desire? Both?
She leaned in close. "Shhh, it's okay. Anything you don't like, just say so. I'm not gonna worry about it. Just want to make it good."
He breathed a little funny as she placed a light kiss on his forehead. Nerves. Cold hands and everything, must have been years since this guy had any. She dropped her lips to his neck and nibbled while her hips rolled into motion over his denim. Only took a sec to get him hard. He looked good in those jeans, narrow hips and a fine bulge testing the button fly. She brushed it like a teddy bear with her bottom and his hands gripped her hips a little harder. She took one of them and held it to her breast where he gave her a gentle squeeze. "You can kiss me if you like. Would you like to kiss?"
His eyes closed and he nodded. He kept his mouth closed while she touched him, lip to lip. Jeeze, even his mouth was cool, so she gave his lower lip a warm lick. He liked that and let out a little gasp, letting her in. She put her hands in his hair and kissed him slow and deep. Oh, he was nice. He had a tongue of velvet. He didn't taste too much like cigarettes like he ought to. She did and it almost made her want to run back for a quick toothpaste swish in the bathroom, but he was getting into it now. His palms dropped and found their way across her ass, encouraging her grinds. He rocked up into her pelvis, wanting it and that notion was getting her all kinds of worked up.
She kissed him on the nose and stood up to drop down between his knees. His eyes were overcast as she stroked up his thighs to his belt buckle. "You got a condom?" she asked as she worked the leather loose.
"Um…what?"
She smiled at his confusion. So cute.
"Uh…no. Shit."
"S'okay." She patted his leg reassuringly and resumed undoing his pants. "I think I've got some in my bag somewhere. I want to see you first, though."
He relaxed a bit and let her reach in to draw him out. No BVDs. Interesting. Little fish and tug--here we go, whoa, nice turtleneck. Didn't see those much on white boys. Must be the English thing. She gave him a few good strokes. He grunted and shifted his ass to ease his waistband down for better access. Pale everywhere, cock, ass, thighs. So he's a chestnut minus the dye job. Sexy. She definitely wanted to suck on this one.
She gave him another good pull and kissed his balls. He moaned. Then she got up. "Be right back. Don't move an inch."
Carlene went over to the couch and rummaged around the bottom of her bag. Better be one in here. She could sense this guy was one step away from calling it off if it meant a trip to Rite Aid. She was wet as an ice rink in June, too. She really wanted his guy. There was something incredibly hot about his…not being hot. Must be a poor circulation issue. Not that his anatomy reflected anything of the kind. She had plans to make a marked improvement to his body temperature if she could just find...
"Got one!"
He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled a little. Good sign. Might not bolt on her yet. She came back to him and tore the package open. It was the glow-in-the-dark kind, but if they kept the lights on he might not notice. He certainly didn't mind her rolling it on and squeezing it tight around the base. Mmm, there might be a naughty streak here. She opened her mouth and swallowed him down.
"God…" he said and his head fell back. There was something else he said too, a moment later, something about thanking Jesus for warm girls. She'd give him warm all right. She sucked him through the rubber, pumping him with her fist and working the sheltered head with her tongue and lips. He liked that quite a bit, and groaned openly when she added a bit of teeth. Ooh, there's my naughty boy. She continued to stroke into his shy thrusts as she dipped to suckle his balls one by one. She took each furry oval into her mouth and rocked it gently until it warmed. He tensed and his mouth opened in little pants.
"Let…let me…" he was saying between breaths.
She lifted her head. "Shh, baby, this one's on me."
He nodded but his arm reached for her. "Closer…" he said all raspy and her clit did a little back flip for him. She couldn't argue with the fine smolder he had goin' on that gods-did-weep face. She stood up and slipped off her shorts, letting them drop to the floor. Spike's tongue made a brief appearance, licking his lower lip as he watched her strip to a bit of damp green lace under his borrowed shirt. "Come here, baby," he said and she wasn't giving him any argument.
