All About Spike

Chapter: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7

The Yellow Rose of Sunnydale
By VicNoir

Chapter Seven

As she jogged across town toward Willy's Place, she mentally smacked herself silly for what she was about to do. She knew it wouldn't be long before word got around the demon community that the Slayer had been seen buying blood. It was bad form and it was also dangerous. It could leave her open to ridicule, and part of her power was based on her rep as an unyielding persecutor of the undead. Being seen purchasing blood would be a giveaway that someone or something unholy had invaded her life.

She needn't have worried about it, because Willy's was dark and locked up tight when she finally made it to the front door.

Damn. Now what?

She briefly considered calling Xander to see if he had any leftover blood from Spike's time as his houseguest/prisoner, but realized that since he and Anya had moved into their new apartment, chances were good that they'd not stocked up on the O-neg recently.

Then she thought of calling Giles, but decided that the necessary explanations were not worth it--especially since she doubted that he would have any blood on hand either.

Which left her with two possibilities: rob the hospital's supply of plasma, which she just didn't feel up to at the moment, or give Spike some of her own blood. She stopped still in her tracks at the thought of that. Letting him drink from her...OK, that 's just too...too what? Exciting. NO! NOT exciting--gross. Too gross. Much, much too gross.

Repetitive much?

But she didn't have to let him actually drink from her to give him blood, did she?

She made an about-face turn and headed back the way she had come.


The door of the crypt was still open when she approached, but she could see no candlelight. She entered quietly, allowing her eyes to get used to the blackness.

Spike was no longer resting on the tomb where she had left him. His duster remained there, wadded up into a ball, so she assumed that he hadn't gone far.

Then she saw the trap-door that led to the lower level of the crypt lying open on the floor, and a soft shaft of light beaming upwards from the opening. Carefully, not wanting to awaken him if he were sleeping, she made her way down the stairs.

She found him slumped in a corner of the cave-like room, his head clutched in his hands.

"Spike?" No answer. It appeared that he had passed out in that position.

She walked over to him and set down the covered travel mug she'd been carrying since leaving her mother's kitchen. Self-consciously, she adjusted the sleeve of her shirt over the bandage on her wrist.

He began to stir. Knowing that she'd never make it back up to the first floor without his seeing her, and suddenly desperate to escape his notice, she fled backwards into the shadows.

The scent of the blood in the mug assaulted him, rousing him from the sweet dreams he'd been having into a world of supersonic hangover and raging hunger.

He reached convulsively for the mug, draining two-thirds of it in a single long swallow. Then he dropped his head backward against the wall and let the blood begin it's restoration.

He was still for a total of four seconds before his eyes popped open. He stared down into the mug in his hand and then licked the corner of his mouth, where a single crimson drop nestled.


It was a whisper, but so full of wonder and pleasure that it shot right through her.

She hadn't realized that he would know it was her blood. She'd planned on lying to him, telling him that she'd bought it for him at Willy's. She was amazed that he could sense it--amazed and strangely pleased.

She watched as he slowly raised the mug to his lips again and just as slowly drank from it, savoring it in small, luscious sips. From her vantage point, directly across from him, he looked as if he had discovered a new flavor of heaven.

He finished the blood and set the mug down, but not without licking clean the outer rim. It was then that she noticed the huge bulge that had appeared in the front of his jeans. Dropping his head back against the wall again, his hand wandered down to his crotch and he took hold and squeezed savagely. He whispered again: "Buffy..."

Suddenly, the air within the lower level seemed a bit too thick for her to breathe properly, and her head began to swim. She willed herself to look away from him as he unbuttoned his jeans and took the length of his cock in his left hand. There was just enough light to make out the single crystalline dropped that formed at the tip when he squeezed it again.

She watched, fascinated, as he picked up the mug and ran his hand around the inside, collecting the remaining droplets of her blood. He then smeared the residue over his shaft and head, moaning low as he did so.

His hand began to pump and she discovered that her hips were moving in rhythm with his own. He paused for a moment and pushed his jeans down to his ankles, bending and spreading his knees a bit and giving her an excellent view of his balls, which had deepened in color and were pulled tightly against his body.

