(no subject)
Title: You Know You Want To Dance
Setting: during the events of Fool For Love, season 5. Mostly Buffy's POV with a snapshot of Spike's.
Word count: 2165
Warnings: sexual content
Rating: UK 18, US NC-17, I think.
Notes: I've tried to make this believable. I don't really like fic when pre-season 6 Buffy just suddenly decides she loves Spike - I understand why people like it, but it doesn't feel right to me. Anything involving feelings for him must involve self-disgust and shock and blah blah. Also - there is the potential for a sequel to this, but it depends on response. :)
Feedback from spuffy_haven (as testing ground) here.
Buffy ran home, feet pounding the asphalt, her heart slamming hard against her ribs. She forced herself to run harder, faster, anything to take away the dull ache between her legs, the terrible sensations Spike had aroused in her.
She had gone to him for help, which disgusted her. She didn’t want to need him. He was a joke, and a monster. But she had nearly died, and Spike was the only living… well, not dead person who knew about killing slayers. She needed him to tell her how he’d done it.
They’d circled each other all night, warily, almost but never quite touching. Her heart had throbbed hard in her chest and she’d been furious with him, disgusted by the things he’d said. He’d killed girls just like her. The problem was that he touched a raw nerve. A truth, maybe. She had a death wish. There was part of her that always wondered what it was like, to slip down into the dark. To be able to leave this burden behind. She didn’t want to die - God knew she wouldn’t be buying Spike hot wings if she didn’t have a serious reason for wanting to stay alive - but there was something always there. Something lurking. Something dark.
Part of her liked the taste of death, because it was power.
That was why, as Spike drew closer to her in the alleyway and she felt herself humming with a disturbing sense of desire, she had been cruel to him.
“Come on, Slayer, I can feel it. I know you want to dance.”
“Say it’s true. Say I do want to.” She pushed out her arms, sending him flying to the floor. “It wouldn’t be you, Spike. It would never be you.”
As if they had been doing anything but dancing all night. As if part of her didn’t want to know what the last steps would feel like. His death, or hers, or… Something else.
She had turned on her heel, leaving him scattered in green bills, her step the very shape of contempt. And then, once out of his sight, she had fled, pushing herself harder and harder, trying to drown out the words he had said with the sound of her feet on the sidewalk.
She made herself slow down as she reached the house. No need to worry her mom by running in like a crazy person. But her heart started beating fast again as she realised the house was in darkness.
“Mom? Dawn?” she called, opening the front door. She walked into the kitchen and found a note on the refrigerator door.
Hon - I saw the doctor this afternoon, will talk to you about it when I get back. Am feeling not too bad though so have gone to the movies with Dawnie. Should be back by 11.
Oh, thank God. Buffy took a deep, shuddering breath. She’d been afraid she’d find Mom passed out or something. The note niggled at her. The doctor. Something that needed talking about. She was going to wring her sister’s neck when she came home. She’d probably begged Mom to take her out even though she was still sick.
Still, Buffy had to admit it was quite nice to have the house to herself for a change. Spike had really unsettled her. Even now there was a strange tightness in her belly and her whole body felt tense. She needed a shower.
In the bathroom, she set the water temperature to cool, perfect for a warm night. But if anything, the water made her skin prickle even more. She ran her soapy hands over her breasts and gasped involuntarily. How could she be aroused? It was stupid. But maybe she needed release. Perhaps she should call Riley; she knew he’d come running. But she wasn’t sure she wanted him here, not when her thoughts were racing. She’d just end up snapping at him. Buffy let her hand drift down below her stomach, stroking shower gel into the soft hair. The sensation was good, and she couldn’t resist pressing her fingers into her mound. As she did so, an image came to mind, startlingly clear, of the way Spike had looked at her as he challenged her in the alley. Her eyes snapped open and she snatched her hand away. What the hell was she doing?
