Spike had remained strangely distant the entire evening, as if he were uncertain how to treat her. Now he was watching TV on the sofa again, alone. He'd wanted to stay behind at his crypt, but she'd insisted that he come home with her again. She wasn't sure why. She knew he could handle himself now that he knew Butch was after him. She just wanted him in the house. So I could lie here alone and think about him lying down there alone, right? This whole situation was beginning to give her a major wiggins, and it was nobody's fault but her own. She sighed and turned over again. In her hand, she held the crow's feather that she had retrieved from the floor of the crypt.
Spike had muted the infomercial that he hadn't really been watching after the third time he heard Buffy's bedsprings squeak in as many minutes. She wasn't sleeping. He wanted to go to her...and do what? Invite himself into her bed? Right, you wanker, too bloody smooth. As if Soldier Boy an' his self-righteous twaddle hadn't given the poor little twit enough of a complex, what she needs is you an' your ragin' beastie hormones creepin' up on her in her bed. Enough to turn a bird off sex for good an' all.
When he heard her soft footfall on the stairs, he froze, hoping that she would believe him to be asleep. He felt rather than saw her enter the living room and peer over the back of the sofa at him. He heard her sigh and turn away.
Buffy went into the kitchen and stood for a moment at the window, staring out into the back yard. The quiet was endless. The window was open several inches and a slight breeze lifted tendrils of her hair from her neck. She was dressed in a white cotton nightie, softened and thinned from much washing. It was a comfort item, scented of sunshine on the line. She wore it when her mind was troubled. It had seen a great deal of use.
Suddenly, a horrible, wretched squall pierced the silence. The tiny hairs that covered her body stood at attention, and she recoiled from the window in terror.
Spike was poised in the doorway of the kitchen before he even realized he'd left the sofa, in full game face and ready to rip to shreds whatever demon had threatened the Slayer with that sound. Buffy cowered against the stove, panting in momentary fear, before regaining her senses.
They eyed each other and waited. The squall came again, longer, drawn out, agonized. It sounded less threatening this time. Then came another, closer, at a different pitch, and Buffy realized what it was.
A cat, in heat, calling for a mate. How appropriate.
She sunk back against the stove and chuckled. "Oh, God, I'm in bad shape if I let some poor kitty-cat flip me out."
"Well, luv, seems you're in good company." He allowed his demon visage to slide away and smiled at her from across the room. She looked so small and vulnerable in her white nightgown, her hair a tangled mess and her eyes still dark and wide from the adrenaline coursing through her. He was afraid to say more, afraid to move from the spot he was standing in. He knew he couldn't be counted upon to maintain control.
"Spike." Her voice had a strange quality suddenly...almost sleepy. Surely it was a reaction to the momentary fright.
"You came to save me from the kitty-cat, didn't you?"
He didn't answer, just stood there, looking sheepish.
"Well, to be fair, luv, I didn't know it was a kitty-cat..." He realized, when the words were out of his mouth, how ridiculous they sounded. They laughed at one another from across the room.
"Do you know why the kitty-cat is crying?"
"I believe I do."
"So do I." She was moving toward him then, slowly, dragging her fingers along the surface of the counter, the table; whatever she could touch, she did. He felt every touch in his own body.
Then she was in the doorway with him, looking up at him. Her hands were clasped behind her back like a child's, but the look on her face was like nothing innocent. Another yowl of pained yearning split the air.
"The kitty sounds desperate, doesn't she, Spike?" Her voice had grown husky. "I know how she feels."
A battle raged within him. He knew what she wanted--or what she thought she wanted. But he also knew that if he took advantage of her desperation, it could erase any kind feelings she had for him once she regained her sense of balance. The moments of bliss would not be worth the eternity of contempt--would they?
Her eyes drilled holes into his. "You said you had something to show me. Won't you show me, Spike? Please?"
It was the "please" that broke him. The edge in her voice when she said it spoke more of her need than anything ever could, and he could only serve her need in that moment.
He swept her into his arms and carried her, cradled against his chest, up the stairs to her bed. As he deposited her there, he saw the lights of her mother's car as it swung into the driveway.
"Stay here, luv. Be very still."
"You'll come back?" Her voice caught at the back of her throat.
"Shhhh. I'll be back."
Silently, he made his way back to the living room and with speed that surprised even himself, he gathered up his boots and coat, turned off the TV, and was back up the stairs like a very determined shadow.
He stood in the darkness for several minutes, waiting for Joyce to check on Buffy and turn in to bed herself. Patience...long moments of tormented patience for them both.
Finally, the house was silent again. Moving with as much stealth as he could, he made his way from the corner shadows to her bed. Perhaps she had fallen asleep. He knelt by the bed and listened for her breathing.
As soon as Spike approached, Buffy sat up and reached for him, pulling him into her arms with a desperate tug. He realized she had removed her nightgown, and was now trying to strip him of his tee-shirt.
"No, luv, no, lie back." He captured her wrists in one hand and tried to force her back onto the bed. They struggled for a moment, then stilled, staring at one another.