He was pumping again and his movements gained momentum. She heard a low, chanting growl begin in his chest and realized that he was repeating her name in rhythm with his strokes.

She squeezed her thighs tightly against the throbbing that had begun in her center. She saw his body go stiff and taut and he gave a deep groan as he came, shooting splashes of white all over his own abdomen and chest. She licked her lips as she watched it pool there.

His posture relaxed, he reached down and began to massage his balls, his eyes still half-closed.

Her legs had begun to cramp, both from the crouched position she was holding herself in and the pressure she attempting to exert on herself in order to hold her arousal in check. She tried to shift her position silently, but his eyes snapped open and he inhaled deeply, catching her scent.

He hurriedly stuffed himself away into his jeans and found his feet. "Slayer? Buffy! Come out now, I know you're there." Then he caught sight of her and moved reflexively toward her. She shrunk away from him instinctively.

"Enjoy the show, luv?" He reached for the pack of cigarettes and lighter that rested near where he'd been seated on the floor.

She stood slowly, wanting to bolt but knowing that her legs would never carry her as far as the stairs.

"Never had you pegged for a voyeur, Slayer. An' I'll ask again, did you enjoy it?"

She opened her mouth to say...what? She knew he could smell her arousal, so what was the point of lying?

"I...didn't mean to...I was going to leave and then..." She suddenly felt very ashamed.

"An' then what? You became mesmerized by my tossin' off? Shoulda spoke up, pet. I'd have given you a front row seat any time you asked." She realized by the way he was dragging hard on the cigarette and avoiding her eyes that he was at least as embarrassed as she was.

She took a step forward and nearly fell when her knees wouldn't support her. Instead of draining away, as it might be expected to do under the circumstances, her excitement had only increased in the last few moments.

"By the way, luv, thanks for the blood. 'Preciate the gesture, even if I don't completely understand it."

"What's to understand? You needed the blood, I had some to spare--besides, it was the least I could do."

"Mmmm...again with the pity, Slayer? Can't blame you, I guess. I HAVE been actin' the pillock, haven't I?" He stubbed out the cigarette with excessive force. "Well, I do believe I've gotten it all out of my system now. No more moonin' after the Slayer for me--it's a new day for old Spike, in a manner of speakin'."

She watched him carefully and ventured a dangerous question. "Who are you trying to convince, William, me? Or yourself?"

His eyes glittered at her. "I've asked you not to call me by that poncy name, Slayer."

"Yeah, I forgot. You prefer...Will Blood?" She took a step toward him and it was his turn to drop back defensively.

"What're you playin' at, Slayer?"

"Hmmm...think I liked it better when you were calling me Miss Buffy."

She watched a series of emotions flash across his face: disbelief, suspicion, hope, and finally lust contorted his features, before he molded his expression into the customized sardonic leer that suited all occasions.

"That an invitation?"

"Sounded like one to me."

"You'll forgive me if I don't entirely trust it. Last night you said you'd stake me good an' proper if I as much as smiled in your direction again"

'Yeah, well, that was last night." She stood looking at him expectantly.

"Where's your Mr. Pointy, then? Got him tucked away, I'll bet, just ready to do me in the moment I--"

"The moment you what? Come on, Spike, make your move. I won't wait all night."

He dropped his head to stare at the floor, then shrugged resignedly before reaching out for her. His hand locked over her sore wrist and she squeaked in pain.

"What's this?" He pulled away her sleeve and stared at the bandage.

"It's nothing. It'll be fine in a few hours."

His eyes were on her face. "Why, Slayer? Why're you doin' this?"

"I wish I knew. Does it matter?"

"It matters. Don't want you...won't have you...out of pity, or some misplaced noble urge to be kind to the poor maimed beastie."

She grabbed his other hand and placed it firmly on her breast. He could feel that her nipple was stiff beneath the fabric. "Miss Buffy doesn't do noble, Will. Thought you knew that."

His hand tightened over her breast and they fell against one another. Buffy could feel that he had hardened again and dropped her hand to caress the bulge. "How is that possible? It's barely been two minutes."