He pulled her back into his lap and held her face in his hands. Nice strong hands. Must keep them busy in that lab or wherever. He brought her close and kissed her, this time taking control of it, getting to know her mouth real good. His boner bobbed against her panties and she tilted her hips to rub her silk-covered clit against the rolled rubber rim. He saw what she was doing and kissed her harder, taking a breast in his hand and feeling around for her nipple through the black cotton.
"You want my tits?" she asked, crossing her arms and lifting the shirt off over her head. He blinked at them in stunned appreciation. She cupped them underneath with both hands, lifting, pressing them together, pinching the pinkies. What a million-or-so years of evolution couldn't do to stop a guy cold. "Go on, taste 'em."
His eyes did the oddest thing, they looked up. "Never…never done this."
"Huh? You'd better be kidding."
"I'm…I don't mean. Of course I've…bloody hell, just not for the night, you know. It's not what I was thinking, asking you over."
Ah, she got it. He didn't want her getting the wrong idea about him, that he was easy or something. Or that he'd use her occupation to his advantage. Shit, did he want to break her heart? "I told you, this is for you, babe," she said and brought his mouth to her nipple. He gave it all up then, whatever'd been holding him back quit the fight and he groaned, suckled her good, cupped her ass, pulling her panties aside and lifted her up and on--god, fuck, hell, yesss.
TITLE: Sunshine
AUTHOR: europanya
WEBSITE: www.geocities.com/europanya/spike.html
EMAIL: europanya@yahoo.com
LIVEJOURNAL: www.livejournal.com/users/euro_fics
PAIRING: Spike/Sunshine (Yeah, from the Peppermint Stick! Except, we all know that's probably not her real name.)
RATING: M
SUMMARY: In a dark alley after club hours, a girl finds herself getting rescued by an unlikely hero in black leather. And that's just how the evening begins…
NOTES: I've been itching to write this one ever since I watched the first half of AtS S5 on DVD. I loved Spike's dark dank apartment and his lonely hero act--asking damsels out for beer and Sex Pistols. I thought, what if you took Spike to bed and didn't know he was a vampire? Didn't even know demons existed? How sexy would that be? And how sweet and lonely and gentlemanly could he be? It's story time! Don't worry, Buffy gets a nod, too. But let's face it, he's a guy and when was the last time he got any? And no, Harmony doesn't count!
Sunshine
by europanya
"Fucking asshole!" Carlene kicked at a Coke can and watched it tumble down the back steps of the club. 2:30 in the morning and Bobby still hadn't shown to pick her up. Even if he did show, he'd be so fucking drunk no way would she be getting in the van with him.
"Need a ride, Car?" Timothy was at the back door, trash bags in his large hands. Last dump of the night. In another fifteen minutes the last of the lights would go out and the bolts would slide into place.
"Thanks, Tim. But even if you got me home, I've got no way of getting in. Asshole's got my only set of keys."
"We could break a window," he suggested, tossing the bags over the railing and down into the dumpster with a thud.
"Naw, Bobby would freak. I've had enough of that this week."
"Listen, Car, don't let no pinky-dick mess with you. You've got more brains than that."
She shrugged. "He's not that bad, really. Just selfish and pigheaded and couldn't give a shit about anything that doesn't come in a 16 oz bottle."
"Come on, Car. Let me walk you to Norms."
Carlene shifted her dressing bag higher up her shoulder. "Yeah, alright."
Tim held the door open for her but she declined. "I'm gonna have a smoke first, Timmy. I'll meet you around the front."
"Okay, sweetness. Be right back."
Carlene dug around in her bag and found her pack. She slid a cig between her lips and sucked on the filter while she dug further for her lighter. Silky g-strings, tassels, curling iron cords and fishbowl heels had woven themselves into a hopeless knot. Then she remembered, she'd loaned the lighter to Tanya about three hours ago for her break. The bitch had promised to toss the Bic back in her sack. Goddammit.
Carlene pulled the cold cig out of her mouth and stepped down off the loading platform and made for the alley to swing around to the front to ask Tim for a pack of matches. No sooner had her sore feet squeaked in their sneaker soles around the bend when she was grabbed from behind.
