(no subject)
Title:You Know You Want To Dance: chapter 2
Pairing: Spuffy, season 5
Previously: After the sexually charged events of Fool For Love, Buffy and Spike had an interesting encounter in Buffy’s garden, and Buffy was left feeling disgusted with herself. Previous chapter here.
Rating: 18/NC-17. Sexual content and some bad language.
Oh God.
Oh God.
Buffy tightened her hands around her knees. She’d stopped crying now, but the tears hadn’t brought any relief. There was a sick, nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’d had sex with Spike. Well, not quite - there hadn’t been any, um, insertion of parts, but… She had let Spike touch her there.
Oh, God. What the hell was she thinking? Buffy groaned softly and twisted her hands together hard, her fingertips bruising her knuckles. She sat like this for a while, and then looked at the clock. 10.45. Mom said she and Dawn would be home by 11! Buffy sprang to her feet in a panic. Her mother and sister could be home at any minute, and they’d see her sitting on the kitchen floor and would know something was wrong.
Buffy sprinted up the stairs and into the bathroom. She pulled off her track pants and t-shirt. The pants were damp at the crotch and Buffy’s stomach roiled as she noticed. She disgusted herself. How could she have let Spike do those things to her? She threw the clothes into the laundry basket and took her second shower of the last hour. This wasn’t a slow, languorous shower like the last one had been; she turned the water temperature up high, as hot as she could bare it, and scrubbed herself viciously all over, wiping away the scent of Spike and her own fluids. She spat into the drain, trying to get rid of the taste in her mouth - bourbon laced faintly with cigarettes. She shivered as she remembered the way Spike’s tongue had caressed her own, and then she punished herself by pinching her arms. She could never think about him again.
The front door slammed shut, and Dawn shouted up the stairs.
“Hey, Buffy! We’re back.”
“Hey,” she called, making her voice sound cheerful. “I’m just in the shower.” She knew she should go downstairs. She needed to talk to her mother and find out what the doctor had said. But she couldn’t bring herself to turn off the spray. If she stood here, making her skin flush red under the hot water, she could pretend that nothing had happened. That it was just some strange dream. But if she got out, her mom would know something was wrong, and she was scared she might admit something. Or worse, that Dawn would somehow guess something. Her sister had the knack for saying the worst thing at the most terrible time. So Buffy stayed under the water for another five minutes.
There was a tap on the door.
“Sweetie, I’m tired so I’m going straight to bed,” said her mother softly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Ok, Mom,” said Buffy, scrubbing at her face with a flannel. When she heard Joyce’s door click shut, Buffy turned the shower off and sat down in the cubicle. Five minutes later she heard the heavy clomp of teenage boots on the stairs, and Dawn’s door creaked open and then shut. Then Buffy allowed herself one loud, gulping sob, before getting out of the shower and pulling on a bathrobe. On the way to her bedroom she walked like she was ninety, her back hunched and hands curled into claws.
In her room she made a quick call to Riley. He was surprised to hear from her, brightly and happily surprised, and she felt briefly like she might vomit from the guilt. She arranged to see him the next day, and hung up and lay on her bed, not bothering to dry her hair.
Sleep was a long time coming, and filled with painful dreams.
*
When Buffy had suddenly pulled herself out of his arms and run into the house, screaming at him to leave her alone, Spike had lain on the grass for a moment, too stunned to react. Then the furious rage he had felt earlier returned, throbbing in his temple like a pulse, and he pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his shotgun. He could see Buffy’s back against the kitchen door, and he was tempted to shoot through the glass and end this now, but he couldn’t. So instead he stalked back to the crypt, his groin painfully swollen and his head full of murderous thoughts.
Harmony was at the crypt, rearranging her unicorn collection.
“Hey, Blondie Bear!” she said. “Did you do it?”
“Do what?” he snarled.
“Kill the Slayer, silly! You said you were going to.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said, throwing the shotgun into a corner.
“Oh. I said you wouldn’t. Did she kick your ass again?”
“Harmony, will you sod off?” said Spike. “I don’t feel like company.” He strode angrily across the room and descended the ladder into the crypt’s lower room. Harmony pouted, but she was hungry, and so decided that if Blondie was going to be a grumpy bear, she might as well go out for something to eat.
