I Don't Date
Buffy doesn't date. Fortunately, what she and Spike do together isn't considered dating. Hot, sweet, smutty one shot. Season Six, set some time after Smashed, in a much more Spuffy AU.
Author's Note: Ahem. Smut ahead. You've been warned.
Dedicated to Sirius120, Alexiarrose, and Ginar369.
Disclaimer: Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.
She pulled on her slim fitting black coat. Her face was a hard mask. It was so often a mask, of one form or another. She patted her pockets. Loaded with slay-goodies.
"I'll be back later." She called to the house in a dull voice.
"Bye!" Tara and Dawn responded.
"Is this slaying or something like socializing?" Willow asked hopefully as they passed in the hall.
Buffy laughed, hoping it didn't sound too bitter. "I don't date."
"Oh. I didn't mean-" Willow trailed off, coloring slightly. That had been exactly what she meant. Buffy looked - different. Somehow excited, moving a little quicker, cheeks flushed, eyes brighter. "Have a good time with the forces of evil. Knock 'em dead!"
"Don't worry. I will." Buffy smiled briefly and slid through the front door.
"I don't date." Truer words never spoken. Well, no. I should have said "I won't date." Because when I did date, and when I do, bad things happen...
She walked slowly, heels of black scuffed boots clicking on sidewalks, eyes seeing every threat, but really looking inward.
Owen. Dancing and dining, side of funeral home breaking and entering, slaying the undead, and I singlehandedly turn a morbid poet into a thrill seeker who wants to date me, because maybe then he'll be lucky and get killed.
Angel. That seemed safe, right? Some Bronze, some prophecies and slayage, throw in some ice skating, jewelry, one night of sweet romance and hello Psycho Killer.
Scott. Nice and normal. Did everything right. Buster Keaton Fest. Movies. Mall. Holding hands in the cafeteria. But I'm two different people, and he's not stupid. Half of me was someplace else. Probably with Angel.
Which brings me back to Angel. Again.
Buffy was attracted to scuffling behind a large, parked van. She didn't bother to banter or pull out a flashy move to surprise the vamps she could sense before she saw them. She went over, she observed for three seconds, then Mr. Pointy plied his trade, and Buffy made her usual standard speech to the rescuee. "LSD, PCP, gangs, youth of today, what's this world coming to, right? No, they didn't really go up in smoke, you have blood loss from where they cut your neck. You need to pack that in gauze, stop the bleeding, and get to a hospital. Do you have someone you can call? Good. No big."
She shrugged off thanks and kept on walking, back to thinking.
Angel again. Could I have done it any better? I did get a second chance after all, and we were so, so careful. Nighttime picnics. Fireside suppers. One disastrous erotic movie. Then back to slaying, and talking, and ice cream. Strictly chaste. He still leaves. 'Cause apparently, I'm too sexually tempting, even though I tried so hard to be so good, which means he can't leave me alone- so he leaves me. Alone.
Maybe that second chance shouldn't count. We already blew it once.
But I always blow it. Even if I do the most basic things.
Like Parker. Heartfelt "Get to know you" conversations. Coffee. Coffee after class. Walks where we joke and laugh, and dances at parties where we smile and smooch. Back to his room, with the tie on the door, and I tell him I want to...
Basic college dating things. Like getting left alone the morning after, and being the freshman who got used by the biggest prick on campus.
Riley. The biggest shoulders on campus. Now that- that was a seriously excellent dating and working combo. Picnics, parties, actual dinners out, actual movies, and actual slaying, as in he not only knows how to take out a demon, but he's: A. Not turned on by the idea of accidentally meeting his death, B. Not already one of the types of slayable creatures, such as a redemption-seeking vamp, and C. Not freaked out that I do exactly what he does, so my secret and his secret are mutually safe.
Everything was supposed to be mutual.
Everything became unbalanced. I don't even know what I did. Was I supposed to stay perfectly still and centered when Mom got sick, when they were hunting down Dawn? Was it too much to ask that he hold one end of the seesaw while I tried not to plummet off the other side?
Which brings me back to I don't date. I won't date.
Which brings me to- here.
She paused in the dark cemetery, wind blowing her hair back, face slowly losing its hard facade.
She didn't knock. She barged in.
He didn't seem to mind. "Hello, Slayer. Startin' early tonight?"
"It's pretty quiet." So loud inside my head...
