That Thing by NautiBitz
CHAPTER ONE: "That Thing He Does"
Summary: Post-'Wrecked', Buffy is trying to think un-Spike-like thoughts when a certain obscene phone caller foils her plan.
Timeline: Season 6, after 'Wrecked' and before 'Gone'.
Originally Published/Completed: December 2001/January 2002
Stats: 3 chapters | 4,867 words | Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Spike/Buffy | NC-17/M (not for kids)
Genres: Smut, Romance, Comedy
Awards Won: "Best PWP" and "Best Comedy/Fluff" from Love's Last Glimpse Awards, "Best Phone Sex" from the Natural Born Killers In Love Awards, and more.
Author's Note: This was supposed to just be a standalone. But then this thing happened...
Distribution: Links only, please. Do not reprint. Do not post translations. Thanks!
Disclaimer: Buffy, Spike and Sunnydale, et al, are property of Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. I merely use them as pawns in my perverse fantasies, and sometimes for chores.
Rights: I do not own these characters or the worlds they inhabit. However, the text I have written is not YOURS to paste into your own fic in any way, shape or form; either in whole or in part. That is called plagiarism, and it is not cool. Not that YOU would ever do that, because YOU are awesome. Obviously. :)
Chapter summary: Post-'Wrecked', Buffy is trying to think un-Spike-like thoughts when a certain obscene phone caller foils her plan.
Buffy stared into the dishwasher, trying to remember what she'd been doing.
Besides thinking about not thinking about Spike.
Right. Of course. Dishes. "Dawn? Will you bring me the dirty dishes?"
"'Kay," Dawn answered from the living room.
Detergent, Buffy told herself. Need detergent. She looked under the sink. What was I... oh yeah, detergent.
"Here ya go." Dawn entered the kitchen, carrying a few glasses and plates with the hand that wasn't hanging from a sling.
"Oh god, I forgot about your arm!" Buffy quickly commandeered the dishes and dropped them into place. "I'm sorry, Dawnie... I've been such a space case lately."
"It's no big, I'm still functional," the younger Summers insisted with a shrug. "I think that's why they give you two arms. Instead of just the one."
"Still—" The phone rang, making Buffy jump.
Dawn said, "Who could that be?"
Buffy rushed to answer it, imagining the horrors that could warrant a midnight call. "Hello?"
"I'm trying to understand..." a deep, familiar voice started, "that thing you do with your tongue."
Buffy gasped. And hung up the phone.
"Who was it?" Dawn closed the dishwasher and pressed a button.
"No one!" Buffy chirped, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Wrong number."
The phone rang again.
"I'll get it," Dawn offered.
"No!" Buffy blocked her way. "Just ignore it. It'll go away." She hoped.
They stood there, waiting, listening to it ring.
"This is stupid!" Dawn finally cried. "Just tell 'em it's a wrong number and they'll stop calling!"
Buffy sighed and snatched up the receiver, making sure to turn away from her sister. "What?"
"Now, now, pet. It's just a little question. Your tongue. And that thing you did with it—"
"You've got the wrong number," she tersed, and hung up, heart racing.
"See?" Dawn said. "Was that so hard?"
Buffy's eyes widened. So hard.
And it rang again.
"Wow, really not gettin' the message, are they?" Dawn noticed, preparing to answer the phone herself.
Buffy intercepted, grabbed the phone and said into the mouthpiece, "Stop. Calling. Now."
"I'm callin' back in five minutes," he said casually. "You better be ready for me."
"What is wrong with you?" Buffy hissed, and peeked at her sister, whose forehead was scrunched in puzzlement. "...Sir?"
"Be ready," he said, and hung up.
Buffy slammed the phone down, glared at it for a moment, then yanked the entire thing out of the wall.
Dawn looked down at the mess. "Wow. Um, Buffy, I think maybe I should answer the phone from now on."
"No! Don't. Not tonight."
Thoroughly confused now, Dawn said, "Wha-huh?"