Down in the lower room, Spike looked at the things he’d assembled. Photos. A sweater of Buffy’s. He picked it up and held it to his face. He could smell her skin, and he felt his groin get increasingly painful as his erection bulged. Furiously he tore the sweater in half, throwing it onto the floor, and just as furiously he unzipped his jeans and masturbated roughly. His orgasm was short and almost painful, and when it had subsided Spike found that most of his anger had gone, but what was underneath it was worse. Misery washed over him as he thought of what Buffy had said.
It wouldn’t be you, Spike. It would never be you.
Then he saw Cecily, the slim turn of her waist and the roundness of her bustle, and the coldness of her face as she spoke.
You’re beneath me.
Dru, looking at him sadly in Brazil.
You taste like ashes.
Spike tried to make himself angry again, but all he could think of was the look in Buffy’s eyes as she had tossed the money to him. Contempt.
It was a long night.
*
Buffy woke cheerfully. The sun was shining, it was a Saturday… And, oh God, last night she’d let Spike touch her. And she’d liked it.
Any thoughts of enjoying a lie in were lost as this memory shocked her into full wakefulness. She glanced at the clock - 7am. She guessed she’d probably managed a handful of hours of sleep.
Downstairs, her mother was making breakfast.
“Mom, you shouldn’t be doing that!” said Buffy, grabbing the spatula from her. “You’re meant to be resting.”
“You’re the one who looks like they need resting, sleepyhead. Didn’t you sleep well?” asked Joyce, looking at Buffy carefully.
“Oh, you know, too much caffeine yesterday. You know how I love mochas,” said Buffy, attempting breeziness. “So, how was the doctor’s?” she asked, flipping her mom’s omelette over and making a small moan of dismay when it fell into pieces. “Oops.”
Joyce took over and dished her broken omelette onto a plate.
“It’s… the nothing I’ve been worrying about. It might not be nothing. It probably is,” she said hastily, “but the doctor said I should have a CAT scan.”
“A CAT scan,” repeated Buffy softly. She knew what CAT scans were used for. Finding tumours.
“Like I said, it’s probably nothing,” said Joyce, eating a forkful of the omelette. “I’m going to stay there overnight for observation and have the test done in the morning.”
“Oh,” said Buffy, feeling her stomach tighten. “Ok.”
“I… I don’t think I’m all that hungry, actually,” said Joyce. “You want to eat some of this?” Buffy met her mom’s eyes, and saw the pain behind her mother’s smile, the dark shadows underneath her eyes.
“I’m not hungry,” she said softly. After her mom had left the room, she tipped the omelette into the trash, staring into the garbage for a long time.
*
Riley still came over, as planned. Buffy would have preferred it if he hadn’t; she thought she should spend the night looking after Dawn before heading to the hospital early the next day to see how their mom was doing. Ordinarily, she would have told him this. But because of what had happened with Spike, she couldn’t. She had to prove to herself that she was putting Riley first.
Riley was openly, pitifully happy that she had decided to share what was going on. Am I really that closed off? she thought. So much so that my own boyfriend is surprised when I want to spend time with him and tell him my news? She shook her head. She couldn’t deal with that now. Not on top of everything else.
That night, after Dawn had gone to bed and Buffy could hear the soft, even breathing of her sleep from next door, she let Riley have sex with her. For the first time in her life she faked an orgasm, and was surprised to find she was a good actress. She’d never needed to do that before; it didn’t take much to arouse her, and Riley was a conscientious lover. But every time she found herself getting aroused, she thought of Spike’s tongue in her mouth, his fingers moving inside her, and she forced herself to stop. So she faked it, and then Riley - always believing in letting ladies go first, whether in terms of walking through a door or having an orgasm - climaxed, and soon fell asleep. Buffy lay next to him, hands crossed over her chest, and trembled with frustrated and angry desire.
*
There was a shadow.
Buffy looked serious and listened to the doctor and held her mother’s hand, and smiled whenever her mom looked at her to see if she was alright. Inside she felt strangely blank, as if the shadow was not inside her mom’s head but instead imprinted on Buffy’s heart.
Her mom wouldn’t be able to have the biopsy for a few days, but the hospital wanted to keep her in before the operation, as Joyce’s headaches had become increasingly violent. They were worried she might pass out and hit her head if she was at home. So Buffy’s days were spent sitting with her mom in a small hospital room, trying to keep her spirits up, then taking Dawn home and making her dinner (or at least that’s what they told their mom; really they got take out, which Buffy only picked at), going out for a brief patrol whilst Willow or Xander or Tara sat with Dawn, ringing her mom’s hospital room to say goodnight, calling Riley to try to stave off some of her guilt about Spike, and collapsing into bed but not managing to sleep until it was nearly morning. Then her alarm would go off and everything would start again.
