Fic: Scarlet Folds of Heaven
Title: Scarlet Folds of Heaven
Rating: R, bordering on NC-17
Disclaimer: It all belongs to someone else that's not me. Completely and totally not me. In fact, his name is Joss. And he's much cooler than me.
Notes: This was written as a one-shot diversion from the other fic I've been working on. Set in BtVS Season 7. Many thanks to Neesa, who betas for me (She doesn't have an LJ, but she's supporting me in lurkerville).
Warnings: General smuttiness.
Summary: Every night, he visits. Every night, he gives all of his love in the ultimate physical union. This night is no different. And when morning comes?
Downy cream-colored pillows sink under my weight as I burrow further beneath the covers. There's a canopy above me, fractured candlelight filtering through the fabric. Eloquent shadows dance across my face in a gentle embrace, and I sigh. This room is sacred, warm opulent luxury enfolding me with its soft scarlet folds.
The door opens, though I can't see who has entered. My heart beats faster as I try to seek shelter underneath the duvet. Somebody is approaching the bed, heavy footsteps sending tiny shivers down my spine. I remember this part, though the memory comes back to me only in a flood of sensations that I can't grasp. I want what happens next, and yet I tremor with fearful anticipation.
The gauzy veil is brushed aside and the person sits on the edge of the bed, their weight shifting the mattress and making me turn towards them. I feel compelled to follow its lead, but I remain still.
A hand, rough and calloused from hard battle, touches my face as softly as the gentle touch of a rose's petal. "So beautiful." It's the voice I always hear in my dreams. Deep English accent in a throaty whisper, husky with desire. For me.
I open my eyes to face him. "Spike?"
He smiles down at me, still caressing my cheek. His hair is tousled from whatever battle he'd just left. His pale skin glows in the candlelight. Carved cheekbones tempt my fingers as his heavenly eyes take me in. He wants me.
And I want him.
I uncoil, body springing up to wrap around his, feeling his sinewy muscle underneath his clothes. I embrace him closely, repeating his name again and again. I always fear that it will be someone else who comes for me, but it never is. It's always him. Always.
I rain kisses on his face, and he captures my lips with his. All his passion and desire is poured into the kiss, and his hands explore my body. Rough hands running over the finest silk pajamas. He worships me.
His shirt is discarded, and I find myself nibbling down his throat to his chest. I taste him, feeling him surrender to my wiles. He moans my name, fingers tangling in my hair. I go lower, removing his pants so that I can see him fully.
He is a statue made only for me. A god fallen from the heavens to grace me with his love. Lean chest muscles rise and fall as he breathes heavily, hungry for me. I run my hands down his sides, feeling perfection in his flawless skin. I take his manhood in hand, stroking him. He tosses his head back in pleasure, a short gasp escaping his mouth.
I stop, suddenly nervous. I know I've never done this before, and yet it feels familiar. He senses my discomfort, sitting up and holding me in his arms. He whispers that he loves me and that he'll not hurt me.
My pajamas are removed, as well, and I try to hide myself from him, but he refuses to let me. I look up into his eyes, full of adoration and worship for me. Then he is on me, pushing me back onto those down pillows, kissing my body.
He is solid above me, shielding me from anything that might try to harm me. I hold onto him as my own need intensifies. There's a burning inside me that I can't understand. Then I feel him position himself as he looks down at me. Pure, unadulterated love focused all on me. He doesn't need to ask. I grant him permission without a word passing between us.
Then he's inside me, filling me completely. He holds himself above me as he thrusts, whispering words of devotion into my ear. I hold onto him, unable to form any words of my own. Every thought, every feeling, every sensation is centered on our joining. I am the shore to his wave. I will forever wait for him to return and wash over me, intimately linking with me.
We've done this before. Yet it always feels like the first time. The first time he's held me close, cool body slowly warming with the heat of my own exertions. The first time he's been inside me, stretching me to the point of exultation. The first time he's confessed his complete love for me.
