Chapter title: Closer - King of Leon (Ain't that the perfect 'Love-sick Vampire' Song?)
Spike reared back, stumbling, hands coming up to brush his temples as he tried to think through the intoxicated haze in his mind. The air was thick and hot, saturated with the purest, most enticing scent. Where he was, what he was, what was happening, all of this didn't matter to the vampire anymore. All that seemed real to him was that rich flavor which still coated his tongue. Fire, spice, female... He'd never tasted anything quite like it and it made him feel...great. Really, really great. He licked his lips, dazed by the sheer power contained in that sweet taste, power that was now racing through his veins. His eyes opened to the moonlit darkness, vaguely remembering he was somewhere underground, and his gaze fell upon the woman standing in front of him.
Well, standing, was an overstatement. She was gripping the table's edge behind her, struggling to keep herself upright. Glowing like the center of the universe through his eyes, he let his gaze roam over her shivering body, disheveled blond mane, heavy lids, parted lips, and the look of dazzled pleasure etched on her face. She was radiating heat, her heartbeat roaring in his acute ears. He breathed it into his very soul, her delicous scent, the smell of her skin, her hair, her arousal, and her...blood. Gliding down the long column of her graceful neck, down toward her breasts, still hot and liquid as only a few seconds had passed since he'd sunk his fangs into her.
He was high on her. He couldn't think and he didn't want to try. Her perfect essence was swimming in his guts and he let it rule him. All he knew was that he wanted her, right here, right now.
His body moving faster than his thoughts, his hands had already grabbed her butt, lifted her, and he slammed her onto the table with enough strength to bruise any ordinary woman, but not enough to hurt a Slayer. The amulet dropped to the floor, a chair next to the table toppled over with a loud bang, but the room could have caught fire and neither of them would have noticed. He bent over her, standing between her parted legs, covering her torso with his, losing all inhibitions as he lapped the already closing wound on her throat.
She arched into him, head thrown back, one hand burying itself in his white curls, the other grabbing the table's edge over her head, and he felt her surrender to the dark ecstasy crackling between them. A sharp shudder shot through her when the tip of his tongue skimmed her burning skin, and she unvoluntary tore off a chunk of wood from the table, second hand joining the first one in his hair. His tongue was following the trail of blood down her chest, and before he knew what he was doing he hooked his fingers in the hem of her tank top and ripped the cloth in half like it was paper.
The sound of cloth ripping. Buffy's body writhing beneath his. The cold white tiled-floor. The sound of water filling the bathtub. Her begging him to stop...
Spike violently tore himself away from her, gasping. He staggered back, retreating into the shadows under the stairs, holding his head with both hands. "Oh God, no," he lamented, bile rising in his throat, "no, no, no..."
Buffy was panting, stars dancing behind her closed eyelids, oxygen suddenly scarse, mind reeling from all the memories, from his amourous assault, from the outburst of sensations and emotions he'd triggered in her body, and finally from his very brutal withdrawal... Her eyes fluttered open, she had to blink away her blurry vision, and she tried to collect her scattered mind. She precariously braced herself up her elbows, room still slightly whirling around her.
"Spike?" she called, out of breath.
Her senses finally came back into focus, and she heard him, hidden in the dark in the corner of the basement, muttering to himself and moaning in distress. Buffy sat upright on the table and climbed down. The remains of her top were hanging loosely from her shoulders, not covering her at all and leaving her abdomen and simple black bra exposed to the cool night air. She awkwardky grabbed the two half of the torn tank top and brought them back together, her already flushed face heating up a few degrees more.
"Can't, can't, can't..." His tormented whispers ghosted through the room, raising gooseflesh on her skin. Slightly spooked, Buffy moved over toward the bannister and snatch her khaki shirt off. She discarded her torn top, letting it hang in place of the shirt, shrugged the latter on, and took the time to fasten only three buttons in front before she tiptoed toward the corner where he was holed up.
Laundry was hanging from a clothesline between the wooden stairs and a pillar, concealing him like a curtain, and she slowly pushed one of Dawn's damp dresses sideways, the fresh scent of washing powder drifting up to her nose. She could only glimpse his form, arms wrapped around himself, body shifting back and forth anxiously, blanketed by the darkness. "Spike?" she cautiously murmured.