"Shit!" A cold strong hand covered her mouth, the other twisted her arms back and thrust her face-first into the block wall. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
"Hey there, girly. Wanna date?" The voice was high and wheezy. The fingers bruising her mouth felt thin and bony. He couldn't have been much bigger than her, but shit he was strong. She shook her head and his fingers left her mouth to close over her throat instead in a tight squeeze. She couldn't breathe.
Don't want to die. Let him have it and you'll walk away, Carrie. You will, just be still. Her heart beat furiously. He pressed his dick to the ass of her jeans, pinning her more firmly.
"Mmmm, you smell good, girly," the piece of shit sneered.
She gasped for air as he pulled her t-shirt collar down with a rip. His cold tongue licked her throat.
"Nice and tasty…"
"Hey, you, arseface! Hands off the girl."
"What the fuck?!" Her attacker whipped her around, still holding her by the neck and arm. Another man was walking into the alley, thumbs hooked in his belt, approaching at a casual gait. Carlene forced her lungs to scream but all that came out was a sick whimper. "Scram, dickhead. I got to this one first."
The man reached into the pocket of his long black coat and pulled out a knife. Holy Jesus. He twirled it about in his hand like some John Wayne fucker as he came close. The streetlight glowed off his hair.
"I'm the one your nanny told stories about," he said and knife and man moved faster than Carlene's eyes could follow. She felt something heavy strike the freak behind her and then, nothing. She was free. She drew in a ragged breath and stumbled forward into the legs of the man in the black coat. She gathered herself and sent him a knee to remember.
"Bloody…ouch! Some thanks I get! "
She ran only a few steps before her bad ankle gave and she went sliding into the pavement. "Fuck!"
"Hey! Hey! Easy. Don't hurt yourself. I'm not giving chase. Just wanted to get you safe!"
Carlene scrambled to her knees, getting up onto her good leg, ready to hop the rest of the way around to the front of the club and fling herself against the front doors screaming for Tim. But shit, she knew this guy. He was the Englishman. At least that's what the girls all called him. Quiet, polite, eyes like ice and a voice like chocolate fondue. Paid $50 a lap dance instead of the house $30 special. Always sat in the right third row table with his boots up on the opposite chair drinking whisky. She knew him. Peppermint Stick regular.
"What the fuck do you want?" she asked.
He held up his hands and backed away. "No harm, little one. You want, I'll go fetch your bouncer. But I'm not letting you out of my sight to get caught by another rat. These streets are murder this time of night."
"What happened? You chase that other guy off? I saw you pull a knife."
"A knife? No such thing. Stake is all." He flipped the item in question out of his pocket and tossed it to the ground in front of her. She bent and picked it up. It was a thick piece of turned wood, whittled to a nice sharp point.
"You stabbed him with this?"
The white head nodded. "Works a lot better than you'd think."
"So that's what you do when you're not in the club? You go around stabbing assholes with a piece of wood?" She'd overheard a couple of the girls talk about this guy in a long black coat skulking around after hours. Rumor was he'd taken down a mugger last week and saved Katie her tip money. Same deal, the bad guy just vanished, and the coat guy had hailed the girl a cab. A real gentleman. Looked like their Englishman was some kind of moonlight vigilante.
The black coated mystery shrugged. "More or less. You want a smoke?"
"Sure, yeah," she said, straightening out her shirt and reaching for the offer from the end of his extended hand. "Gotta light?" He tossed her a silver Zippo. A nice one. She lit up and tossed it back so he could do the same. He smoked the same brand Bobby did. That was nice. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. You mind if I grab you a taxi? Get you where you're goin'?"
"I'm going to Norms."
"Funny thing, that. So am I. Mean blackberry pie. I'll walk you. Unless…you think I'm one of the baddies, too."
Carlene looked over her shoulder at the front door of the club. Tim hadn't shut off the lights yet. She just wanted a place to sit down. "Um, yeah, okay. What the fuck. Let's go."
In the diner light he looked different. Pale sonovabitch. Good skin, though. Nice eyes and a face by Michelangelo. He liked to talk and smoke between bites of pie and she just liked to smoke and drink coffee so it made for a decent way to pass the dregs of the evening. Lane, the night manager, didn't give a shit about the smoking laws after 2AM. Always a good thing.