Buffy turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower, feeling shaken by the strange intensity she had just felt. This was Spike. Spike who she hated and who had done such terrible things. But even as she thought it, she remembered the way his shirt moved across his back as he’d leaned across the pool table. The way he’d set his jaw as he’d leaned towards her, daring her to hit him. She shivered and punished herself by rubbing her hair and scalp hard with a towel, squeezing the water out. There was something seriously wrong with her.
She slipped into a t-shirt and a pair of track pants. The shirt clung to the damp skin of her back and chest, but it would dry out soon enough. Buffy decided to sit out in the back garden and get some fresh air. The rest of the house seemed strangely hot.
*
Spike headed back to the crypt, his mouth set in a grim line. The bitch had said he was beneath her. She was going to pay for that.
Harmony had wittered at him mindlessly, but he had paid her no attention. Instead he had seized the shotgun and strode out into the night, his rage like hot blood in his mouth. He was bloody furious with her, the little cow, but more than that he was hurt. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but grief was coiled beneath his anger, chewing at him, and he felt as weak as he had done the night Cecily had turned down his proposal. As weak as the time he found Angelus shagging Dru. He was done being love’s bitch.
He strode into Buffy’s back yard, finding himself feeling both painfully aroused and angry as hell. He was going to kill the bitch tonight. He was going to shoot her and then sodding splash around in her blood and…
His thoughts faded as Buffy looked up at him. The ache in his groin intensified as he noticed her t-shirt was damp enough for him to see her nipples.
“What do you want?” she said, her voice a barely controlled fury, and he just stood there, shotgun hanging by his side.
*
Buffy looked up. For a moment she thought Spike was just another figment of her imagination, but if so, why was he holding a shotgun?
“What do you want?” she asked, furious with him for upsetting her thoughts and then for not having the decency to stay away afterwards.
“I…” said Spike, after a long moment, meeting her gaze, and Buffy felt the weight of the night air on her. This was ridiculous. She was angry, and worried about her mother, and she did not need strange, disgusting feelings about Spike making things worse. She was going to beat the crap out of him. That should do the trick.
She stood up and strode towards him.
“A gun?” she said mockingly. “What are you going to do, shoot me?” She grabbed it from his hand and threw it to the ground. Spike just stared at her. “Not so brave now, huh? You asked me to hit you earlier. Maybe I should give you want you want.”
“What I want,” said Spike, grabbing her the top of her arms, pinning them to her sides, “is to see you dead, Slayer.”
“Like I’ve never heard that before,” she said. For some reason she was painfully aware of how close his body was to hers. “I should kick your ass.”
“Try me,” he said, his voice a low growl, his head only inches from hers. She licked her lips nervously, her stomach fluttering oddly. Spike’s gaze was drawn to the movement, and when she met his eyes she felt her womb spasm as she read what was there. Desire.
She pulled away from him, rubbing her arms where he’d held them. Her pulse was throbbing so hard in her throat that she felt it might burst.
“Spike -“ she said, looking up at him, and the air between them shimmered like a live thing.
And then he seized her, his mouth devouring hers, and she found her fingers tangling in his hair, her tongue meeting his, their kisses hard and painful. He took her lower lip in his mouth and sucked, and she gave a low moan. Spike shuddered softly at the sound and grabbed underneath her knees, lifting her up and pulling her legs around his waist. They stumbled across the garden like that, their kisses feverish. She tried to think about what she was doing, that this was wrong and disgusting, but the feel of his tongue stroking the side of her own made her whimper softly and she pushed the thoughts away. Just another minute and she would stop. She could still stop.
Spike stopped and lowered her to the ground. The grass was wet with dew and she shivered, enjoying the feel of it against her skin. He looked down at her, and the heat in his gaze made her face flush and her stomach tighten. He pulled off his duster and then knelt above her, legs either side of her hips. His hands grazed over her t-shirt and she gave a stifled gasp as his fingers touched her nipples. She half lifted herself up, trying to press her breasts into his hands, longing for a firmer touch, but Spike pushed her back into the grass and then lifted up her shirt. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as his tongue stroked her breasts, her nipples and loins aching with need. He licked around the tip of her breasts and she felt almost crazed with want. Buffy felt she would go mad if he didn’t take her breast in his mouth right - And then she cried out as his mouth took her right nipple, sucking hard. Her back arched and her hands ran under his shirt, her fingers stroking his stomach. She made a soft sound as he groaned at her touch. This was wrong, so wrong, but she had never wanted anything this much.