He crept away from her, sliding along the wall until he was standing in the very corner under the stairs and he could go no further. "Don't come near me," he muttered, his voice low but strained, causing her pulse to quicken in warning. She ignored it however, and drew closer to him, entering the dark as well. Her Slayer eyes could barely discern him, but she could hear him take quick shallow breaths he didn't need, could feel the air congesting between them, could sense the vampire vibes she'd learned to recognize as his.
"Spike, what's wrong?" she asked gently, restraining herself from reaching out and touching him.
A shaky sigh escaped him and a few seconds passed before he was able to compose himself enough to answer. "The soul doesn't make a difference," he choked out, so close that his breath fanned over her face. "With or without it, I'm always hurting you."
A stumped Buffy stared wide-eyed into the shadows. Hurting? What the hell was he babbling about? Heat was still pooled in her groin, her skin was hypersensitive and burning for his touch. Right now she was utterly craving him, the memories of the moments they'd spent together, the memory of his hands on her, of his lips against hers, of him inside her, had reignited an appetite she thought had been extinct. "Hurting me?" she retorted, doubtful. "Wha-"
But as soon as she lifted her hand toward him he bolted away. "I said stay away!" he growled, storming past her, coming back into the moonlight and bumping a hunched shoulder against the punching ball. She watched him with incomprehension as he paced around like a caged lion, hands clenching into fists, the tendons along his throat working.
"You didn't hurt me," she assured him, baffled by his reaction.
He snorted and didn't slow down. "I was holding you down," he argued, sounding disgusted with himself. "I was feeding from you and I..." He finally stopped walking, closed his eyes, and swallowed. Pain flickered across his face and he shook his head like he was trying to get rid of some hurtful thoughts. When he opened his eyes again it was to look down at the trembling hand he held out before him. "I..."
Buffy noticed the small amount of blood smearing his fingers. Her blood. And she understood at last. She took a couple of careful steps toward him, coming to stand next to the still swinging punching bag. "You didn't do anything I didn't want you to do," she firmly asserted. "And besides, we both know I can take you."
He gave a dry, humorless little laugh. "No, you can't. Not while I have your blood in me."
His gaze suddenly locked on hers, pupils blown wide, irises bright with some dark energy, hunger coloring his pale features, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight. He looked...glorious. Breathtakingly handsome, fierce, and strong. Though visibly tortured and devoured by guilt. Buffy felt her heart liquify, her thoughts dissipate like clouds, and her skin tingling all over... The Slayer struggled to keep her mind from wandering. "Do you... Do you really think my blood made you stronger?"
He broke eye contact, once again looking down at his own hands. "I know it," he affirmed. "I can feel it. I can feel...you."
She slowly exhaled a long sigh and imperceptibly nodded. "Good."
He looked up at her again, a hint of puzzlement in his blue eyes. His gaze swept over her in silence for a while, assessing her, drinking in the sight of her. "What did you do to me?" he eventually whispered.
She blinked with surprise. "What do you mean?"
"How did you do it?" Curiosity seemed to take over his feeling of culpability and he took a step closer, piercing eyes searching her face.
"The memories?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't do anything. I thought- I mean this didn't happen when Angel... or Dracula... I thought you did-"
"Wasn't me," he cut in. "This never happened before. Ever."
Her lips parted and closed a couple of times, lost for words. "Not even with the other Slayers?" He just shook his head in response. Her eyebrows knitted together in perplexity. She'd never heard of it. Giles had never mentionned reviving memories through a vampire's bite. And it'd been more than that... A new kind of bound had been created between them. She had been able to feel him, there, reliving the past with her, in her mind. "What does that mean?"
"Seems to be a recurrent question this days, eh? I got no bloody idea what it means," he replied, turning around to traipse toward the worn-out sink, not so far away from his sleeping cot. He turned the tap on, a grinding sound coming to life as water travelled through the old pipes in the wall, and he started to rub her blood off his skin. He was trying to act casual, but Buffy could perceive these barely visible tremors running through him. She quietly joined him next to the sink, watched him chafe his hands together vigorously, watched the water- slightly darkened by blood- gurgle down the plug hole. When he was done he turned the tap off and leaned on the sink, his long fingers gripping its edge, his head hung low. "How can you bear it?" he murmured. "How can you bear the thought of me touching you... after what I did."