"Want me to turn up the volume?" He struck a match, lit a candle. Made a flame...
Spike caught her easily as she barreled into him, hands at her lower back, then up, under her jacket, peeling it off as she moaned into his mouth, frustrated grunts and sighs. He stole her breath to pant, to exhale and let his trembling muscles relax. She was so good, just a kiss. He was the one who drank lifeblood, but she was the one who devoured a man whole.
"Missed you." He gasped and bit her neck gently, bit her skin and cheek with hard kisses, working his way down to her breast, where his teeth latched on softly.
"Missed you too." She admitted desperately. Her hands raked over his back, pulling his tight black tee up from his jeans, over his head. Moans became louder as his hand forced her bra unevenly up and over, so they sat, bare chest to bare chest.
"Let's go down." He growled, picking her up, hot wetness to cold hardness, trapped by layers of fabric.
"You first." She grinned, and he cupped her cheek with a hard squeeze.
"You like my cheeks."
"I do. Bloody bitable. All of you is."
He swept them downstairs to the dark basement bedroom, another flare from a match, and a thick red candle set hastily beside the bed.
Buffy put her arms over her head as she sank back, flooded with relief as the thoughts fully left her mind, and the only consuming thing was pleasure, and him.
Spike and pleasure were now inseparable concepts.
He pulled her jeans down and off over the boots, ripping the cuff slightly without so much as an apologetic look, and then tugged the boots off after them. He left her panties on, prowling kisses from ankles to calves, up to smooth thighs, then smiling at her sweet, sultry scent. "Rough day?"
"Not rough enough." She teasingly sighed. He took the hint, and turned kisses into mauls with his lips and blunt teeth, biting her still covered crotch, tongue thrust into the wet silk, pushing it between her folds, making her whimper, before snapping his teeth down and pulling it back. Lightly nibbling all around her mound until he smirked and looked up at his moaning goddess, a naughty gleam in his eye.
Sniiiick. Buffy sighed again. Oh well. Panties were cheap. She shook one silken half down her leg as he removed the shreds of the other. It was a small price for utter bliss. Utterly depraved, loud bliss.
He lapped hard and unrelentingly. He didn't pause to let her come down once he took her up, he just switched to a different task. Thrusting in, fucking her with his tongue, then sucking her clit, letting his fingers do the work of milking an orgasm from her tight, spasming center. Thighs thrown up over his shoulders, hands gripping her cheeks, and sometimes, like today, leaving soft gray bruises as she bucked and he clung.
He stopped when her last orgasm seemed to hollow out her body, a wailing groan, echoing around the cave-like cellar, belly concave in a spasm, and the edge of a sob in her breathing. Then he was gentle. All over gentle, soft kisses up her shaking ribs, hands caressing her face as he lowered himself on top of her, lips tender on hers.
But it's his eyes that are the softest. Buffy smiled and nodded that she was fine. "So good." She whispered. Still he lingered, oceans of blue cradling fields of green. He'd never hurt her. Never leave her. You can tell in those eyes. "So perfect."
"Like you." He murmured, and eyes closed as he sank into her.
For a minute, they were gentle, all warm and snuggled, embracing as they became one. Her heartbeat slowed, his muscles tensed, racked in the pleasure of being inside something so warm and vibrant, so alive. They sighed as one.
Buffy rubbed his back lightly, bringing the edge back to their union. "I said 'You first.' You totally skipped my turn."
"No I didn't." He argued with a wanton grin, plunging deeper inside her, enjoying the hot, slick squelch as her tunnel soaked him and sucked him with needy pulls. "Your turn can be next. You know you like the taste of your sweet, dripping honey. Mixed with mine."
"I don't!" Buffy lied, baiting him.
"You do." He slowly rose to his knees, pulling from her, making them both moan in pained loss. He pushed his knees past her her hips, past her ribs, until he straddled her. "You love that warm, sweet juice you make." He purred.
Buffy sat up slightly. Her mouth opened, eyes closed, and he slid forward another inch, putting his soaked member into her mouth.
His pelvis jerked uncontrollably, and she smiled up, bad girl glint in her eyes. A secret look, one of the many they only allowed the other to see. His poetic softness, her dangerous lust... no one else needed to know. They were emotions reserved for times spent alone.