"I signed up for the standard-plus package when I was turned. Includes extra-sharp olfactory and auditory, as well as zero refractory period. Comes in quite handy..." He grinned at her as she dissolved into giggles. The sound of her laughter, especially laughter he had provoked, was almost his favorite music. Almost.

Their lips came together still smiling and he snaked his tongue out to lick at her. Her hands found their way around his neck and they moved against one another convulsively.

The heat that had been building in her since she'd watched him stroke himself while chanting her name threatened to overtake her completely, and she began tearing wildly at the buttons of his jeans. He grabbed her hands to still them and she looked into his face with desperation.

"Now. Gotta do it NOW."

"Why the rush, luv? It'll be that much sweeter if we take our time."

"YOU take your time. I can't wait."

He swung her up into his arms and carried her over to the mattress that lay in another corner. It was old and stained, a relic from his dump-scavenging days. "Sorry about the dirt, luv. Wish I had finer digs--"

"Shut up and fuck me."

"Slayer! Such' just for that little outburst..." He dropped her unceremoniously onto the mattress and backed away, folding his arms over his chest.

"SPIIIIKE!" It came out in a breathy whine.

"Hmmm...I think perhaps it's time for more of the tale of Miss Buffy and Will Blood. What do YOU think, Slayer?"

She lay there and glared out him.

"Right then. Let's see...oh, yes...when last we left our lovers, Miss Buffy had just given Blood the blowjob of the century right there in the sawdust of the Yellow Rose--"

"Of the century? Really?"

"Indeed, pet. Nearly blew the bleedin' top of my...of his...head off."

She smiled, very pleased with herself.

"An' now, as he came back to his senses, Blood realized that they were in a fairly precarious position--all sorts of vulnerable to any passin' townsfolk." Spike came to sit on the edge of the mattress. He took one of Buffy's hands in his and caressed with a soft, teasing touch.

"An' so he suggested to Miss Buffy that they retire upstairs. She agreed an' helped him to his feet. As he was human, the bullet wound continued to be a bother." Buffy's eyes were drawn to the pale pink mark below his collarbone that marred his otherwise perfect expanse of skin. She reached up and touched it, and he hissed at the heat of her fingertips.

Then he leaned over and unbuckled his boots, and rose to strip his jeans from his body. Kicking them off, along with his boots, he stood before her entirely nude.

She allowed her eyes to travel up, down and around him at their leisure, pausing at his pelvic region for a well-deserved rest. Her own hands were busy unbuttoning her shirt. He returned to sit near her on the mattress.

"When they finally reached Miss Buffy's room, she took a few moments to pour Blood a drink before proceedin' to dig the bullet from his flesh. Hurt like a bugger, but he took like a man." Spike helped her remove her boots and began to ease her jeans down over her hips.

"Once the wound was cleaned an' bandaged, they got down to business"

"Business? Did money change hands? How much?"

"You're spendin' far too much time in the company of that bint Anya, luv."

He brought his mouth to hers and thus intercepted her answer. His lips were everywhere on her face and neck as his hands sought the flesh at her waist and hips, grinding her against him.

"Ah, I've got you, I'll not let you go...gonna make you mine...gonna make you come sooo hard..." His whispers made her turn her face away and blush.

He pulled back a bit and looked at her in amusement. "Oh, now you're bashful? Whatever happened to 'shut up and fuck me'?"

"Must have been Miss Buffy talking."

"Well, then, let's see if we can have her back again." He kissed and licked a trail from her jaw to the spot between her breasts, then cradled one in his hand and lifted his face to look into her eyes. Holding her gaze, he gently pinched and rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She arched herself against him and muttered "Oh, fuck..."

"There she is!" With a chuckle he took the nub between his lips and tormented it, nibbling at it and then flicking his tongue against it with ever-increasing speed. When he felt her shudder beneath him, he sucked the entire nipple into this mouth and pressed it hard between the flat of his tongue and his palate. The fingers of his hand teased at her other breast.