"You didn't do anything."
He slowly lifted his head to stare at her, his body tensing so much that the sink creaked in protest under his weight. Even in the dim light she could see the black fire behind his eyes, the torment that lined his face, as he forced the next words out of his throat. "I tried to rape you."
"And you failed," she pointed out softly, stepping forward.
He pushed himself away from the sink, which rocked slightly, and away from her. "Doesn't change anything. The intent was there. I'm unforgivable."
"Will you stop doing that!" Buffy exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air in exasperation. "Quit flogging yourself! It's not your fault, you weren't yourself."
"How can you say that? !" he countered, resuming his pacing. "Don't tell me I was under the Big Bad's influence back then, 'cause you know damn well that's bullshit."
"You didn't have your soul."
"Yeah," he scoffed. "'Cause I'm doing so much better now that I have it."
Irritation flaring without warning, Buffy strode toward him, grabbed his shoulder and slammed him against the nearest wall. His eyes widened in astonishment, but even if her blood had given him extra juice the boiling glare she shot him stiffled his complaint. "Now you listen to me, mister," she grumbled, pinning him against the grey stone wall. "The role of the ever brooding guilt-ridden vampire is already taken. Hearing Angel's whining tonight was enough. Get over yourself, Spike." She let go of his shoulder and he opened his mouth to protest but her forefinger flew up in the air to shut him up. "I'm not done."
She huffed and turned around, both of her hands coming up to her forehead. I swear one day one of them will succeed in driving me crazy... She bent down to pick up the chair that had fallen to the floor, angled it so it faced in his direction, and plopped down on it. She ran her fingers through her long hair and sighed, then her gaze glided toward his face again. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, lips pressed together, impatient.
"Angelus... was one of the most vicious vampire I ever had to face," she started, leaning back in her chair. "He was the worst kind. Smart, ruthless, cruel, sadistic. He wore the face of my first love and used it to his advantage. Played with me like a cat plays with a mouse. He tortured Giles... murdered Jenny. Displayed her corpse in a morbid tableau, and reveled in our grief. He was evil to his bone marrow." She had to stop for an instant, swallowing through the thick lump in her throat. "But I never held it against Angel. Because it wasn't him." She gave Spike a pointed look, emphasizing that last word. He wasn't trying to interrupt her now, he just listened in silence. "The same applies to you. You can't punish yourself for the things the demon inside you did. You only did good since you got your true free will back. You helped me with the girls, you defended me, comforted me... You spared Wood's life, even though he'd tried to kill you. Spike, the person your were before you got your soul back doesn't exist anymore. That's why I allowed them to take the chip out."
The vampire sighed and rubbed a hand over his weary face. "T's not that simple, love." He straightened up and walked over to his cot, slumped onto the light blue sheets and rested his back against the wall. His hand came up to wrap around his nape and he rolled his head on his shoulders, still looking pretty tense. "Angelus and Angel... It's all black and white. I'm not like that. I'm all shades of gray, always have been, and always will be."
A small smile tugged at Buffy's lips, she got up to her feet, crossed the distance between them, and settled down next to him on the sleeping cot, one foot tucked under her. "You're right. There's always been light inside of you Spike. So much so that it didn't need a soul to come up to the surface. And in all cases, you shine a lot lighter gray than you used to," she said softly. His features softened a notch, the first sign of relaxation he'd shown since he'd bitten her. "It's not your fault..." Her hand came up on its own motion and this time he didn't shrug away. "It's a disease. Drusilla infected you. Angel infected her. Darla infected him... And it goes on. It's not your fault." The pad of her fingers gently skimmed his skin, moved over his face, traced his bone structure, and he slowly unwound at her touch, his eyes closing and his lips parting. "You were the only one brave enough to look for a cure." She admired his masculine face, chiseled cheekbones, his crown of white hair shining in the moonlight giving him the perfect touch of innocence. "My beautiful vampire," she murmured.