Spike’s mouth moved to her other breast as his hands moved down. For a moment he teased her, fingers stroking just above the waistband of her pants, and then he pulled them down around her knees. He sucked her breast harder as he let his thumb touch her clit, and she gave a hissing cry, hips jerking up towards him. He moved a finger inside her and she wriggled, taking him further in, and then he pushed another finger in, and then a third, his thumb still working her clit. His fingers moved in and out, faster and faster, and he released her breast, looking down at her. She moaned, blind to everything except the feel of him inside her, feeling her orgasm rise within her, the pulse building and building. She was almost on the edge of it, almost ready to…
“Buffy,” he said, his voice thick with longing, and Buffy opened her eyes to see him looking at her not just with desire, but with -
“Oh God,” she said, and the reality of what she was doing hit her full force. She pushed him away and scrambled to her feet, pulling up her pants and stumbling across the garden.
“Buffy,” he called from where he had fallen on the grass.
“Stay away from me!” she screamed, and she almost threw herself up the stairs before racing into the house and slamming the door behind her. She pressed her back into the door and waited for a moment, nerves jangling, to see if he would follow, because if he did, she would kill him. She glanced through the glass and saw that he was gone, and she sighed with relief but also frustration. She couldn’t believe she had almost - with Spike. Her clit gave a hard throb as she thought his name, so hard that her knees almost buckled, and her fingers pressed through her pants into her clit instinctively. She was still so close to the edge that that was all it took; her climax rode through her like a great wave, and had she not bitten down on her tongue she would have screamed.
For a moment she panted, enjoying the ripples of pleasure that followed her orgasm, and then she felt sick. Buffy sank to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest.
What had she done? And why, even though she had never felt more disgusted with herself, had she never been as satisfied?
Lowering her head to her knees, Buffy sobbed.
Setting: during the events of Fool For Love, season 5. Mostly Buffy's POV with a snapshot of Spike's.
Word count: 2165
Warnings: sexual content
Rating: UK 18, US NC-17, I think.
Notes: I've tried to make this believable. I don't really like fic when pre-season 6 Buffy just suddenly decides she loves Spike - I understand why people like it, but it doesn't feel right to me. Anything involving feelings for him must involve self-disgust and shock and blah blah. Also - there is the potential for a sequel to this, but it depends on response. :)
Feedback from spuffy_haven (as testing ground) here.
Buffy ran home, feet pounding the asphalt, her heart slamming hard against her ribs. She forced herself to run harder, faster, anything to take away the dull ache between her legs, the terrible sensations Spike had aroused in her.
She had gone to him for help, which disgusted her. She didn’t want to need him. He was a joke, and a monster. But she had nearly died, and Spike was the only living… well, not dead person who knew about killing slayers. She needed him to tell her how he’d done it.
They’d circled each other all night, warily, almost but never quite touching. Her heart had throbbed hard in her chest and she’d been furious with him, disgusted by the things he’d said. He’d killed girls just like her. The problem was that he touched a raw nerve. A truth, maybe. She had a death wish. There was part of her that always wondered what it was like, to slip down into the dark. To be able to leave this burden behind. She didn’t want to die - God knew she wouldn’t be buying Spike hot wings if she didn’t have a serious reason for wanting to stay alive - but there was something always there. Something lurking. Something dark.
Part of her liked the taste of death, because it was power.
That was why, as Spike drew closer to her in the alleyway and she felt herself humming with a disturbing sense of desire, she had been cruel to him.
“Come on, Slayer, I can feel it. I know you want to dance.”
“Say it’s true. Say I do want to.” She pushed out her arms, sending him flying to the floor. “It wouldn’t be you, Spike. It would never be you.”
As if they had been doing anything but dancing all night. As if part of her didn’t want to know what the last steps would feel like. His death, or hers, or… Something else.