His thrusts come faster now as he grows more desperate in his own need for me. He takes me in hand to stimulate me. I'm in a place beyond mere pleasure. It's a heaven made only for me and him as we reach our peak together. He spills himself inside me, my name falling from his lips as I cry out in return, tears falling from my eyes in my ecstasy.
He sighs as he pulls away only to draw me close to him. Even though our passions are spent, tenderness remains as we lie entwined in each other's arms. His fingers run through my hair, and I smile as I drift off to -
***
"Andrew!"
Andrew woke up sharply to face an annoyed Buffy. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. Okay, sleeping bags on the floor. He was also in a sleeping bag. Buffy's house. Oh yeah. Okay. And....well this was an awkward time to get woken up.
"What?" He stuttered out, managing to sound more like a teenage girl than Dawn usually did. Andrew sat up straighter when Spike appeared behind Buffy.
"I told you. If you're gonna stay here, you're gonna help out," Buffy put her hands on her hips. "It's 10 AM and you're still sleeping! There are chores to do! We have too many girls living here to slack off like this!"
And she was about to launch into one of her speeches. Andrew shifted uncomfortably, unable to look at the vampire behind her who was staring at him with detached suspicion.
"Hey, Buffy," Spike said in a low voice that just made Andrew's...situation...harder. "He's not gonna get much done what with you yellin' at him. Let's leave him to it and get that other situation taken care of."
Buffy blinked. She obviously hadn't been expecting to have her speech cut off once she'd gotten worked up on it. She shrugged, though, and turned to go into the kitchen. Spike threw a final glance at Andrew before turning to follow her.
Andrew sighed, biting his lip. He hoped the bathroom was free this time.
Final AN: I'm sure this is a common idea, but I've never read any stories with it. Anyway, inspired by a conversation over dinner with my sister, the story had to be written. And it was short. And enjoyable (Ironically enough, it's the first sex scene I've ever written. And it's slash, which I generally don't read. Huh).
Feedback is welcome. Concrit is also welcome. But, ultimately, I just hope you enjoy.
Rating: R, bordering on NC-17
Disclaimer: It all belongs to someone else that's not me. Completely and totally not me. In fact, his name is Joss. And he's much cooler than me.
Notes: This was written as a one-shot diversion from the other fic I've been working on. Set in BtVS Season 7. Many thanks to Neesa, who betas for me (She doesn't have an LJ, but she's supporting me in lurkerville).
Warnings: General smuttiness.
Summary: Every night, he visits. Every night, he gives all of his love in the ultimate physical union. This night is no different. And when morning comes?
Downy cream-colored pillows sink under my weight as I burrow further beneath the covers. There's a canopy above me, fractured candlelight filtering through the fabric. Eloquent shadows dance across my face in a gentle embrace, and I sigh. This room is sacred, warm opulent luxury enfolding me with its soft scarlet folds.
The door opens, though I can't see who has entered. My heart beats faster as I try to seek shelter underneath the duvet. Somebody is approaching the bed, heavy footsteps sending tiny shivers down my spine. I remember this part, though the memory comes back to me only in a flood of sensations that I can't grasp. I want what happens next, and yet I tremor with fearful anticipation.
The gauzy veil is brushed aside and the person sits on the edge of the bed, their weight shifting the mattress and making me turn towards them. I feel compelled to follow its lead, but I remain still.
A hand, rough and calloused from hard battle, touches my face as softly as the gentle touch of a rose's petal. "So beautiful." It's the voice I always hear in my dreams. Deep English accent in a throaty whisper, husky with desire. For me.
I open my eyes to face him. "Spike?"
He smiles down at me, still caressing my cheek. His hair is tousled from whatever battle he'd just left. His pale skin glows in the candlelight. Carved cheekbones tempt my fingers as his heavenly eyes take me in. He wants me.
And I want him.
I uncoil, body springing up to wrap around his, feeling his sinewy muscle underneath his clothes. I embrace him closely, repeating his name again and again. I always fear that it will be someone else who comes for me, but it never is. It's always him. Always.