He caught her hand in his own and pressed it against his lips. "I love you," he breathed fervently against her skin. His eyes turned into liquid pools of yearning and they bore into hers, stealing all the air from her lungs. She felt her body stir, her blood sizzle, her insides melt. Her pulse went haywire just at the thought of... The memories weren't enough. She needed to feel him again. Needed to taste him again.
She lowered her hand and very hesitantly scooted closer to him, dropping her gaze. His breath caught in his throat and every fiber in his body tensed in anticipation. Hope blooming inside him, he stayed unnaturally still, as stiff as a statue, afraid that the barest movement on his part would make her change her mind. Her nervous pulse was hammering in her throat and in his ears, she was now close enough to touch, and she leaned in to brush her mouth along his jawline, her heartbeat growing faster the more she got near him. Somehow she knew it was wrong. It wasn't the right time... Not now, not after what they'd been through, not when knowing she could lose him by the next day's evening... But that was also the reason why she couldn't stop herself. She might be living her last night on Earth, and she'd be damned if she died without having been with him- truly be with him- one last time.
Her firm yet supple lips whispered over his hollow cheek, soft as petals against his sensitive skin. He shivered beneath her touch, the hair on his nape rising at the feeling of her warm breath sailing over his face, a sigh slipped from his parted lips and he couldn't help turning toward her, his mouth chasing after hers. Their lips touched in a featherlike, tantalising caress, their ragged breaths mingled...and they both closed the last inch at the same time, each claiming the other's mouth.
Desire barreled through their veins simultaneously and in an explosion of sensations they were suddenly all lips, hands, and possessiveness. Every nerve ending in his body awakening at once, the vampire wrapped his arms around his Slayer, toppled her over onto the narrow cot, and covered half of her body with his, one knee between her legs. He coaxed her mouth open, his scent and taste invading her senses, deliciously male, each easy stroke of his tongue producing a fiery tug between her legs. Her hands prowled eagerly over his muscular shoulders and back and his palms were itching to touch her as well, but he needed her to be sure. Absolutely, one thousand percent sure.
He reluctanly tore his lips away from hers, leaving her panting and burning with want, and burrowed his face into the crook of her neck. "Do you want me?" he breathed, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of her ear.
"Yes," she gasped, squirming with need.
"Certain?" he insisted, teeth ligthly nipping her ear's lobe.
"Yes! Goddammit Spike, yes!" she moaned, the pitch of her voice slightly higher than usual.
Her words eased the ache in the center of his chest and his mouth molded around hers once more, the wet satin of his tongue gliding past her lips. Fingers weaving through her hair he drank her in, her strawberry taste melting on his tongue, filling his soul with warmth, joining the spicier flavor of her blood inside him. He had never been able to truly appreciate her before, to truly appreciate how sweet, hot, soft...
She caught his lower lip between hers, flicked her tongue against it, and pulled it back lightly before she dove in once more, her tongue sliding over his in a gut-clenching caress. He groaned into her mouth, her passion and languorous kisses sending bolts of heat straight to his crotch. She was obviously in a less romantic state of mind than him, but clearly there was no denying her what she wanted. He couldn't think of a better way to spend his last night on Earth than having a roll in the hay with Buffy Summers.
His fingers lightly brushed her hips through her pants, glided up towards her waist, slipped under her parting shirt. Buffy's breathing was growing more and more uneven as he spread his hand across her ribs, his fingertips just grazing the seam of her bra. A low whine slipped through her lips and she put her hand upon his through her shirt, guided it under the fabric and pressed his palm to the swell of her breast.
He smiled against her lips, her impatience arousing him even more. "Eager much, Baby?" he whispered teasingly, keeping his mouth just a hair's breadth away from hers.
"Touch me," she murmured, nails digging into his biceps, pressing her body against his.
No one in their right mind would say no to this. The hand he'd slithered under her shirt jerked up, yanking the cloth open and causing the buttons to spill out onto the floor in a burst. His mouth moved down her neck in a trail of kisses, nips, licks, and her head pressed back into the mattress, chest rising up the cot. His fingers hooked into the cup of her jet-black bra and pulled it aside to expose her right breast. Spike's cool lips closed around her nipple, his tongue swirling over the delicate and hardening aureola, wrenching a desperate mewl from her throat as sparks of pleasure arched inside her stomach, coursing from her breast to her womb. Her chest vibrated under his mouth, the sound reverberated into his bones, sending a lust-fueled hunger roaring along every nerve and into every muscle. He needed her naked, fully and utterly naked, the whole canvas of her bare flesh at his mercy.