"So I tell this wanker, lay off the bird or else your arse is flambe. He thinks it's all bollocks and throws an open bottle of Evian at me. As if that's going to hurt. So I go for the lighter, see, and before he can find his bloody…this bothern' you?"
"Huh? No. I've seen plenty of fights. I've been in enough of them, too. Not much surprises me. So what are you anyway? Some freelance ninja guy?"
He thought this over. "You mean the robot kind? Cause no. Real boy here. Well, more or less. Although robots, you see, they're serious business. Not a lot of folks know it but they can pass for anyone, the technology they got goin'. Wouldn't believe half the shit I see coming through the lab."
Every word he said was getting more confusing. Or maybe it was just the mud-like coffee. "Uh, lab? You work in some robot lab?"
He coughed on a puff of smoke and waved it from his face. "God, no. I'm a free agent, see. But the boss--and trust me when I say you don't want me to start gobshiteing over him--he runs the big show. Has all the pretty desks and cars and computers he likes. Bloody ponce. He's got too big for his trousers, no mistake. And you'd think he'd at least clear out a box room for the likes of yours truly, but no bleedin' way. Spike's gotta take what scraps he can get because…"
"Spike?"
"Uh, oh, yeah. That's my name…what?"
"Sorry. Didn't mean to laugh. It's just…" she thought of the stake souvenir she was carrying in her bag. "…appropriate. I guess."
He got quiet. For a moment at least. "Never thought much about it. Had it for ages. Just a name, you know."
"Ages? You're not that old. Are you?"
Spike looked a shade depressed.
"I'm sorry. I suck at small talk. I'm just really pissed off right now. I was supposed to get a ride after work, but the asshole didn't show up and I lost my key and now I'm locked out of my own home and fuck! That's the second time this week."
Spike shrugged. "I got a place close by. Not much. Hole in the ground. Sheets are clean. Oh, and that's not a come on, if you were wonderin'. I don't sleep much nights. Got telly and a gamebox. I can keep the sound low, if you like. Hate to think of you being stuck here all night, is all."
Carlene smiled despite herself. He had to be the oddest guy she'd ever met outside of work. Sweet, though. "I don't know. I don't suppose you're one of those charming serial killer types, are you?"
Spike shook his head vehemently. "Oh, no. Got a soul and everything. Harmless."
This made her laugh. "Look, I've heard you've been keeping an eye out for us girls. That's real nice. Thanks."
He grinned back. "No problem, Sunshine."
His place was a hole in the ground. Grey and dark but clean. Not much for windows or comforts. It freaked her a little at first, but she'd taken worse-seeming offers in her time. At least the place didn't smell like a meth lab. In fact it didn't smell like much of anything, except cigarettes.
"You just move in?" she asked, looking around.
Spike hung back, careful not to crowd her. "Yeah, a few months on now. Needs a woman's touch. I'm not one for decorating anymore. It's a place to sleep and shower, not much else."
"Looks like you don't eat here, either." She said, noting the general lack of anything on the kitchen counters.
"Nope. I eat at the office," he said, plopping down on the couch and flipping on the TV with an ancient remote. "Got some beers in the fridge if you like. Help yourself."
"Thanks. Uh, would I be a total bitch if I just took a shower and crashed?"
He looked up from his channel surfing. "No. Whatever you like. Help yourself. Towels are under the sink."
She grabbed her bag and opened the narrow door by the bed. Coat closet. Empty as well. Jeeze, this guy had nothing.
"Oh, it's over…"
"I figured it out. Thanks."
The bathroom was plain and nearly empty, too. Some basic hygienic supplies. Razor, hair gel, no toilet paper--pretty typical of single guys. Carlene peed in the shower while she washed her hair with his shampoo. It was manly and tingly and felt great. The wig she wore dancing always made her scalp itchy.
There were plenty of towels, nice big fluffy ones. She scrubbed her hair dry and snaked an inch of Colgate from the medicine cabinet for a quick finger brushing. Then it was what to put on. Her t-shirt was fucked. She put on a pair of shorts and held a towel up over her breasts to open the door.