Keeping herself busy like this, she had managed to avoid thinking about Spike too much. But memories of him would slip in whenever she took a moment to relax. If she lingered in the shower, she found herself thinking of the feel of his fingers against her breasts, and had to stop herself moving her own hand against her clit. There was a constant ache between her legs, but she didn’t dare relieve it. She couldn’t bear to think of herself as the kind of girl who would get off on an evil, soulless thing touching her. Never mind if he was handsome, or if he made her laugh, or could make her so angry she wanted to smash his face in - he was still a thing. A monster. And so if she touched herself, thinking of him, what did that make her?
It was the night before her mom’s operation. Willow said Dawn could stay over at her dorm for the night so Buffy could have a break. Xander would pick her up in the morning and drive them all to the hospital. With no take out to order, no little sister to nag to do her homework, Buffy found herself restlessly pacing the house. She had got changed into her pyjamas, but she couldn’t relax with a movie. She felt sick with fear about her mother, and sick with desire for Spike. It was a thick, crawling desire that made her skin itch and her stomach churn, and she hated herself for feeling it.
She would go out patrolling. She pulled on a skirt and sweater and headed out into the night. Somehow her feet managed to take her near Spike’s cemetery. No big deal; it was a large place, and he was probably out stealing blood or whatever it was he did for fun. She’d just do a sweep of the area and head home. Just an average night for the Slayer.
Except the cemetery seemed curiously empty of vampires, and so her patrol got closer and closer to Spike’s crypt. Ok, she was far too close to his place now. She had to head back, she decided. At that very moment she got jumped by two vamps. She slayed the first but the other leapt on her, knocking her flat onto her back. She struggled with it for a minute, and then it disappeared.
She looked up through the cloud of dust to see Spike standing above her, stake in hand and a smirk firmly plastered to his face.
“’lo, Slayer,” he said, holding out his hand to help her up. Buffy ignored it and pulled herself to her feet, then realised her skirt had ridden up. Blushing, she yanked it down, but not before Spike had got a tantalising glimpse of the edge of her knickers and the smooth line of her thigh.
“Spike,” she said stiffly, and started walking away.
“Not even going to thank me, are you?” he called. She turned back.
“For what? Getting in my way? I could have dusted that vamp easily,” she spat. “Stay out of my way, Spike. I mean it.”
“You’re the one who’s in my way!” he said angrily, striding up to her. “I live here! This is my bloody haunt! Couldn’t keep yourself away, could you?” he sneered. “Got a taste of Spike and wanted more, eh?”
“You’re so full of it,” she said coldly.
“You could be too, pet,” he said, running his finger lightly along her arm. “If you let me.” She slapped his hand away.
“You make me sick,” she said in a tight voice, and Spike had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself yelling at her. Oh yeah? he thought. I’ll show you, you little bitch.
“Idea, love? If a fella makes you sick, don’t let him put his tongue down your throat,” he said cruelly.
“I’m not going to -” she said, but Spike cut her off by grabbing her arms and kissing her forcefully. His tongue invaded her mouth and Buffy pulled him closer, kissing him back furiously, and then she pushed him away.
“I hate you!” she panted.
“And I want you,” he said, his eyes dark with longing, and Buffy felt her panties soak through as her womb contracted with desire. She made a soft, inarticulate sound filled with want, and that was all the encouragement Spike needed. He wasn’t in the mood for foreplay; he’d had enough of that the other night when Buffy had left him aching on the grass. He bent her over a nearby tomb, her upper body lying along the cool marble, and threw his duster on the grass.
Buffy gripped onto the sides of the stone, and gasped as Spike pulled up her skirt. No one had ever taken her from behind, and when Spike’s hand brushed her wet panties she almost climaxed from that brief touch alone, she was so aroused. She moaned softly as she heard Spike unfasten his zipper, and pressed herself against the marble of the tomb, the cold stone making her nipples swell. Spike unfastened the ribbons at the side of her panties, and she realised that part of her must have hoped she would meet him. Why else wear a skirt and easily removed underwear? Why hadn’t she put on thick jeans and her least attractive sweater? She shut her eyes, trying to stop thinking about if she was to blame, which proved easy when Spike put his hand on her waist and with the other hand touched her entrance with his cock.