Her body began to twist against him in a mute plea. He released her breasts and began moving downward, his nibbles transforming into bites as he reached the place where her thighs connected to her body. Realizing belatedly that he had morphed, he looked up at her with golden eyes, his fangs poised above her flesh. Her own eyes were still shut tight.

Shaking off the game face, he turned his attention to the tiny puncture wounds he had left, sucking at them gently. She whimpered with frustration and thrust her hips upward.

"Tryin' to send a message, pet? 'Fraid you'll have to be a bit more clear in your directions...pretend I'm an idiot--I know! Pretend I'm Harris..." She lifted her head and looked at his face framed by her thighs. He stuck out his tongue and wriggled the tip of it just a centimeter above her dark curls, cocking one eyebrow and grinning unashamedly.

"Shut up and suck me."

He paused long enough to let out one shout of laughter and dropped his mouth to her flesh. His hands spanned her abdomen and hips, holding her down and thwarting her attempts to thrust against his face.

He was mercifully direct in his ministrations, finding her clit immediately and setting a rhythm with the strokes of his tongue that drove her nearly instantly to the brink of orgasm. Pausing only to slide two fingers deeply inside of her, he deftly drove her over the edge.

Her hands crashed down on either side of her as her thighs locked around his head. The contractions built upon one another, coming faster and sharper. Her fingernails bit into her palms and her toes curled reflexively.

Then the spasms began to ease a bit and he redoubled his efforts. She could feel his fingers swirling and massaging inside of her and his tongue pressed directly against the tiny bundle of nerve endings, and it was enough to send her into a second orgasm before the first had completely ended.

There was nothing but red behind her eyes and she could hear a far-away thumping in her ears. Consciousness was slipping away and she found she didn't care, so long as his mouth and hands remained where they were.

When she was still, he lifted his head slightly, not breaking contact, and searched for her eyes. They were closed and her face was slack. Her lips were parted and a tiny drop of drool had begun to form in the corner of her mouth. Smiling tenderly, he disengaged himself and moved to lay beside her, using his thumb to wipe her mouth.

Her echoing cries had filled the basement of the crypt and they rang in his head like the voices of a choir. He stroked her hair and listened to her breathing, patiently waiting for her to awaken so that he could fuck her into unconsciousness again.

Finally, her eyes opened to slits, and he waited to hear what her first words would be.

"Meanwhile, back at the ranch..."

He laughed until he thought his heart would break from it, holding her tight all the while. She watched with a languorous smile of satisfaction on her lips as he wiped the tears of mirth from his face.

"Slayer, if I tell you...if I tell you that I...what would you say if I told you..." He suddenly couldn't meet her eyes.

"Shhh..." She pressed a finger to his lips and then replaced it with her mouth.

Her own body completely relaxed and at peace, she became aware of the urgency of his need. As she kissed him, he began to rub himself against her and to rumble deeply in his chest. Something about the controlled menace in his growl excited her again, and her hands searched for and found the rounded musculature of his ass, pulling him more tightly against her.

"Buffy, I--"

One of her hands made its way from behind him to slip down between them. The first touch of her fingers on his cock made him flinch with pleasure that was almost painful in its intensity. When she began to stroke him, his demon fought to burst forward.

"Wait, luv, I won't be able to hold out if tease me like that."

"Mmm well, we can't have that, 'cause Miss Buffy REALLY wants to fuck you bad."

At her words, he nearly came in her hand. Pushing her fingers away, he mounted her, leaning on one forearm and staring raptly into her face. With his other hand, he guided the head of his cock to her slick opening and then sunk into her, falling forward from his knees so that their pelvises met and married.

It was as if some cosmic electrical circuit had been completed. Everything stopped around them. Even Buffy's heart skipped a beat or three.

In that moment, somewhere in the woods nearby, a coyote caught scent of their coupling and lifted its head to howl.

Across town, Giles grimaced in his sleep and turned over, fitfully.

Xander, who was engaged in screwing Anya for the fifth time in twenty-four hours, lost his erection.

Together in their bed, Tara and Willow snuggled closer with sudden smiles of satisfaction on their sleeping faces.