"Oh fuck..." He groaned, hands going to the back of her head, then one sliding down to play with her nipple. "Sweet, sweet mouth you have, Luv."
"Sweet juice." She winked, and danced and sucked on him, cleaning every drop off, tasting his own saltiness in the finish. "Needs a refill." She let him fall from her lips as he was about to burst. She gave him a nudge, an unspoken directive to get back inside her, fill her once more.
"Wicked." He obeyed with a huff, denied his climax, but delighted to prolong it at the same time.
"Shhh. Don't tell anyone." She giggled.
"I won't." He chuckled back, just as darkly. "Speaking of wicked..." He slid back, but pushed her hips up high, knees to her chest. He slid into her waiting warmth with a hard thrust, and as she was bucking, used the forefinger of his free hand to push into a second, definitely "wicked" place.
"Mmm, yes, that's what I like to hear."
She moved with him, moaned with him, talked like the vixen he unleashed. He encouraged her, hips thrusting harder, snarls replacing smiles, until he let go of her cheeks to twist them around, letting her ride on top, take him out of this world and into someplace far hotter and sweeter.
"That's it. That's it, you go, Slayer, go and I'll follow you down." He panted, as she rode him hard and deep. Her hands slid to his chest, and his to hers. She clawed his abs, he massaged her globes.
Then, in what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, hands magically slid to clasp together. Snarls reverted to smiles, breathless, nearly spent. "I feel like I might actually explode." Buffy hissed, putting their hands on her lower torso, just above the place they were slipperily interlocked.
"You can. Girl juice is excellent moisturizer." He teased and pressed down with her. She was a miracle. The only human he'd ever been with, and he was fascinated by the way she breathed, the way her muscles surged, and organs pumped as she made love to him.
"I can't. Too full of you to have room for exploding." She giggled. "And if you pull out- I'll kick you. Hard." Buffy playfully threatened.
"I'm not leaving this paradise." He shook his head and looked at her as if she were insane. "Just push down. Push down and hold it."
She followed his advice, tunnel bearing down in a long spasm- and he went up, against the current, pistoning hard, a stallion at a breakneck gallop to win a race.
She screeched and flooded his cock with scalding juices, he hoarsely roared and shot out a torrent of cooling seed. They both looked down, expecting to see clouds of steam.
They didn't. Never did, but it always seemed to amaze them.
"Holy cow." Buffy toppled off.
"Ahhh. That's how you do it, Pet." Spike pulled her close, and they laughed together, warm, wet, relaxed. Spent.
"I needed that."
"Never would have guessed." He quipped.
"Stop that." She smacked his thigh.
"Mm, wait 'til I turn over, Baby." Spike wiggled his sculpted glutes.
"You are too." She stiffened slightly. "You're also the most beautiful, wonderful, truly good thing in this world." He squeezed her hand. "An' I'm glad you're back in it."
She swallowed. He was going to say it again.
"I love you, Buffy."
"I love you, too."
It wasn't the first time she'd said it. The first time had been an accident, something she regretted, but once she'd told him, she was brave enough, broken enough, not to take it back. She'd run from him, but she'd come back, and said it softly, while they were drifting off, and this time, she stayed. This was possibly the fifth or sixth time, but every time felt like the first time, when heaven opened up for one sudden moment and you saw an angel smiling at you.
Every time she said it, he looked so genuinely happy, so suddenly at peace. Each time she said it, she hurt a little less.
They settled back on the damp sheets with a soft, contented noise.
"You're not going to ask me out are you?" Buffy demanded suddenly, panicked.
Spike's eyebrows arched. "We don't date." He said flatly, an edge of scorn in his voice.
Buffy let out the breath she'd been holding, utterly relieved. Then completely content. She stretched, entwining her limbs more completely with his. " Mmm. God, Spike. You're so perfect for me."
"I know." He preened. She laughingly elbowed him, so he quickly added. "An' you're the only one for me, Buffy. Why would I bugger that up with dinner an' a movie, when you're all I want to eat," he kissed her sweating shoulder, "and all I need to see?" He gazed into her eyes, stroking the blonde hair away so he could watch every smile.
"Exactly." Buffy beamed up at him. "Most guys just don't get that."
He smiled down on her. "I'm not most guys."
"Probably why I love you."
They closed their eyes, both thinking the same things.
All said and done, when you've lived and died, and lived again, you really don't care about "dating".
You'd much rather be in love.