"Hey, Spike. Got a shirt I could borrow? Mine's all beat up."
"Yeah, hang on." He got up off the couch and went to a low dresser. He fumbled around and started to pull out something pink, then changed his mind and pulled out something black and short sleeved. "Here you are, love," he said, coming over to hand it off to her, eyes averted. He really was sweet. Too bad about the bed. Didn't look like he was used to much company.
She stepped back in and exchanged the towel for the shirt. Soft cotton, nice and clean. A little big, but at least it didn't smell like armpit. She pulled a brush through her hair, and after taking care of a few blackheads, came out. Spike had turned the bed down for her and was now occupied with a beer and a game. "Bloody, buggering gremlins…"
He didn't look up from his pitched battle. She went over to the bed, slid in and turned off the table light. The mattress was lopsided, but the sheets were soft and smelled nice. She wrapped herself up in them and set her head on the pillow.
"Telly's not too loud, is it?"
"No. It's fine. I'm fine."
"Good. G'night, then."
Carlene closed her eyes and fell asleep. Disturbing images sprang into her head, all shook up from the scare in the alley and she jolted awake. Spike hadn't moved. He still had a beer between his knees (although less of it now) and a controller under his wiggling fingers. Shit, Carrie. Chill out. If he wanted to hurt you or something he'd have done it already. Hell, he could have done it behind the club. He's alright, this one. And not bad to look at, either. What the hell was his story anyway? Free agent for some guy downtown with ninja robots? Yeah, right.
She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. "I think I'll take you up on that beer." Spike set his buttons down and started to stand. "Oh, no. Don't get up. I can get it, really. You've been too nice already."
"It's no trouble," he said, half up. "I don't mind."
Carlene skittered into the kitchen and grabbed the fridge handle. "Got it!"
He shrugged and picked his game back up. Soft explosions and shouts resumed. The fridge was almost bare, too. There were a couple six-packs of Chinese or Japanese beer, a pizza box and the largest jar of peanut butter Carlene had ever seen. She pulled out a green bottle and shut the door. Damn, it was one of those real bottle caps. Foreign brands were always behind the times. She pulled the nearest drawer for an opener. Empty.
Spike was beside her. "Shit!"
"Whoa!" he said, catching the bottle before it slipped to the floor. "Lemme help with that." He knocked the top against the edge of the tiles and the cap went flying. Foam leapt up and over the sides.
"Sorry, oh, shit. It's on the floor," she said, taking the foamy beverage out of his hands and licking the runoff as best she could.
"No worries. Maid will get it," he said. "Sorry about startling you. I should have made a noise or something. Forgot this hasn't been the best of nights for you. That rat bastard hurt you at all?"
Carlene finished her swallow. Not bad for cheap Asian brew. Maybe it was Korean. She shook her head. "No, he didn't. I'm okay. Just jumpy."
"That's understandable. If you like, I'll join you at the table."
She looked at the vacant brown Formica. "Sure."
Spike flicked on the kitchen bulb and pulled a chair for her. He went to the fridge for a cool one and plucked an ashtray and cigarette pack from a cupboard. He popped his bottle cap on the counter and sucked down a third of it in two swallows. Nice throat.
"Can I bum another smoke?" she asked as he took the chair across from to her.
He grinned and pushed the pack and lighter toward her. "Ladies first."
"Thanks again," she said, lighting up. "I don't usually put them away like this. But fuck it, lousy night."
He nodded and lit one himself. He took a thoughtful drag and looked at her. "It's different."
"Huh?"
"Sorry, I was meaning your hair."
Carlene scrunched her spiky red bangs. "Oh, yeah. The blonde thing, that's a wig. Why, you prefer blondes?"
She'd meant to be teasing but he gave it thought. "I reckon I do. Well, no, not all the time." He looked a little embarrassed. Then sad again.
"It's Carlene."
"It's…? Oh, your name."
"My friends call me Car or Carrie. Whatever you want. I'm surprised you recognized me without the wig. Most guys just expect to see the act. The whole blonde bombshell thing. My whole family's redheaded, though."