In L.A., Angel froze in his tracks, which happened to be on the way down a dark alley, and Gunn and Wesley crashed into him. When asked why he'd stopped, he had no answer.

Somewhere in the South American jungle, Riley Finn was overcome by a wave of nausea, which caused him to vomit directly into the face of his Commanding Officer.

In another--less pleasant--dimension, a large and formidable demon was gripped by a fit of rage and despair. It lifted its clawed fist and shook it at a red and swirling sky before plunging its talons into its own gut and disemboweling itself.

And in a place that is no place, the Powers that Be paused for a moment to reflect on the beautiful balance created by nature, as light was fused with dark.

Deep within the crypt, Spike and Buffy's faces held identical expressions of awed amazement. Neither had moved since Spike had entered her--there was no need. Where their bodies were connected there was such a sensation of sweet, radiant pleasure that neither of them could bear to break the spell.

They remained frozen in place for one long minute. Finally, Buffy let her hands, which had been locked around Spike's neck, travel lightly down his back to grip the cheeks of his ass and press him forward, even deeper into her.

The sensation of sliding inside of her broke the nearly catatonic state he had achieved, and his eyes glinted with gold. He pulled out and thrust again, making sure to grind his pelvis tightly against her vulva. Her hands clutched at him spasmodically, and on his third thrust her body shattered into her third orgasm of the evening.

When her muscles bore down on him, enclosing him completely, his demon emerged. He fought it back, wanting this first time with her to be just the two of them. He had a strong feeling that there would be plenty of opportunities later to introduce her to his other side.

He rocked back and forth with shorter strokes, easing her down from the heights of pleasure.

"What's wrong? Why don't you..." She ran out of air before she could finish her question.

"Afraid, luv. Scared outta my bleedin' wits, as a matter of fact." He looked away from her face, but never ceased his short, tantalizing thrusts.

She understood instantly. "It's all right, lover...I've...I've got you. Be...just be. It'll be OK, I promise."

He returned his gaze to her face and saw acceptance there. Then she tilted her head, baring her neck to him.

The gesture was enough to send him sailing over the edge. He began to thrust wildly as shudders of pure bliss assaulted his body. His beast came forth and he was able to control it enough to very gently pierce the flesh of her throat and drink shallowly there as he shot spurt upon spurt of his seed into her.

Each time he crashed into her, she let out a breathy groan of low, animal delight. When his fangs touched her skin, she joined him in his climax, sending her blood surging into his mouth and down his throat.

They were still all at once, as if a switch had been flicked off. He lay heavily on her, still buried in her, and her legs were entwined with his. Her hands were knotted in his hair, holding his mouth to the quickly healing wounds at her neck.

The morning found them like that.

She shifted beneath him carefully. He slid off of her with a mumble and a groan, and she lay there for a moment, contemplating the universe. Then she rose and began to dress, stopping to cover his naked form with one of the less ratty blankets she found piled in the corner.

The candles had burned to near-nothingness and gloom ruled the space around her as she finished dressing. Her watch told her it was after seven.

She left him with a kiss on his cold brow.


The walk home through sunlit streets was magical. She felt as if she were floating, and wondered if he would feel the same upon awakening. She wondered what he would think about in his first moment out of sleep and then she remembered something: the look on his face when he told her that he was afraid to lose control in her presence.

He'll think I left him...

She was about to turn back when she spied an early-bird street-vendor opening up his wares on the corner. She sprinted over and perused his offerings.

Candy? Fruit? Lame. A card? Lamer. What would I write? "Thanks for the life-altering spiritual experience, I'll be back to fuck you again tonight"?

Then she saw it. Perfect.

She paid for the gift and began to jog back toward the cemetery.


It was late afternoon when Spike swam the last few feet upward to consciousness. His first thought was of Buffy and his second was the realization that she was gone.

The joy that infused him when he remembered the early morning hours was made bitter by his certainty that he would never see her again.

He sighed deeply and wondered if the sun was still up. Then something on the mattress caught his eye. He reached for it and stung his fingers on the thorny stem. Then he brought the perfect yellow rose to his face and inhaled deeply of her promise to return.


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