For a moment he just teased her, the tip rubbing against her entrance and her clit, and Buffy made small, sobbing moans, not thinking of how crazy it was to be doing this in a cemetery where anyone might walk past, or how wrong it was to do this with a vampire. All she could think was that she longed, craved, needed Spike to be inside her, and she pressed against him, urging him to take her.
Spike could no longer draw out the wait. He wanted her too badly, and the sounds that the slayer was making were almost enough to make him climax by themselves. He had to take her, and so with a groan he pushed himself into her to his full length, giving a muffled moan as she enveloped him.
Buffy cried out as Spike moved, first slowly and then faster. In the position they were in, Spike’s cock grazed her g-spot as he thrust, and each time he moved her clit pressed against the side of the tomb. It hurt a little, but it also made her gasp in satisfaction. Her legs began to tremble as Spike thrust harder and harder, each stroke hitting the delicious spot inside of her until she screamed, barely aware now of where she was. Her clit throbbed, and her vaginal muscles began to contract as Spike’s thrusts became ever more feverish. At last she came, her muscles contracting hard around Spike, an explosion of feeling passing through her body, and as she cried out she was dimly aware of Spike hoarsely calling her name and climaxing as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.
She lay against the tomb panting for a moment, Spike still inside her. Her legs felt weak, and her whole body fizzed.
Spike couldn’t believe it. He’d had sex with Buffy, and it had been amazing. He had fantasised about it for so long that he’d wondered if it would be disappointing if it had ever happened, but the truth was, his dreams were nothing compared to the reality of Buffy’s mouth on his, or the feel of her wetness, or the sound of her climaxing. Spike leaned against her back, a little shocked by the intensity of the experience, and feeling utterly sated.
A moment later, Buffy found that feeling had returned to her legs… And also that her sanity had come back. What the hell was she doing? With a soft sound of distress she wiggled free of Spike, pulling down her skirt.
“What’s the hurry, love?” Spike asked drowsily. Buffy just looked at him, and then her face crumpled. Before Spike could see her crying, she fled, and Spike was left with his jeans open, staring after her.
Bollocks.
Pairing: Spuffy, season 5
Previously: After the sexually charged events of Fool For Love, Buffy and Spike had an interesting encounter in Buffy’s garden, and Buffy was left feeling disgusted with herself. Previous chapter here.
Rating: 18/NC-17. Sexual content and some bad language.
Oh God.
Oh God.
Buffy tightened her hands around her knees. She’d stopped crying now, but the tears hadn’t brought any relief. There was a sick, nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’d had sex with Spike. Well, not quite - there hadn’t been any, um, insertion of parts, but… She had let Spike touch her there.
Oh, God. What the hell was she thinking? Buffy groaned softly and twisted her hands together hard, her fingertips bruising her knuckles. She sat like this for a while, and then looked at the clock. 10.45. Mom said she and Dawn would be home by 11! Buffy sprang to her feet in a panic. Her mother and sister could be home at any minute, and they’d see her sitting on the kitchen floor and would know something was wrong.
Buffy sprinted up the stairs and into the bathroom. She pulled off her track pants and t-shirt. The pants were damp at the crotch and Buffy’s stomach roiled as she noticed. She disgusted herself. How could she have let Spike do those things to her? She threw the clothes into the laundry basket and took her second shower of the last hour. This wasn’t a slow, languorous shower like the last one had been; she turned the water temperature up high, as hot as she could bare it, and scrubbed herself viciously all over, wiping away the scent of Spike and her own fluids. She spat into the drain, trying to get rid of the taste in her mouth - bourbon laced faintly with cigarettes. She shivered as she remembered the way Spike’s tongue had caressed her own, and then she punished herself by pinching her arms. She could never think about him again.
The front door slammed shut, and Dawn shouted up the stairs.
“Hey, Buffy! We’re back.”
“Hey,” she called, making her voice sound cheerful. “I’m just in the shower.” She knew she should go downstairs. She needed to talk to her mother and find out what the doctor had said. But she couldn’t bring herself to turn off the spray. If she stood here, making her skin flush red under the hot water, she could pretend that nothing had happened. That it was just some strange dream. But if she got out, her mom would know something was wrong, and she was scared she might admit something. Or worse, that Dawn would somehow guess something. Her sister had the knack for saying the worst thing at the most terrible time. So Buffy stayed under the water for another five minutes.