"Obscene," Buffy came up with. "Very obscene phone caller." Not a lie, after all.
"Oh! So that's why you're mad. What did he say?"
"Nothing. He was... nothing." She stepped over the broken phone. "I'll fix this tomorrow."
"Where are you going?"
"Just upstairs. I've got... in my room—" Buffy cleared her head. "I'm gonna go to bed. You should too. But whatever you do, don't answer the phone."
"Okay," Dawn conceded worriedly. "I won't."
As soon as Buffy sat down, the phone rang again. She swiftly brought it to her ear. "Spike! Why are you doing this to me?"
"Why'd you answer the phone again?"
It was a valid point. "Because I... because I wanted to yell at you!"
"And why are you in your room, waitin' for my call?"
"How..." She peered out the window. "How do you know I'm in my room?"
"Just a guess, pet."
"Where are you?"
"And why do you have a phone?"
"Cell phone. Found it. Now," he continued, "Back to what I was asking before..."
"You really expect me to believe you just found a phone lying around on the—"
"Fine, I stole it. Now take off your clothes."
Buffy's brow rose. "Excuse me?"
"I said, take off your clothes."
"Look, I'm not gonna be the only one naked here."
"And I'm not gonna," Buffy lowered her voice, "have phone-sex with you!"
"How 'bout just the bottoms, then."
"Oh, right. I won't have phone sex with you, but I'll take off my pants. You're deranged." But then she noticed that her hands were moving of their own accord, and somehow her pants were sliding off her legs. She frowned and kicked them off the bed.
"Now the top," he said.
"Are you watching me?"
"No," he said with a chuckle. "But now I know you did it."
She said, "I am NOT doing this."
"Oh, you are. You're unbuttoning your shirt right now, aren't you?"
She was shocked to find that she was doing that very thing. What's wrong with me? "No," she said defiantly.
"Which bra are you wearing? The lacey black one?"
"No, it's..." She stopped herself. "I'm not playing this game with you!"
"Pink? The pink one? I like that one."
She noticed that he was breathing. Audibly. "What are you... Are you...?"
"Yes I am, and thanks for asking. You should be too."
She lay back on her pillow, listening to him breathe, belabored and slow. "I told you no," she said, her tone suddenly laced with promise.
"Mm. Lucky I've learnt that 'no' means... something other than 'no' when it comes from you."
"Hey!" She'd meant it to sound authoritative, but it came out... coy.
"Now, about that bra..."
She glanced down. "White. Plain. Not very sexy."
"All your knickers are sexy."
"Believe me, this one—"
"Take it off," he interrupted.
"I'm not taking orders from you," Buffy claimed as she sat up to unhook and free the article in question.
"I'll interpret that as, 'I did as you said, and I'm ready for further instruction'."
She scoffed. "You are the most presumptuous..."
"Where are your hands right now?"
"What?" Her hands froze.
"On your stomach?"
"No," she whispered.
"On your ears?"
She snorted. "No."
His voice lowered. "Where then?"
"On my..." She felt her face flush as she tried to answer. "On my um..."
"Gonna be shy with me now?"
"I can't... this is different than—"
"Let's start over," he said softly. "Your right hand is where?"
"On my thigh."
"Your left hand is..."
"On my..." she shut her eyes, "nipple."
"Give it a little tug for me."
"And why would I do that?" she asked, playfully now.
"Because if I were there, I'd be doing a lot worse, wouldn't I?"
"But you wouldn't be here." She flicked her finger over the erect flesh and pulled.
"Remains to be seen. Now I want you to bring your fingers to your mouth... and lick them for me." He waited. "Got it?"
"Mm-mm," she denied, mouth full.
He exhaled a laugh. "Good. Now take 'em down to that rosy little nipple... swirl your fingers around it, imagining my tongue there..."
"Don't want your tongue," she said, eyes rolling back as the receptive peak goosebumped at her touch.
"Right. Now I'm going down. Down your ribcage... down your belly... down to your sexy little plain white knickers..."
She laughed, despite herself.