She had turned on her heel, leaving him scattered in green bills, her step the very shape of contempt. And then, once out of his sight, she had fled, pushing herself harder and harder, trying to drown out the words he had said with the sound of her feet on the sidewalk.
She made herself slow down as she reached the house. No need to worry her mom by running in like a crazy person. But her heart started beating fast again as she realised the house was in darkness.
“Mom? Dawn?” she called, opening the front door. She walked into the kitchen and found a note on the refrigerator door.
Hon - I saw the doctor this afternoon, will talk to you about it when I get back. Am feeling not too bad though so have gone to the movies with Dawnie. Should be back by 11.
Oh, thank God. Buffy took a deep, shuddering breath. She’d been afraid she’d find Mom passed out or something. The note niggled at her. The doctor. Something that needed talking about. She was going to wring her sister’s neck when she came home. She’d probably begged Mom to take her out even though she was still sick.
Still, Buffy had to admit it was quite nice to have the house to herself for a change. Spike had really unsettled her. Even now there was a strange tightness in her belly and her whole body felt tense. She needed a shower.
In the bathroom, she set the water temperature to cool, perfect for a warm night. But if anything, the water made her skin prickle even more. She ran her soapy hands over her breasts and gasped involuntarily. How could she be aroused? It was stupid. But maybe she needed release. Perhaps she should call Riley; she knew he’d come running. But she wasn’t sure she wanted him here, not when her thoughts were racing. She’d just end up snapping at him. Buffy let her hand drift down below her stomach, stroking shower gel into the soft hair. The sensation was good, and she couldn’t resist pressing her fingers into her mound. As she did so, an image came to mind, startlingly clear, of the way Spike had looked at her as he challenged her in the alley. Her eyes snapped open and she snatched her hand away. What the hell was she doing?
Buffy turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower, feeling shaken by the strange intensity she had just felt. This was Spike. Spike who she hated and who had done such terrible things. But even as she thought it, she remembered the way his shirt moved across his back as he’d leaned across the pool table. The way he’d set his jaw as he’d leaned towards her, daring her to hit him. She shivered and punished herself by rubbing her hair and scalp hard with a towel, squeezing the water out. There was something seriously wrong with her.
She slipped into a t-shirt and a pair of track pants. The shirt clung to the damp skin of her back and chest, but it would dry out soon enough. Buffy decided to sit out in the back garden and get some fresh air. The rest of the house seemed strangely hot.
*
Spike headed back to the crypt, his mouth set in a grim line. The bitch had said he was beneath her. She was going to pay for that.
Harmony had wittered at him mindlessly, but he had paid her no attention. Instead he had seized the shotgun and strode out into the night, his rage like hot blood in his mouth. He was bloody furious with her, the little cow, but more than that he was hurt. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but grief was coiled beneath his anger, chewing at him, and he felt as weak as he had done the night Cecily had turned down his proposal. As weak as the time he found Angelus shagging Dru. He was done being love’s bitch.
He strode into Buffy’s back yard, finding himself feeling both painfully aroused and angry as hell. He was going to kill the bitch tonight. He was going to shoot her and then sodding splash around in her blood and…
His thoughts faded as Buffy looked up at him. The ache in his groin intensified as he noticed her t-shirt was damp enough for him to see her nipples.
“What do you want?” she said, her voice a barely controlled fury, and he just stood there, shotgun hanging by his side.
*
Buffy looked up. For a moment she thought Spike was just another figment of her imagination, but if so, why was he holding a shotgun?
“What do you want?” she asked, furious with him for upsetting her thoughts and then for not having the decency to stay away afterwards.
“I…” said Spike, after a long moment, meeting her gaze, and Buffy felt the weight of the night air on her. This was ridiculous. She was angry, and worried about her mother, and she did not need strange, disgusting feelings about Spike making things worse. She was going to beat the crap out of him. That should do the trick.
She stood up and strode towards him.
“A gun?” she said mockingly. “What are you going to do, shoot me?” She grabbed it from his hand and threw it to the ground. Spike just stared at her. “Not so brave now, huh? You asked me to hit you earlier. Maybe I should give you want you want.”