Pulling away from her, he tugged her shoes off her small feet, tossed them carelessly onto the floor, unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, then grabbed its waistband and her panties at the same time before tugging both garments down her legs and off, all in one sharp acurate yank. Buffy sat up reflexively, a wave of heat rippling off her skin, her knees pressing together. He'd seen her nude many times, but not since he'd gotten his soul back, it'd been a long time, and she suddenly felt inexplicably bashful even though he'd already explored every inch of her body several times. Still she didn't stop him when he slowly eased her shirt down her arms and reached around her to unhook her bra with one swift flick of his fingers. She willingly let him take these last remaining clothes off her, but couldn't meet his eyes when she felt them on her.
His gaze raked over her body, over every curve, every dip, every perfect contour, until he placed his hand under her chin and he lifted it, his intent stare finally meeting her self-conscious one. "There're a lot a wonders I laid eyes on during my long stay on Earth, Buffy," he said, love lacing his words. "You might very well be the most beautiful one."
Her lips parted, a glimmer sparkling in her green eyes, and at this moment she found herself so attached to him that certain forbidden words wanted to come up to her lips... Yet she repress them, she had to. "Kiss me," she breathed instead, so quietly that a mere human wouldn't have understood.
His chest tightened, adoration choking him for a second. There was a lot of things Buffy had asked him to do, but never this. Never this simple, loving request. This woman was evoking feelings in him he hadn't experienced since Drusilla had given him her deathly kiss of immortality. Overwhelmed with the wealth of emotions her words had spilled forth in him, he leaned closer, cupped her face in both hands, and pressed his lips against hers.
Her arms wound around him tightly and she lay back onto the sheet, pulling him with her, uncoiling the length of her naked body against his fully clothed one as they both lay on their sides. "I love you," he vowed once again against her mouth as she wrapped a taunt leg around his hip. He was losing himself in her caresses, in her affection. "I love you..."
His open palms skated over her skin, exploring the shapely forms he'd missed so much, while their lips and tongues danced a slow sensual tango. She slinked her hands under his T-shirt, warm fingertips sliding across the flat surface of his abdomen, leaving trails of electricity in their wake, making the muscles underneath flinch and clench in reaction. Her clutching fingers impatiently tugged at the piece of cloth and their lips broke apart so she could peel it off him. Buffy took the time to admire her lover, her eyes as bright as emeralds in the penumbra, obviously liking what she was seeing. She splayed her hands over his pale skin and smoothed caresses over his shoulders, his pecs, his stomach, and the sexy V shape of his lower abs, perfectly sculpted as if in marble. Her eyes slowly shifted up while her hands kept going down, and she stared into the bottomless inky pools of his pupils as she worked the buckle of his belt.
They were breathing the other's air, lustful gazes linked together, the scorching steam of their desire heating up the cool atmosphere of the basement, and just when she plunged her hand inside his pants his palm circled around her hip and his fingers grazed her hot, silken folds. Sighs of satisfaction escaped their mouths at the same time and the Slayer's eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of his fingertips rolling over the very core of her pleasure. She tried to stay focused, pressing her palm against the rock hard bulge that was still trapped in his underwear, fingers tracing the length of him through the fabric, yet before she could slid her hand inside his boxer he rolled them over until he was on top of her, settling between her open thighs.
His hand never moving away from her crotch he slowly kissed his way southwards, locks of his hair tickling her skin on the way down. Buffy's body pulsed with excitement when she understood where he was going, and her hands clasped his shoulders while his devoted lips teased her breasts, tasted the skin of her belly, passed her navel, worshiping her body like she was a feast and he was a starved man. The vampire kneeled next to the cot- the makeshift bed being too narrow- draped her firm legs over his shoulders and nestled his face between her parted thighs, licking his cool velvet tongue deep into her body. Buffy inhaled a big gasp as the tip of his tongue stroked just in the right places, her pelvis rose up from the cot, and Spike grabbed her hips to keep her down, not letting her escape from the delicious ministrations of his mouth.