"Slayer, just be quiet for half a moment, can't you?" He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and fought urge to run his hands over her naked torso. "Are you sure this is what you want, pet? I'm more than willin' to oblige, but I must know that you're sure..." His voice trailed off as his eye was caught by the long, black crow's feather lying next to her pillow. He recalled what she had done to him with that feather the night before. Everything in his body that hadn't already been throbbing with longing awakened at the thought, and he squeezed her wrists together almost painfully.
"Oh, Spike, just take off the clothes alreadyI need to feel you--"
"No. No, ducks, the clothes stay on tonight." He dropped her wrists and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, watching the moonlight play across her skin through the filmy curtains. "This time is just for you. If I lose my trousers, I'm very bloody likely to lose control as well." He reached out and brushed her hair from her forehead, allowing his hand to travel down her face, down her throat, over her breast to her waist.
She surged upward to meet his touch, and the sound she made was very like a quieter version of the kitty's yowl. His hand returned to her face and covered her mouth. He leaned in and spoke urgently. "You must try to be quiet, luv. Can't have your mum come flyin' in here to see what the trouble is."
He removed his hand. "It's Ok. Mom has one of those...those white noise machines. To help her sleep. Don't think she can hear us." She was panting between her short sentences.
"Still an' all, we mustn't take any chances. The shock of finding me in her sweet daughter's bed might set the good woman back weeks of recovery time." He was looking around the room as he spoke, finally spying something hanging from the closet doorknob. "Trust me, pet?"
Buffy nodded, following his gaze. He rose from the bed and retrieved the blue bandanna. She sat up and allowed him to tie it firmly in place around her mouth. She lay back on the bed and lifted her arms over head to rest them against the headboard, her wrists crossed.
Seeing the way she offered herself to him like that made him dizzy with wanting. He knew in that moment that he could do anything with her--anything he fancied. A lesser man--a lesser monster--would have simply taken her then, slamming into her, knocking her back into the headboard, plundering her of everything she had to give. He chose better, because he WAS better.
Gently, slowly, he lowered his mouth to one breast, cradling it in his hand as his lips found her nipple. From that moment forward, all coherent thought was lost to her. There was only physical sensation and torrid emotion, each taking turns in controlling her.
His tongue made soft circles at first, waiting to gauge her reaction. If his many, many years of experience had taught him anything it was that every woman was different, needed different things to reach satisfaction--needed different things from day to day, night to night, sometimes even moment to moment.
He felt her relax into the mattress and at the same time felt the temperature of her skin begin to rise beneath his hands and mouth. Using the flat of his tongue, he applied more pressure to the nipple, sucking on it slightly, and was rewarded by a low, gurgling moan in the back of her throat. He bit down lightly and she shuddered and tensed. He brought his hand to her other breast and began teasing her there as well.
After several moments of this, he noticed that she had begun to twist her hips toward him, searching for contact. Without removing his hands or mouth, he stretched out full length and allowed her rock herself against him. He knew it wouldn't be enough to bring her off, but he enjoyed the feeling of her need. Finally, taking pity on her, her removed one hand from her breast and began to drag it up and down her belly with a feather-light touch, growing ever closer to his ultimate goal.
She had begun to whimper and gnaw at the gag. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and her head was thrown back in anticipation of that first touch. He made her wait, as she had made him wait the night before.
So cold, his fingers and lips and tongue were so cold. Her flesh broke out in tiny bumps and she shivered in delight. "Oh, my sweet Slayer, I've fixed you good an' proper, haven't I? Can't even beg me--can't even say 'pretty-please' can you?" His eyes gleamed yellow for a moment in the darkness, and the evil satisfaction in his voice frightened her. Then her returned his mouth to her skin and she forgot her fear.
Dragging his tongue from beneath her breast to her navel, he allowed his hand to brush against her curls for a moment, causing her to jump against him. Then he began to stroke her inner thighs with his cool fingers, kneading them tenderly, increasing the pressure incrementally until it was verging on painful. He forced her legs apart, lifting her knees and moving down low into position.
The aroma of her arousal filled his senses. Gently, and with exquisite slowness, he parted her outer lips to reveal her most private self. She was swollen and slick with desire, already throbbing, although untouched. He blew softly on her, causing her to shudder convulsively.
"Very pretty, pet. Very nice, indeed."
She lifted her head and stared at him, pleading with her eyes.
"Yes, luv, I know. All in good time." He released her, pulling away from her as she fell back against her pillow in frustration.
His own excitement had become painful for him. He stood and unbuttoned his jeans, but left them pulled up about his hips, needing only to relieve the uncomfortable pressure. Then he lay back down between her legs, sighing slightly as his engorged member made contact with the cool sheets.
Spreading her outer lips again with the fingers of one hand, he very softly began to trace her inner contours with the index finger of his other hand, making certain that it was properly lubricated. She immediately began to shudder and buck beneath his touch, and he stilled her with a firm command. "Lie still now, ducks, or this won't work. Try for me, won't you?"
She bit down hard on the gag and trembled as he continued his exploration. He studiously avoided any direct contact with her clit, and she wondered if he did this to torture her. Finally, he leaned in and gave her clit a single, soft kiss, his cool lips nibbling at it briefly.