There was a tap on the door.
“Sweetie, I’m tired so I’m going straight to bed,” said her mother softly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Ok, Mom,” said Buffy, scrubbing at her face with a flannel. When she heard Joyce’s door click shut, Buffy turned the shower off and sat down in the cubicle. Five minutes later she heard the heavy clomp of teenage boots on the stairs, and Dawn’s door creaked open and then shut. Then Buffy allowed herself one loud, gulping sob, before getting out of the shower and pulling on a bathrobe. On the way to her bedroom she walked like she was ninety, her back hunched and hands curled into claws.
In her room she made a quick call to Riley. He was surprised to hear from her, brightly and happily surprised, and she felt briefly like she might vomit from the guilt. She arranged to see him the next day, and hung up and lay on her bed, not bothering to dry her hair.
Sleep was a long time coming, and filled with painful dreams.
*
When Buffy had suddenly pulled herself out of his arms and run into the house, screaming at him to leave her alone, Spike had lain on the grass for a moment, too stunned to react. Then the furious rage he had felt earlier returned, throbbing in his temple like a pulse, and he pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his shotgun. He could see Buffy’s back against the kitchen door, and he was tempted to shoot through the glass and end this now, but he couldn’t. So instead he stalked back to the crypt, his groin painfully swollen and his head full of murderous thoughts.
Harmony was at the crypt, rearranging her unicorn collection.
“Hey, Blondie Bear!” she said. “Did you do it?”
“Do what?” he snarled.
“Kill the Slayer, silly! You said you were going to.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said, throwing the shotgun into a corner.
“Oh. I said you wouldn’t. Did she kick your ass again?”
“Harmony, will you sod off?” said Spike. “I don’t feel like company.” He strode angrily across the room and descended the ladder into the crypt’s lower room. Harmony pouted, but she was hungry, and so decided that if Blondie was going to be a grumpy bear, she might as well go out for something to eat.
Down in the lower room, Spike looked at the things he’d assembled. Photos. A sweater of Buffy’s. He picked it up and held it to his face. He could smell her skin, and he felt his groin get increasingly painful as his erection bulged. Furiously he tore the sweater in half, throwing it onto the floor, and just as furiously he unzipped his jeans and masturbated roughly. His orgasm was short and almost painful, and when it had subsided Spike found that most of his anger had gone, but what was underneath it was worse. Misery washed over him as he thought of what Buffy had said.
It wouldn’t be you, Spike. It would never be you.
Then he saw Cecily, the slim turn of her waist and the roundness of her bustle, and the coldness of her face as she spoke.
You’re beneath me.
Dru, looking at him sadly in Brazil.
You taste like ashes.
Spike tried to make himself angry again, but all he could think of was the look in Buffy’s eyes as she had tossed the money to him. Contempt.
It was a long night.
*
Buffy woke cheerfully. The sun was shining, it was a Saturday… And, oh God, last night she’d let Spike touch her. And she’d liked it.
Any thoughts of enjoying a lie in were lost as this memory shocked her into full wakefulness. She glanced at the clock - 7am. She guessed she’d probably managed a handful of hours of sleep.
Downstairs, her mother was making breakfast.
“Mom, you shouldn’t be doing that!” said Buffy, grabbing the spatula from her. “You’re meant to be resting.”
“You’re the one who looks like they need resting, sleepyhead. Didn’t you sleep well?” asked Joyce, looking at Buffy carefully.
“Oh, you know, too much caffeine yesterday. You know how I love mochas,” said Buffy, attempting breeziness. “So, how was the doctor’s?” she asked, flipping her mom’s omelette over and making a small moan of dismay when it fell into pieces. “Oops.”
Joyce took over and dished her broken omelette onto a plate.
“It’s… the nothing I’ve been worrying about. It might not be nothing. It probably is,” she said hastily, “but the doctor said I should have a CAT scan.”
“A CAT scan,” repeated Buffy softly. She knew what CAT scans were used for. Finding tumours.
“Like I said, it’s probably nothing,” said Joyce, eating a forkful of the omelette. “I’m going to stay there overnight for observation and have the test done in the morning.”
“Oh,” said Buffy, feeling her stomach tighten. “Ok.”