Her fingers fisted into the sheet, while he worked her up expertly, knowing exactly how to touch her, and she couldn't help from grinding herself against his mouth, her soft moans filling up the charged air. He groaned in appreciation when he felt her move and the vibration rippled through her, making her eyes rolled back behind her closed eyelids. Adding to the blissful swipes of his tongue, he pushed two fingers inside her and curled them up, hitting pressure points he knew were there.
"Oh God," she purred, revelling in that dazzling, amazing sensation growing in the pit of her stomach. Her hands were clasping and unclasping, in need to hold on to something more consistent than the thin blue sheet. Her palms roved the cot until one gripped the edge of the metallic structure supporting the mattress- knukles turning white, the metal grinding and bending- and the other pressed against the callous wall.
Her eyes were closed, but he was watching her. Smoldering blue eyes scrutinized her, enthralled by the writhing goddess lying before him, offering him access to her sweet haven which he worshiped relentlessly with deep, intimate kisses. Her thighs tightened against his cheeks, the combined effort of his mouth and fingers bringing her higher and higher, sweat beading on her skin, her heart pounding madly in her chest, drowning in the keen pleasure coursing through her veins. All the sounds she was making, her moans, her sighs, her gasps, were absolute music to his ears however he knew she was holding back, trying her best to stay quiet... And he wanted her to sing. He flicked his tongue over her sensitive bud of nerves one more time, sucked it into his mouth, then gently nibbled on the delicate flesh. And her reaction didn't disappoint. She bounced up the bed with a cry that echoed throughout the room, tremors running down her legs, and her walls clamped down on his fingers for a fraction of a second. She was right on the edge, and Spike stopped just before she could cross it.
She whimpered a small "No," as he pulled away from her crotch, kissed her inner thigh, and started to crawl up her body again. Buffy's eyes fluttered open and she was torn between confusion and heavy frustration, her chest pumping harshly for air, trying to clear up her foggy mind. Spike was gazing seductively down at her, hands braced on either side of her shoulders, licking the taste that still lingered on his lips, and shooting her a smile that would've charmed the pants off the most prudish nun. She blinked through the haze, feeling her limbs tight with unreleased tension, and her brows drew together accusingly. "Why did you stop?" she asked through panting breaths.
He lowered himself so he could brush his lips against hers and the faint flavor of her own scent wafted into her nostrils. "'Cause I want it to last as long as possible, Baby," he replied in a lazy, flirty drawl. "And because I want to be inside you when you come."
His voice, his touch, his mere presence were making her insides ache with want, the need to feel him, all of him, consummed her, and she crashed her mouth against his, firmly wrapping her hands around the nape of his neck. She locked her legs around his lean hips and she spun him around with a twist of her pelvis. But she had forgotten they weren't lying on a regular bed and they whirled off the cot in result. The vampire's back thudded against the cold ground of the basement and Buffy landed on top of him.
"Oompf!" Spike grunted, but a small smile soon parted his lips and he lifted his head up the ground, a lustful light flickering in his eyes. "Glad to see you still like it rough, Slay-"
Her steel-strong fingers closed around his throat, not squeezing, but it shut him up instantly nevertheless. She slowly bent over him, stark naked, like a lioness hovering over her prey, bringing her face just inches away from his. "No more talking," she whispered, before flicking her tongue across his upper lip. He answered with a low feral growl rumbling from his chest, his hands grasping her hips into an iron grip. His groin burned, his yearning for every inch of this woman clawing through his muscles, his predatory nature and the thrill of having her dominating battling for supremacy inside him.
Her tongue lazily trailed over his collarbone, making the vampire squirm, but she held him in place as she licked her way down his smooth torso, feeling his pecs shudder underneath his skin. She was grinding her hips down on his, moving in circles, restless and wanton, teasing the hardness she felt through his boxer and opened fly, and the tip of her tongue skimmed over the peak of his nipple, wringing a guttural sigh from him. She was driving him insane, and feeling her teeth nip at his flesh was the last straw. Gold flashed in his eyes for an instant, his hand flew to his neck to close around her wrist and he had no difficulty in breaking her grip, empowered as he was by her blood. He wrapped an arm around her slim waist and lithely rolled her beneath him with a quiet snarl, swapping position so he could be on top again.