"It's nice," he said. "Suits you. The name and the hair."
"Carlene's my grandmother's name. It's old South. I'm from Memphis originally. How about you? You from England or something?"
"Yeah, London."
"How long you been in the States?"
This took him a sec. "Uh, '72 or thereabouts. Was in New York for a spell. Then came to California. Been across the pond a few, but something about LA keeps pulling me back."
"1972? Did you come over with family?"
"Um, yeah. I did. With Dru."
Drew? Older Brother? Oh, shut the fuck up, Carrie, you're getting too nosy. "I'm surprised you kept the accent."
He chuckled at this. "Believe me, you don't want to hear me speak Yank."
"It's nice. Different. You're not like a lot of the guys who come in the club. We usually get the college frat boys or the aging 50-somethings who haven't had any in ten years. I guess that's why the girls talk about you."
"They do? Didn't think I was noticed much."
"Oh, get the fuck out. You with your coat and stake routine? You think people don't talk? What's your story, anyway? Why the midnight hero gig?"
Spike shrugged like he was going to blow her off, but then he stopped, took a swig of beer and looked at her. "Made a lot of bloody bad calls in my time. Just trying to make good, you know?"
"You like an ex-con or something?" That would make some sense, given his living arrangements. "It's okay if you are."
He grinned at this. "A little bit like that, yeah. I won't lie to you, I was a right bloody bastard most my life."
Carlene took another swallow. Now they were getting somewhere. "What made you change?" Let's hope it wasn't Jesus, or I'm outta here.
Spike smirked, shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
"All right. To the point. It was a girl."
"Isn't it always?"
"No, this one was different. She…fascinated me. Caught my eye in a way no bird had before. There was just something rare about her. Before I knew it I was in over my head. Arse over tit. Nothing I could do about it except try and be a better man. The kind of man I thought she wanted me to be."
"Did she love you?"
He gave her an odd smile. "She could hardly stand the sight of me most the time. Not her fault, I hadn't made much of an impression. Not to her kind, anyway. Had to take a good long look at myself, see what I could do about it."
"Did it work?"
"Not so much. I wasn't any good at it, being good. Hardly knew what it was anymore. Always been in it for myself. Selfish sod I was, I thought it'd be easy. She'd gone for the bad boy before, you see. So I thought I'd make a good show of it once or twice and have her in two shakes. Not so. She was much smarter than me. But then, most girls are. We were together, though. For a little while."
"How'd you manage that?"
"Had hardly a thing to do with me. It's what happened to her that changed things. Some bad bloody shit went down in her life and she went a bit barmy for a while. She got cold and hard and I guess wanted to beat it all out on someone. I was convenient, she said. She was right about that. Nothing in the world I wouldn't have done for her, suffered for her. Even if it meant nothing to her. All I had was hers. And for a while it was wonderful."
A wistful smile crossed is mouth a moment. Then he stuck a new cigarette in it. "Well, means sod-all, now."
"I don't get it…sod, what?"
He grinned as he worked the Zippo. "Means nothing. Whatever we had, it's gone. Long gone. Got no one but myself to blame for it."
"How long?"
He shook his head. "Years now. Hmm. Feels like yesterday. Love can be a damned bloody bitch, but I learned something from it all. You can't just have things by wanting them. You've got to earn it. I was so far beneath her. Had no business even asking her the time of day. But I went full out anyway. All I wanted was for her to love me. Just a little. She might have, there, at the end of it all. But it was all bollixed. I knew after she was gone what I needed to do."
"Amends?"
He winked. "Spot on."
Spike shifted in his chair and cracked his neck. He was done. "So what's your story?"
Carlene crushed out her cig and scratched her head. "Not much to it. Daddy was a prick so I left home at 15, worked my way to LA, took odd jobs. The usual. Didn't do the drug thing, though. I'm smarter than that. And dancing's the best way to make a living if you can shake it on the stage. I can clear $1500 a night if I work it right. I'm saving up for a beach trailer off Venice."
