'Distractions, Segues and Metafantasy' by Quinara
Another Spuffy phone conversation, which is most definitely not an argument, to balance with the last one (because who needs sleep when there is fic? Though because I am tired this title is definitely subject to change). Still post-NFA, but a bit later on and more like PG-13/R territory. 1000 words again, nothing requiring an AO3 warning. Inspiration loosely follows from the not exactly lightly suggestive opening of The Cure's Just Like Heaven - "Show me how you do that trick / The one that makes me scream" she said / "The one that makes me laugh" she said / And threw her arms around my neck. In which Spike and Buffy make their first attempt at, er, being more intimate via telecommunications...
Distractions, Segues and Metafantasy.
“OK, OK,” she whispered, flustered. Panicked. Not exactly how he wanted her. “And you’re sure Angel’s gone?”
Nevertheless, Spike was revelling in the freedom of the empty bedsit: his beer on the nightstand, his girl on the phone. “It’s my apartment, innit?” he explained, leaning back against his pillow. “Told him to get out for the night and he went.”
“And he didn’t… Guess?”
“Love,” he told her gently, not wanting her to get cold feet, “he doesn’t have the first bloody clue. I tell him to piss off every now and then normally; considering he’s the one who started this bloody mess, he doesn’t make a fuss.”
There was a shuffling noise down the phone, like she was pulling her knees to her chest. “So, um, how does this work, exactly?”
Softly, softly, that was the approach. It had taken the best part of a month for her to even consider the idea, after all. “Well,” he began gently. “The mechanics of it aren’t different from how you usually get off…”
Silence. That hadn’t scared her, had - “Oh, sorry,” she said suddenly, a little squeaky. “I nodded.”
“All right?”
“Yes. Got it.”
“OK.” He trod delicately, for the time being. “And, I suppose, if you have any... Bits and bobs, they might be -”
“Got them,” came her quick response. Surprisingly.
The surprise gave him a response of his own, though, which made him sit up in his bed. Probably had them out in front of her like stakes, he reckoned, all in a line. Maybe something picked out to match his size, her fingers running over it while she thought…
“Spike?”
“Yeah, what?” He shook his head, scattering the image. “Sorry.” This is embarrassing. “Got ahead of myself.”
“You know, I’m not sure our first time’s the best for going meta…” At least the laughter was back in her voice, even if it was at him.
“Yeah,” he agreed readily. “Yeah, er, so, where was I?” Quick clearing of his throat. “Right, yeah, well, there aren’t really any rules after that. Could go the route of chatting through some fantasies, or I could talk while you did…” Swallow. Oh, help him, he wasn’t ready for this; his jeans were killing him. “You could do whatever.” She giggled then, which didn’t help. “Or we could - direct something?”
There was a pause, after which she finally said, “Could we…” Then she sighed. “I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about this, and I was thinking, maybe, I mean - you’re still dressed, right?”
He looked down. T-shirt, socks, jeans, belt - yes, he was dressed, too bloody much so, as was very obvious now. “Yeah,” he said simply.
“I guess - it’s not pathetic, is it? I mean …” There was a blush on her face, he could hear it in the way she spoke, and it made him crave to hear her say more. “I thought we, um, I was hoping we could - talk? But lose the clothes, gain some sheets, maybe? Like we were - in bed?” Actual uncertainty started blanching the blush. “You know?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he approved quickly, already reaching down and pulling off a sock. “Sounds good.” There was no doubt about Buffy’s latent kink, so he wasn’t worried about this squibbing out long term. Hell, he thought, this was shaping up to be more than enough as it was: hearing movement down the line (that he knew was clothes being shed) had his fingers slipping on his button fly. Had him sitting on the side of the bed half-undressed, tilting weight of his cock in his hand while he shut his eyes and thought of her top, grazing…
“Ahem,” Buffy cleared her throat, causing a crackle in his ear. He jumped. “You’re not getting into bed, Spike.”
“Oh, right,” he replied, kicking his jeans the rest of the way down his legs. “It’s you, distracting - you and your clothes and your -” All of her, naked at the other end of the phone, undressed just for him, from her toes right up, up… “It’s been so long,” he explained, shaking his head once before he pulled off his shirt.
“For me too, you know!” she told him, a little hitch in her voice as his t-shirt went whumpf! on his jeans. “But at least I manage to stick with the programme.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And make sure you turn out the lights.”
“Bossy cow,” he grumbled, nevertheless doing just that as he climbed under the sheets. “Right. I’m here now. What’s next?”
Silence.
“Buffy?”
“Huh?” She sounded flustered, again. “Wha…?” But nicely. Oh ho, had somebody else tuned out for a minute? “I thought you were guiding me through this!” she tried to cover.
He affected an air of innocence. “We’re in your fantasy, aren’t we?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, before pausing. “Well, uh, I guess in my head this was where we talked about our favourite, um, times - with each other, you know?” Sounded all right to him, but she didn’t seem that keen anymore. “It was sexier in my head,” she complained, and he couldn’t help but snort at her indignation. “I thought we’d need more time before…”
He paused. Then he couldn’t help himself. “Bit humid down south, eh?”
“What do you think?” she replied bluntly, exasperation in her voice.
“Hmm…” Now he smiled, rolling on his back and feeling inspiration come. “I think the situation needs remedying - and that you’ve got just the instrument. Maybe feels something like what I’ve got with me right now?” Perfect opening for his right hand there, one slow sweep up dry skin while her breathing hitched again, sheets rustling. “Sort of thing you wouldn’t mind some hints on how it can be used…?”