Buffy winced when her back came in contact with the hard basement ground, for if it had felt cold to the vampire, it was feeling icy to her hot, sweaty body. A shiver ran down her spine, goosebumps rose along her skin once again, but Spike sank his demanding lips to hers and effectively took her mind off everything that wasn't him. Her open hands pressed against the strong shape of his back, trying to bring him as close to her as she could while they feverishly kissed, their lips moving together in a searing bound as if their very existence depended on it. She wanted to absorb him, to melt into him, to inhaled his spirit until she could feel him in her bloodstream. She needed him, needed to lose herself in him... Her dark place, the one she could tell anything and everything, the one who understood her, the one with whom she could truly let herself go...
The one who couldn't get enough of her. His weight supported by one forearm on the concrete floor, his other hand roaming over the satiny hills and valleys of her forms, his palms molding her firm round breasts, tracing the contour of her body, glossy with a thin sheen of sweat in the soft streaks of the moonlight. They both burned and trembled with the same overpowering need to be one with each other, both pressed by the same urge, so turned on they couldn't see straight, and when they couldn't bear the thought of being apart for a second longer, they simultaneously tugged at Spike's black jeans and boxer, shoving them down his hips, him using his hand and Buffy her feet. He positioned himself at her entrance, placed his hand on her hip, and before too long he plunged deeply inside her liquid heat, burying himself to the hilt within her.
Their bodies stiffened, his groan of pleasure mingled with her womanly moan, both sounds resonating through the air, and time seemed to stand still for a few thudding heartbeats, their shaky breaths the only noises breaking the sudden silence. Buffy's eyes were squeezed shut, nails imprinting little crescent moon shapes in his shoulders as she panted in short breaths, her body adjusting to his, soft warm depths slowly relaxing around his cool hardness. A sensual fog had wrapped around them both and Spike mind had dissolved into a muddled phantasmagoria, the pure, exquisit agony of her tight welcoming body emptying his brain of thoughts. He'd never known a woman's touch when he'd been human. William, the helpless romantic, had been waiting, preserving himself for the One. Sure Spike'd done a lot of naughty stuff since then, some of it with Buffy, most of the rest with his sire, and he hadn't forgotten any of it. But this was the first time...for William. Feeling her beneath him, surrounding him, his very soul soaking up the scent of her... It overwhelmed him. And for a moment he could do nothing but take it all in, processing the emotions and sensations.
Slowly his eyelids slid open, and he gazed down at his lover through the blur, watching the strands of her blond hair spread in a pale golden halo across the dark floor, her eyes still shut, brow slightly furrowed with tension. He realised just how tense she was, arms and legs clasped rigidly against his sides, the muscles in her pelvis quivering, and guilt suddenly pricked his unbeating heart. All he was feeling was utter sensory pleasure but he might very well be hurting her at the same time...
He dipped his head and gently nuzzled her face, sipping the tender skin of her cheek with fluttering kisses, allowing himself to show more tenderness than he ever had before. She felt so soft...so deceptively fragile... She slightly stirred against him and he drew just a few inches back, blue eyes fixed on her face as she slowy opened her eyes. "Buffy," he murmured, his voice more strained than he'd intended, "you alright, lov-"
The rest of the word dissipated into a muted gasp when her fiery, smoking forest green gaze dived into his eyes. Her beauty dammed the air in his lungs and he stayed still, bewitched, as she snaked her hand between them and placed delicate fingers on his face. "You know me better than that," she returned him, with as much fire in her voice as there was in her eyes. "I'm a lot better than alright."
Relief washing through him, he nestled his face in her hand like a cat asking to be stroked, pressed a hot kiss to the center of her palm, and when her fingers brush again his parted lips his tongue darted forward, licking her fingertips. She dipped her middle finger within, stroking the moist heat of his mouth as he gently sucked on the pad of her finger. Buffy closed her eyes, feeling as if the inch of skin he'd surrounded with his lips was directly connected to the apex of her thighs and she unconsciously arched her back, her muscles tightening around his shaft. Spike's chest clenched, forcing a ragged sigh out of him, and finally he began to move, feeling as if she'd just given him permission.