“I… I don’t think I’m all that hungry, actually,” said Joyce. “You want to eat some of this?” Buffy met her mom’s eyes, and saw the pain behind her mother’s smile, the dark shadows underneath her eyes.
“I’m not hungry,” she said softly. After her mom had left the room, she tipped the omelette into the trash, staring into the garbage for a long time.
*
Riley still came over, as planned. Buffy would have preferred it if he hadn’t; she thought she should spend the night looking after Dawn before heading to the hospital early the next day to see how their mom was doing. Ordinarily, she would have told him this. But because of what had happened with Spike, she couldn’t. She had to prove to herself that she was putting Riley first.
Riley was openly, pitifully happy that she had decided to share what was going on. Am I really that closed off? she thought. So much so that my own boyfriend is surprised when I want to spend time with him and tell him my news? She shook her head. She couldn’t deal with that now. Not on top of everything else.
That night, after Dawn had gone to bed and Buffy could hear the soft, even breathing of her sleep from next door, she let Riley have sex with her. For the first time in her life she faked an orgasm, and was surprised to find she was a good actress. She’d never needed to do that before; it didn’t take much to arouse her, and Riley was a conscientious lover. But every time she found herself getting aroused, she thought of Spike’s tongue in her mouth, his fingers moving inside her, and she forced herself to stop. So she faked it, and then Riley - always believing in letting ladies go first, whether in terms of walking through a door or having an orgasm - climaxed, and soon fell asleep. Buffy lay next to him, hands crossed over her chest, and trembled with frustrated and angry desire.
*
There was a shadow.
Buffy looked serious and listened to the doctor and held her mother’s hand, and smiled whenever her mom looked at her to see if she was alright. Inside she felt strangely blank, as if the shadow was not inside her mom’s head but instead imprinted on Buffy’s heart.
Her mom wouldn’t be able to have the biopsy for a few days, but the hospital wanted to keep her in before the operation, as Joyce’s headaches had become increasingly violent. They were worried she might pass out and hit her head if she was at home. So Buffy’s days were spent sitting with her mom in a small hospital room, trying to keep her spirits up, then taking Dawn home and making her dinner (or at least that’s what they told their mom; really they got take out, which Buffy only picked at), going out for a brief patrol whilst Willow or Xander or Tara sat with Dawn, ringing her mom’s hospital room to say goodnight, calling Riley to try to stave off some of her guilt about Spike, and collapsing into bed but not managing to sleep until it was nearly morning. Then her alarm would go off and everything would start again.
Keeping herself busy like this, she had managed to avoid thinking about Spike too much. But memories of him would slip in whenever she took a moment to relax. If she lingered in the shower, she found herself thinking of the feel of his fingers against her breasts, and had to stop herself moving her own hand against her clit. There was a constant ache between her legs, but she didn’t dare relieve it. She couldn’t bear to think of herself as the kind of girl who would get off on an evil, soulless thing touching her. Never mind if he was handsome, or if he made her laugh, or could make her so angry she wanted to smash his face in - he was still a thing. A monster. And so if she touched herself, thinking of him, what did that make her?
It was the night before her mom’s operation. Willow said Dawn could stay over at her dorm for the night so Buffy could have a break. Xander would pick her up in the morning and drive them all to the hospital. With no take out to order, no little sister to nag to do her homework, Buffy found herself restlessly pacing the house. She had got changed into her pyjamas, but she couldn’t relax with a movie. She felt sick with fear about her mother, and sick with desire for Spike. It was a thick, crawling desire that made her skin itch and her stomach churn, and she hated herself for feeling it.
She would go out patrolling. She pulled on a skirt and sweater and headed out into the night. Somehow her feet managed to take her near Spike’s cemetery. No big deal; it was a large place, and he was probably out stealing blood or whatever it was he did for fun. She’d just do a sweep of the area and head home. Just an average night for the Slayer.
Except the cemetery seemed curiously empty of vampires, and so her patrol got closer and closer to Spike’s crypt. Ok, she was far too close to his place now. She had to head back, she decided. At that very moment she got jumped by two vamps. She slayed the first but the other leapt on her, knocking her flat onto her back. She struggled with it for a minute, and then it disappeared.
She looked up through the cloud of dust to see Spike standing above her, stake in hand and a smirk firmly plastered to his face.
“’lo, Slayer,” he said, holding out his hand to help her up. Buffy ignored it and pulled herself to her feet, then realised her skirt had ridden up. Blushing, she yanked it down, but not before Spike had got a tantalising glimpse of the edge of her knickers and the smooth line of her thigh.