I rain kisses on his face, and he captures my lips with his. All his passion and desire is poured into the kiss, and his hands explore my body. Rough hands running over the finest silk pajamas. He worships me.
His shirt is discarded, and I find myself nibbling down his throat to his chest. I taste him, feeling him surrender to my wiles. He moans my name, fingers tangling in my hair. I go lower, removing his pants so that I can see him fully.
He is a statue made only for me. A god fallen from the heavens to grace me with his love. Lean chest muscles rise and fall as he breathes heavily, hungry for me. I run my hands down his sides, feeling perfection in his flawless skin. I take his manhood in hand, stroking him. He tosses his head back in pleasure, a short gasp escaping his mouth.
I stop, suddenly nervous. I know I've never done this before, and yet it feels familiar. He senses my discomfort, sitting up and holding me in his arms. He whispers that he loves me and that he'll not hurt me.
My pajamas are removed, as well, and I try to hide myself from him, but he refuses to let me. I look up into his eyes, full of adoration and worship for me. Then he is on me, pushing me back onto those down pillows, kissing my body.
He is solid above me, shielding me from anything that might try to harm me. I hold onto him as my own need intensifies. There's a burning inside me that I can't understand. Then I feel him position himself as he looks down at me. Pure, unadulterated love focused all on me. He doesn't need to ask. I grant him permission without a word passing between us.
Then he's inside me, filling me completely. He holds himself above me as he thrusts, whispering words of devotion into my ear. I hold onto him, unable to form any words of my own. Every thought, every feeling, every sensation is centered on our joining. I am the shore to his wave. I will forever wait for him to return and wash over me, intimately linking with me.
We've done this before. Yet it always feels like the first time. The first time he's held me close, cool body slowly warming with the heat of my own exertions. The first time he's been inside me, stretching me to the point of exultation. The first time he's confessed his complete love for me.
His thrusts come faster now as he grows more desperate in his own need for me. He takes me in hand to stimulate me. I'm in a place beyond mere pleasure. It's a heaven made only for me and him as we reach our peak together. He spills himself inside me, my name falling from his lips as I cry out in return, tears falling from my eyes in my ecstasy.
He sighs as he pulls away only to draw me close to him. Even though our passions are spent, tenderness remains as we lie entwined in each other's arms. His fingers run through my hair, and I smile as I drift off to -
***
"Andrew!"
Andrew woke up sharply to face an annoyed Buffy. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. Okay, sleeping bags on the floor. He was also in a sleeping bag. Buffy's house. Oh yeah. Okay. And....well this was an awkward time to get woken up.
"What?" He stuttered out, managing to sound more like a teenage girl than Dawn usually did. Andrew sat up straighter when Spike appeared behind Buffy.
"I told you. If you're gonna stay here, you're gonna help out," Buffy put her hands on her hips. "It's 10 AM and you're still sleeping! There are chores to do! We have too many girls living here to slack off like this!"
And she was about to launch into one of her speeches. Andrew shifted uncomfortably, unable to look at the vampire behind her who was staring at him with detached suspicion.
"Hey, Buffy," Spike said in a low voice that just made Andrew's...situation...harder. "He's not gonna get much done what with you yellin' at him. Let's leave him to it and get that other situation taken care of."
Buffy blinked. She obviously hadn't been expecting to have her speech cut off once she'd gotten worked up on it. She shrugged, though, and turned to go into the kitchen. Spike threw a final glance at Andrew before turning to follow her.
Andrew sighed, biting his lip. He hoped the bathroom was free this time.
Final AN: I'm sure this is a common idea, but I've never read any stories with it. Anyway, inspired by a conversation over dinner with my sister, the story had to be written. And it was short. And enjoyable (Ironically enough, it's the first sex scene I've ever written. And it's slash, which I generally don't read. Huh).
Feedback is welcome. Concrit is also welcome. But, ultimately, I just hope you enjoy.