“Um, maybe?” Her breathing quickened slightly. Result. “I guess this is… OK! Nice - nice segue, by the way, if you don’t mind my meta. Smooth.”
“Oh.” He paused, suddenly overcome by warmth. “No problem.”
Another pause. “So what are these expert instructions?”
Now this was what he wanted. “Well…”
.
Distractions, Segues and Metafantasy.
“OK, OK,” she whispered, flustered. Panicked. Not exactly how he wanted her. “And you’re sure Angel’s gone?”
Nevertheless, Spike was revelling in the freedom of the empty bedsit: his beer on the nightstand, his girl on the phone. “It’s my apartment, innit?” he explained, leaning back against his pillow. “Told him to get out for the night and he went.”
“And he didn’t… Guess?”
“Love,” he told her gently, not wanting her to get cold feet, “he doesn’t have the first bloody clue. I tell him to piss off every now and then normally; considering he’s the one who started this bloody mess, he doesn’t make a fuss.”
There was a shuffling noise down the phone, like she was pulling her knees to her chest. “So, um, how does this work, exactly?”
Softly, softly, that was the approach. It had taken the best part of a month for her to even consider the idea, after all. “Well,” he began gently. “The mechanics of it aren’t different from how you usually get off…”
Silence. That hadn’t scared her, had - “Oh, sorry,” she said suddenly, a little squeaky. “I nodded.”
“All right?”
“Yes. Got it.”
“OK.” He trod delicately, for the time being. “And, I suppose, if you have any... Bits and bobs, they might be -”
“Got them,” came her quick response. Surprisingly.
The surprise gave him a response of his own, though, which made him sit up in his bed. Probably had them out in front of her like stakes, he reckoned, all in a line. Maybe something picked out to match his size, her fingers running over it while she thought…
“Spike?”
“Yeah, what?” He shook his head, scattering the image. “Sorry.” This is embarrassing. “Got ahead of myself.”
“You know, I’m not sure our first time’s the best for going meta…” At least the laughter was back in her voice, even if it was at him.
“Yeah,” he agreed readily. “Yeah, er, so, where was I?” Quick clearing of his throat. “Right, yeah, well, there aren’t really any rules after that. Could go the route of chatting through some fantasies, or I could talk while you did…” Swallow. Oh, help him, he wasn’t ready for this; his jeans were killing him. “You could do whatever.” She giggled then, which didn’t help. “Or we could - direct something?”
There was a pause, after which she finally said, “Could we…” Then she sighed. “I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about this, and I was thinking, maybe, I mean - you’re still dressed, right?”
He looked down. T-shirt, socks, jeans, belt - yes, he was dressed, too bloody much so, as was very obvious now. “Yeah,” he said simply.
“I guess - it’s not pathetic, is it? I mean …” There was a blush on her face, he could hear it in the way she spoke, and it made him crave to hear her say more. “I thought we, um, I was hoping we could - talk? But lose the clothes, gain some sheets, maybe? Like we were - in bed?” Actual uncertainty started blanching the blush. “You know?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he approved quickly, already reaching down and pulling off a sock. “Sounds good.” There was no doubt about Buffy’s latent kink, so he wasn’t worried about this squibbing out long term. Hell, he thought, this was shaping up to be more than enough as it was: hearing movement down the line (that he knew was clothes being shed) had his fingers slipping on his button fly. Had him sitting on the side of the bed half-undressed, tilting weight of his cock in his hand while he shut his eyes and thought of her top, grazing…
“Ahem,” Buffy cleared her throat, causing a crackle in his ear. He jumped. “You’re not getting into bed, Spike.”
“Oh, right,” he replied, kicking his jeans the rest of the way down his legs. “It’s you, distracting - you and your clothes and your -” All of her, naked at the other end of the phone, undressed just for him, from her toes right up, up… “It’s been so long,” he explained, shaking his head once before he pulled off his shirt.
“For me too, you know!” she told him, a little hitch in her voice as his t-shirt went whumpf! on his jeans. “But at least I manage to stick with the programme.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And make sure you turn out the lights.”
“Bossy cow,” he grumbled, nevertheless doing just that as he climbed under the sheets. “Right. I’m here now. What’s next?”
Silence.
“Buffy?”
“Huh?” She sounded flustered, again. “Wha…?” But nicely. Oh ho, had somebody else tuned out for a minute? “I thought you were guiding me through this!” she tried to cover.
He affected an air of innocence. “We’re in your fantasy, aren’t we?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, before pausing. “Well, uh, I guess in my head this was where we talked about our favourite, um, times - with each other, you know?” Sounded all right to him, but she didn’t seem that keen anymore. “It was sexier in my head,” she complained, and he couldn’t help but snort at her indignation. “I thought we’d need more time before…”
He paused. Then he couldn’t help himself. “Bit humid down south, eh?”
“What do you think?” she replied bluntly, exasperation in her voice.
“Hmm…” Now he smiled, rolling on his back and feeling inspiration come. “I think the situation needs remedying - and that you’ve got just the instrument. Maybe feels something like what I’ve got with me right now?” Perfect opening for his right hand there, one slow sweep up dry skin while her breathing hitched again, sheets rustling. “Sort of thing you wouldn’t mind some hints on how it can be used…?”
“Um, maybe?” Her breathing quickened slightly. Result. “I guess this is… OK! Nice - nice segue, by the way, if you don’t mind my meta. Smooth.”
“Oh.” He paused, suddenly overcome by warmth. “No problem.”
Another pause. “So what are these expert instructions?”
Now this was what he wanted. “Well…”
.