“What I want,” said Spike, grabbing her the top of her arms, pinning them to her sides, “is to see you dead, Slayer.”
“Like I’ve never heard that before,” she said. For some reason she was painfully aware of how close his body was to hers. “I should kick your ass.”
“Try me,” he said, his voice a low growl, his head only inches from hers. She licked her lips nervously, her stomach fluttering oddly. Spike’s gaze was drawn to the movement, and when she met his eyes she felt her womb spasm as she read what was there. Desire.
She pulled away from him, rubbing her arms where he’d held them. Her pulse was throbbing so hard in her throat that she felt it might burst.
“Spike -“ she said, looking up at him, and the air between them shimmered like a live thing.
And then he seized her, his mouth devouring hers, and she found her fingers tangling in his hair, her tongue meeting his, their kisses hard and painful. He took her lower lip in his mouth and sucked, and she gave a low moan. Spike shuddered softly at the sound and grabbed underneath her knees, lifting her up and pulling her legs around his waist. They stumbled across the garden like that, their kisses feverish. She tried to think about what she was doing, that this was wrong and disgusting, but the feel of his tongue stroking the side of her own made her whimper softly and she pushed the thoughts away. Just another minute and she would stop. She could still stop.
Spike stopped and lowered her to the ground. The grass was wet with dew and she shivered, enjoying the feel of it against her skin. He looked down at her, and the heat in his gaze made her face flush and her stomach tighten. He pulled off his duster and then knelt above her, legs either side of her hips. His hands grazed over her t-shirt and she gave a stifled gasp as his fingers touched her nipples. She half lifted herself up, trying to press her breasts into his hands, longing for a firmer touch, but Spike pushed her back into the grass and then lifted up her shirt. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as his tongue stroked her breasts, her nipples and loins aching with need. He licked around the tip of her breasts and she felt almost crazed with want. Buffy felt she would go mad if he didn’t take her breast in his mouth right - And then she cried out as his mouth took her right nipple, sucking hard. Her back arched and her hands ran under his shirt, her fingers stroking his stomach. She made a soft sound as he groaned at her touch. This was wrong, so wrong, but she had never wanted anything this much.
Spike’s mouth moved to her other breast as his hands moved down. For a moment he teased her, fingers stroking just above the waistband of her pants, and then he pulled them down around her knees. He sucked her breast harder as he let his thumb touch her clit, and she gave a hissing cry, hips jerking up towards him. He moved a finger inside her and she wriggled, taking him further in, and then he pushed another finger in, and then a third, his thumb still working her clit. His fingers moved in and out, faster and faster, and he released her breast, looking down at her. She moaned, blind to everything except the feel of him inside her, feeling her orgasm rise within her, the pulse building and building. She was almost on the edge of it, almost ready to…
“Buffy,” he said, his voice thick with longing, and Buffy opened her eyes to see him looking at her not just with desire, but with -
“Oh God,” she said, and the reality of what she was doing hit her full force. She pushed him away and scrambled to her feet, pulling up her pants and stumbling across the garden.
“Buffy,” he called from where he had fallen on the grass.
“Stay away from me!” she screamed, and she almost threw herself up the stairs before racing into the house and slamming the door behind her. She pressed her back into the door and waited for a moment, nerves jangling, to see if he would follow, because if he did, she would kill him. She glanced through the glass and saw that he was gone, and she sighed with relief but also frustration. She couldn’t believe she had almost - with Spike. Her clit gave a hard throb as she thought his name, so hard that her knees almost buckled, and her fingers pressed through her pants into her clit instinctively. She was still so close to the edge that that was all it took; her climax rode through her like a great wave, and had she not bitten down on her tongue she would have screamed.
For a moment she panted, enjoying the ripples of pleasure that followed her orgasm, and then she felt sick. Buffy sank to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest.
What had she done? And why, even though she had never felt more disgusted with herself, had she never been as satisfied?
Lowering her head to her knees, Buffy sobbed.