He began sliding himself in and out at an unhurried pace, intent on enjoying every second, the friction he was creating between them filling her with warmth, a gratifying sensation of fullness, a pleasant pressure that spread from where they were joined out into her pelvis, abdomen, up her chest and along her limbs. She shifted her knees up his body, wrapped her fit legs around him, ankles locking behind his buttocks so she could take him deeper. He moaned in ecstasy, his lips descending over hers, tongue tangling with hers, the pace of his rolling hips slowly increasing.
The chilling stony ground she was lying on was uncomfortable, her skin pinched between her spine and the concrete from time to time, but clearly she couldn't care less. Each blissful thrust of his hips were sending surge of thrumming heat in her guts, his body now warm enough to make her forget about the cold. She cuddled her face into his neck, welcoming his weight on her, her hands stroking up and down his back, relishing the feel of his strong frame in her arms, hard muscles contracting under his soft skin as he glided in and out of her body.
However she needed more. He'd already started to build her orgasm with his mouth, bringing her so close to heaven only to leave her hot, bothered and frustrated, and now he was stimulating her just enough to keep her excitement intact, but not enough to take her higher. She needed more.
She moved with him, her body undulating against his, using her feet to drive him harder into her. He automatically responded, angling his pelvis so that his pubic bone ground against her and moving faster, enjoying the feeling of her breasts brushing his chest, enjoying the tightness of her muscles around him, tensing everytime he rubbed against her, giving him more pleasure and making him thrust himself deeper, harder, faster. Still the fire of their bodies paled in comparison to the connection of their minds. Whereas it was due to her blood running through his veins or something else entirely, his soul had weaved into hers until there was no telling where one mind ended and where the other began. They were both experiencing something totally new to them: perfect, harmonious union.
Heavy breathing, animalistic grunts, flesh meeting flesh, hot musky scent, bodies coiling with pleasure in the dark, delicious friction... It all blended together, their minds spiraling up this intoxicating cocktails of sensations, her nails digging into his shoulder blades, scratching down his back, and his mouth breathing over the biting mark he'd left on her neck. Her fingers threaded through his messy platinum locks, she could feel his lips so close to her pulse her toes curled from the odd thrill of the knowledge that he hungered for her. She exposed her throat to him, arching her neck, light-headed with anticipation. She wasn't doing it to make him strong, nor to cure him of some supernatural poison like she had with Angel. She wanted it. She couldn't explain it. She just wanted to feel that unique connection again. She wanted to be...his.
"Do it," she demanded huskily, legs winding even tighter around him.
But he was fighting it, features shifting back and forth from human to vampiresque, eyes flickering blue and gold, parted lips inches away from her thumping pulse. He was all but clawing at the ground, resisting the urge to bite with all his might, knowing he'd already taken more than he should have...
Buffy was rocking her hips, meeting his forceful thrusts, the insistent ache for release throbbing at her core, and she unintentionally flexed her inner muscles around him, ripping a hiss from his throat. "Please," she gasped, "please, William, don't make me beg," she pleaded in choked, whimpering hiccups that betrayed her imminent climax.
He could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage, could feel each breathy pant that landed on his skin, could feel her burning body twist and writhe beneath him. And the sound of his birth name on her lips was too much, her voice a drag of velvet against his nerves, making him give in. Once again conscious thoughts faded, letting primal instincts take over. He dipped his head into the crook of her neck, fangs sinking past skin, reopening her wound, and hot ambrosia filled his mouth, flowing over his tongue like ripe plum and summer heat. The Slayer's back bowed off the cold ground, a cry leaving her opened mouth, bright coloured stars erupting behind her closed eyelids as waves of bliss raked her body, tightening every single muscle in their wake. The vampire surrendered to his own orgasm, whitehot ecstasy crashing through him like a tidal wave, he spasmed inside her clenching depths, hips bucking erratically, her neck muffling the roar of fulfillement that tore through his throat. And while they rode the crest together, both quivering uncontrollably, the same unknown power that had ensnared their minds took hold of them again, pushing their consciousness down into another level of reality.
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