Spike looked impressed. Good, he didn't need to know the rest. Carlene looked over her shoulder at the TV. "So whatcha playing over here, Pac Man?"
"Some alien blasting lark. Therapy for me hands. Got in a spot of trouble a few weeks back." Spike wiggled his fingers and she could see a thin scar halfway up each forearm.
"Shit, how'd you get that?"
Spike shrugged, "What else. A girl."
"You think maybe you should lay off the girls for a while?" she teased.
Spike nodded and picked up the ashtray. "I have. Come on, I'll show you how to shoot."
Blowing up aliens was harder than it looked. Too many damn buttons to push. Spike set it up so they could fight the little blue fuckers together like a combat team. Except she had a little trouble adapting to being a team player.
"Now that there, you see. The red squishy you stepped over, that's your ammo. Push 'X' to load it. No, the other gun. That's the alien needler, you want the machine gun. Good, now, yeah, that's my fellow hollerin' cause you just shot him in the arse again."
Carlene smiled. "I like shooting you in the ass. It's fun."
Spike sighed. "Blighters are taking over the planet and you're just gonna let 'em have it. Aw, hell, there goes my head."
"Oops."
"Women." Spike cocked a look at her. "You've got it in for me, too, don't you?"
"What, me? Not a chance. Never shoot the hand that offers you free beer."
He grinned and paused the game, holding up his empty bottle. "Want another?"
"Naw, I'm good." He got up and strolled back to his kitchen. He had a walk on him, that was sure. Part swagger, part cat-like grace. She couldn't place it but something about this guy was really making her want to dig a little deeper. Dig in a way that didn't involve a whole lot of talking. He'd been in the club a lot over the last few months. She was remembering him now. Time was that a customer was just another face, not somebody you paid a whole lot of attention to. But she was sure she'd given Spike a jiggle once or twice, climbed up into his lap and did the grind--slow and low, that's how they liked it. She'd brushed over his leather while he sat on his hands. House rules. No touching.
She caught him up from behind while he was tossing the bottles into the trash under the sink. She put her hands on his back and he stood up quick, turning a surprised eye to her.
"I know you said this wasn't a come on. But there's something I'd like to do for you."
Spike looked uncertain. His hands gripped the counter as her arms slid around his middle. He was a cord of muscle--hard and tense--just like she wanted him to be under all that black. "Come here and sit down."
She led him over to one of the turned out kitchen chairs and parked him down on it. She straddled his lap and pushed his shoulders back until they rested against the chair back. He looked up at her, his lovely blues both a little confused and curious. His arms immediately dropped to his sides in compliance.
"No," she said, lifting his cool hand to her hip. "This time you get to touch."
Slowly, his other hand came up and found a match on her side. "If you want I can put on the wig. I've got it in my bag."
"No…" he said abruptly, releasing her. Carlene started to get up but he put his hands back on her. "No! No, I mean, yeah, but not the wig. I like the red hair fine." He trembled a bit. Embarrassment? Desire? Both?
She leaned in close. "Shhh, it's okay. Anything you don't like, just say so. I'm not gonna worry about it. Just want to make it good."
He breathed a little funny as she placed a light kiss on his forehead. Nerves. Cold hands and everything, must have been years since this guy had any. She dropped her lips to his neck and nibbled while her hips rolled into motion over his denim. Only took a sec to get him hard. He looked good in those jeans, narrow hips and a fine bulge testing the button fly. She brushed it like a teddy bear with her bottom and his hands gripped her hips a little harder. She took one of them and held it to her breast where he gave her a gentle squeeze. "You can kiss me if you like. Would you like to kiss?"
His eyes closed and he nodded. He kept his mouth closed while she touched him, lip to lip. Jeeze, even his mouth was cool, so she gave his lower lip a warm lick. He liked that and let out a little gasp, letting her in. She put her hands in his hair and kissed him slow and deep. Oh, he was nice. He had a tongue of velvet. He didn't taste too much like cigarettes like he ought to. She did and it almost made her want to run back for a quick toothpaste swish in the bathroom, but he was getting into it now. His palms dropped and found their way across her ass, encouraging her grinds. He rocked up into her pelvis, wanting it and that notion was getting her all kinds of worked up.