“Spike,” she said stiffly, and started walking away.
“Not even going to thank me, are you?” he called. She turned back.
“For what? Getting in my way? I could have dusted that vamp easily,” she spat. “Stay out of my way, Spike. I mean it.”
“You’re the one who’s in my way!” he said angrily, striding up to her. “I live here! This is my bloody haunt! Couldn’t keep yourself away, could you?” he sneered. “Got a taste of Spike and wanted more, eh?”
“You’re so full of it,” she said coldly.
“You could be too, pet,” he said, running his finger lightly along her arm. “If you let me.” She slapped his hand away.
“You make me sick,” she said in a tight voice, and Spike had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself yelling at her. Oh yeah? he thought. I’ll show you, you little bitch.
“Idea, love? If a fella makes you sick, don’t let him put his tongue down your throat,” he said cruelly.
“I’m not going to -” she said, but Spike cut her off by grabbing her arms and kissing her forcefully. His tongue invaded her mouth and Buffy pulled him closer, kissing him back furiously, and then she pushed him away.
“I hate you!” she panted.
“And I want you,” he said, his eyes dark with longing, and Buffy felt her panties soak through as her womb contracted with desire. She made a soft, inarticulate sound filled with want, and that was all the encouragement Spike needed. He wasn’t in the mood for foreplay; he’d had enough of that the other night when Buffy had left him aching on the grass. He bent her over a nearby tomb, her upper body lying along the cool marble, and threw his duster on the grass.
Buffy gripped onto the sides of the stone, and gasped as Spike pulled up her skirt. No one had ever taken her from behind, and when Spike’s hand brushed her wet panties she almost climaxed from that brief touch alone, she was so aroused. She moaned softly as she heard Spike unfasten his zipper, and pressed herself against the marble of the tomb, the cold stone making her nipples swell. Spike unfastened the ribbons at the side of her panties, and she realised that part of her must have hoped she would meet him. Why else wear a skirt and easily removed underwear? Why hadn’t she put on thick jeans and her least attractive sweater? She shut her eyes, trying to stop thinking about if she was to blame, which proved easy when Spike put his hand on her waist and with the other hand touched her entrance with his cock.
For a moment he just teased her, the tip rubbing against her entrance and her clit, and Buffy made small, sobbing moans, not thinking of how crazy it was to be doing this in a cemetery where anyone might walk past, or how wrong it was to do this with a vampire. All she could think was that she longed, craved, needed Spike to be inside her, and she pressed against him, urging him to take her.
Spike could no longer draw out the wait. He wanted her too badly, and the sounds that the slayer was making were almost enough to make him climax by themselves. He had to take her, and so with a groan he pushed himself into her to his full length, giving a muffled moan as she enveloped him.
Buffy cried out as Spike moved, first slowly and then faster. In the position they were in, Spike’s cock grazed her g-spot as he thrust, and each time he moved her clit pressed against the side of the tomb. It hurt a little, but it also made her gasp in satisfaction. Her legs began to tremble as Spike thrust harder and harder, each stroke hitting the delicious spot inside of her until she screamed, barely aware now of where she was. Her clit throbbed, and her vaginal muscles began to contract as Spike’s thrusts became ever more feverish. At last she came, her muscles contracting hard around Spike, an explosion of feeling passing through her body, and as she cried out she was dimly aware of Spike hoarsely calling her name and climaxing as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.
She lay against the tomb panting for a moment, Spike still inside her. Her legs felt weak, and her whole body fizzed.
Spike couldn’t believe it. He’d had sex with Buffy, and it had been amazing. He had fantasised about it for so long that he’d wondered if it would be disappointing if it had ever happened, but the truth was, his dreams were nothing compared to the reality of Buffy’s mouth on his, or the feel of her wetness, or the sound of her climaxing. Spike leaned against her back, a little shocked by the intensity of the experience, and feeling utterly sated.
A moment later, Buffy found that feeling had returned to her legs… And also that her sanity had come back. What the hell was she doing? With a soft sound of distress she wiggled free of Spike, pulling down her skirt.
“What’s the hurry, love?” Spike asked drowsily. Buffy just looked at him, and then her face crumpled. Before Spike could see her crying, she fled, and Spike was left with his jeans open, staring after her.
Bollocks.