Tears sprang into her eyes and she began to sob for release behind the gag.
"Shhh, there now, don't fret, luv."
He pulled his face away and very softly, in order not to startle her, he placed two fingers at the outside of her swollen opening. Gently, with little force at first, he pressed them forward and into her. Her hips lifted from the mattress slightly and met his forward thrust and as they did, her hands came crashing down on either side of her body to dig into the sheet.
Softly, sensuously, he fucked her with his hand, mimicking the thrusts of his fingers with the rocking of his own hips as he rubbed his cock against the sheets, trying hard to maintain his own composure.
Then he stilled his hand as it remained buried deep inside her, palm facing upward toward her navel. Curling his fingers forward, he searched for and found a small, engorged area on her slick inner walls. He caressed it expertly.
A sensation like none she'd ever experienced engulfed her. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe, and felt panic rising in her chest.
He felt the change in her immediately and froze. "That can't hurt, can it, pet?" One never knew with the female anatomy.
She took a second to catch her breath and then looked down at him and smiled around the gag, shaking her head. He resumed his soft circles within her and she began to adjust to the new sensation. Heat poured out of the center of body, down his hand and arm. He was astounded at the extreme warmth from inside her and couldn't help thinking what it would feel like to...No, you wanker, get your bleedin' brain out from between your legs and back in between hers. You've a job to do here.
Once he was certain that she was entirely comfortable with what was so obviously a new experience, he lowered his head and began tracing her inner lips with his tongue. She whimpered and thrust upward to meet his mouth, begging him to touch her clit.
He had intended to draw it out, not so much to torture her as to show her how it could be with someone who genuinely gave a damn for her pleasure. But his fine-tuned senses had begun to pick up on a truly frenzied note of desperation in her movements and soft sounds, and he knew that it would only be unkind to continue teasing her.
Reaching up again to spread her outer lips wide apart, he began to make tiny, light circles around and over her clit. She sobbed with relief before burying her hands in his hair. He increased the pressure of his tongue while increasing the pressure of his fingers on the sensitive spot within her.
She felt nothing else, just his tongue and fingers. They were the world, the universe, nothing else existed. The first spasm clenched her womb like a vice, nearly doubling her into a sitting position and causing a strangled cry to escape around the gag.
When he felt her orgasm begin to roll through her, he took all of her into his mouth, her inner lips and clit, and sucked hard and fast, driving his tongue against her. She rose up off the bed again and again, grinding her teeth into the fabric of the bandanna until she felt herself biting through it.
The spasms lessened in intensity, and he softened his onslaught somewhat, allowing her to gather herself. She fell back for a moment until she felt him pull away. Looking into his face, she saw that he was struggling with his demon. Finally, forcing it back, he came at her from a slightly different angle, catching her by surprise as he sucked her into his mouth again, his fingers still deep and tickling inside her. She could feel him thrusting himself against the mattress and it excited her to know that he needed her.
Seconds later, a second orgasm enveloped her, less intense than the first, but warmer, sweeter, more drawn out. Indeed, her worked hard to draw it out, with gently licks and nibbles that kept her coming and clenching around his fingers long after she would have thought possible. Finally, her body stilled and she lie back against the heated sheets, panting and trying to remove the gag with clumsy fingers.
"Here, luv, let me get that." He moved to her side and removed the bandanna from her face, noting with satisfaction that she'd very nearly bitten it clean through it. His game face slipped back and forth over his human visage as he struggled with his own need.
She held out her arms to him and he lay down next to her, battling the urge grab her and slam himself into her. "Buffy" The word came out in a growl, and he began to think that he'd have to leave before the demon broke through completely and ruined everything.
She felt him vibrating against her, knowing that his body demanded release. Her hands were still clumsy, her brain still slow as she reached for him, sliding her fingers around the base of his cock and squeezing hard.
The beast came roaring forth and he thrust forward into her hands, burying his savage face in her shoulder and holding on for dear death. She pumped him hard, using his pre-cum and the juices that still ran down her legs and puddled beneath her as lubrication. She felt his fangs graze her skin and she squeezed harder, feeling how close he was to coming.
Then he was there, rocking violently against her as the spasms gripped him, growling hoarsely and raking the tips of his fangs down her shoulder. Several spurts of icy fluid splashed over her hands, and then he was still.
They lie together for several moments. He listened to her heart slow and waited to see what would happen next. Slower, slower, then her breathing softened, then her grip on him lessened, and then he knew that she was asleep.
He waited long minutes until he was sure she was deeply under. Then he gently disentangled himself and surveyed the damage. Not good. Bit of a bloody mess, in fact.
Moving quietly to her bathroom, he found a clean washcloth, ran it beneath the warm water, and did his best to clean up. First, the scratches and tiny punctures on her shoulders, then the puddles of cum and her juices all over the sheets. Finally, he covered her tenderly and brushed a kiss against her forehead.
"See how it can be with someone who loves you, pet?" Noting that the crow's feather remained in its place beside her pillow, he searched for and found the nearly shredded blue bandanna. Stuffing his trophy into the pocket of this duster, he left her room and then her house. His heart was lighter than it had been in many years.
Continued in Chapter Five