She kissed him on the nose and stood up to drop down between his knees. His eyes were overcast as she stroked up his thighs to his belt buckle. "You got a condom?" she asked as she worked the leather loose.
"Um…what?"
She smiled at his confusion. So cute.
"Uh…no. Shit."
"S'okay." She patted his leg reassuringly and resumed undoing his pants. "I think I've got some in my bag somewhere. I want to see you first, though."
He relaxed a bit and let her reach in to draw him out. No BVDs. Interesting. Little fish and tug--here we go, whoa, nice turtleneck. Didn't see those much on white boys. Must be the English thing. She gave him a few good strokes. He grunted and shifted his ass to ease his waistband down for better access. Pale everywhere, cock, ass, thighs. So he's a chestnut minus the dye job. Sexy. She definitely wanted to suck on this one.
She gave him another good pull and kissed his balls. He moaned. Then she got up. "Be right back. Don't move an inch."
Carlene went over to the couch and rummaged around the bottom of her bag. Better be one in here. She could sense this guy was one step away from calling it off if it meant a trip to Rite Aid. She was wet as an ice rink in June, too. She really wanted his guy. There was something incredibly hot about his…not being hot. Must be a poor circulation issue. Not that his anatomy reflected anything of the kind. She had plans to make a marked improvement to his body temperature if she could just find...
"Got one!"
He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled a little. Good sign. Might not bolt on her yet. She came back to him and tore the package open. It was the glow-in-the-dark kind, but if they kept the lights on he might not notice. He certainly didn't mind her rolling it on and squeezing it tight around the base. Mmm, there might be a naughty streak here. She opened her mouth and swallowed him down.
"God…" he said and his head fell back. There was something else he said too, a moment later, something about thanking Jesus for warm girls. She'd give him warm all right. She sucked him through the rubber, pumping him with her fist and working the sheltered head with her tongue and lips. He liked that quite a bit, and groaned openly when she added a bit of teeth. Ooh, there's my naughty boy. She continued to stroke into his shy thrusts as she dipped to suckle his balls one by one. She took each furry oval into her mouth and rocked it gently until it warmed. He tensed and his mouth opened in little pants.
"Let…let me…" he was saying between breaths.
She lifted her head. "Shh, baby, this one's on me."
He nodded but his arm reached for her. "Closer…" he said all raspy and her clit did a little back flip for him. She couldn't argue with the fine smolder he had goin' on that gods-did-weep face. She stood up and slipped off her shorts, letting them drop to the floor. Spike's tongue made a brief appearance, licking his lower lip as he watched her strip to a bit of damp green lace under his borrowed shirt. "Come here, baby," he said and she wasn't giving him any argument.
He pulled her back into his lap and held her face in his hands. Nice strong hands. Must keep them busy in that lab or wherever. He brought her close and kissed her, this time taking control of it, getting to know her mouth real good. His boner bobbed against her panties and she tilted her hips to rub her silk-covered clit against the rolled rubber rim. He saw what she was doing and kissed her harder, taking a breast in his hand and feeling around for her nipple through the black cotton.
"You want my tits?" she asked, crossing her arms and lifting the shirt off over her head. He blinked at them in stunned appreciation. She cupped them underneath with both hands, lifting, pressing them together, pinching the pinkies. What a million-or-so years of evolution couldn't do to stop a guy cold. "Go on, taste 'em."
His eyes did the oddest thing, they looked up. "Never…never done this."
"Huh? You'd better be kidding."
"I'm…I don't mean. Of course I've…bloody hell, just not for the night, you know. It's not what I was thinking, asking you over."
Ah, she got it. He didn't want her getting the wrong idea about him, that he was easy or something. Or that he'd use her occupation to his advantage. Shit, did he want to break her heart? "I told you, this is for you, babe," she said and brought his mouth to her nipple. He gave it all up then, whatever'd been holding him back quit the fight and he groaned, suckled her good, cupped her ass, pulling her panties aside and lifted her up and on--god, fuck, hell, yesss.