"Tell me what you feel there."
Buffy took a deep breath, and ran her fingers up and down the fabric. "Hot. Wet."
"Good girl," he praised. "Slip your hand inside."
"How often do you think about me?"
"Oh, I doubt that—"
"All the time," she said, breath catching.
A pause. "What are you doing?"
"None of your business."
Chuckling, he said, "Now you know that's wrong."
"What are you doing?"
"I asked you first."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "I'm probably doing the exact same thing you're doing."
"Well I doubt that, unless you've grown a dick since I last saw you."
"Is your finger on your clit right now?"
Buffy didn't answer.
"Yes," she admitted.
"You do this when you think about me?"
She paused, and finally answered, "Uh-huh."
"What do you do?"
Buffy inhaled. "I touch myself."
"You want me to say it?"
"My um..." She giggled.
"This is adorable. What happened to the Slayer with the filthy mouth I met four nights ago?"
"Yeah? She gonna come out so she can tell me what you're doing?"
Buffy closed her eyes, and lowered her voice. "I'm circling my fingertips... around my clit."
"There she is!"
"Not gonna happen now that she's back."
She smiled and continued, "I'm putting one finger inside. It's all wet..."
"Oh?" Spike's breath became jagged again.
"Uh-huh... What are you doing?"
"I'm pumping my finger into you while I suck on your clit," he answered plainly.
Buffy couldn't help but moan.
"In. Out. Two fingers. Now three..."
Buffy gulped and gasped. "I want more."
"You want me inside you, baby?"
"Yes," she said. "Deep..."
"I rip off your panties..."
Buffy tore the satin away.
"I rise above you... licking up your body all the while, nibbling at your tits..."
"I reach down, and press my cock against your dripping wet, hot pussy..."
She roved a finger through her slippery folds. "Uh-huh..."
"I take your legs in my arms..."
"I pull you closer with my legs..."
"Yeah... You pull me in, you bossy little bitch..."
Buffy laughed. "And I make you fuck me."
"That's right. I'm just mindin' my own business, of course—"
"Spike," she chided.
"And I do. Exactly what you want."
She whispered, "How?"
"One deep stroke. All the way in."
Buffy grunted, three fingers hitting her core.
"I pull out, just a little..." He paused for dramatic effect. "And thrust right back in."
A squeak escaped from her lips.
"Remember what you said that night, pet?"
"Just... the right... fit?"
"That's right, baby. You've got me inside you, all the bloody way, and I'm pumping and pumping into you... you're—"
"Holding onto your neck, wrapping my... legs around you..."
"Kissing your sweet soft lips..."
"Sucking on my neck..."
"Worshiping your neck..."
"Biting—ohhhhhaaaahhh..." Buffy's shoulders lunged off the pillows as she pitched forward, spasming helplessly.
"Buffy— Fuck—!" His breath sped up.
The receiver still plastered to her ear, she was nearly deafened by the sound of his explosion.
After listening to him sputter unintelligibly to a stop; after exhaling her own last blissful shudder, it suddenly occurred to her how badly she'd just screwed up.
Somehow, he'd managed to break through all of her defenses. Again.
How does he do that?
She could hear his sated stretch and smug grin. "'Night, pet."
"Don't call me again," she warned unsteadily.
The grin got even wider. "Same time tomorrow night?"
"Ooh!" She smacked the phone down.
Still panting, Buffy ran her hands over her quivering, naked body and rolled onto her stomach, waiting for the new ache he'd left her with to subside.
Waiting... Waiting... Then doing her best to alleviate it.
Finally, she groaned in defeat, reached for the phone and dialed *69.
Three rings, and a wary, "Hello?"
"Um," Buffy started. "About that thing... you know. With my tongue?"
There was a second of silence.
"Right," Spike rasped in awe. He cleared his throat. "About that..."
Characters and settings property of respective creators.
Story, dialog and prose property of NautiBitz.
All rights reserved. (IE, it is not okay to borrow it for your fic.)