All About Spike

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Show Him
By Circe

Rating: NC-17
Set during Chosen

Thanks to Keswindhover for keeping me honest.



She walks steadily toward him, and when his arms open, she folds herself smoothly into them, without hesitation. Her small hands come up to cradle his face, to stroke the sharp line of his cheekbones. Her tongue explores the pale satin of his lips, the wet velvet of his mouth, the soft down of his skin in the place between his jaw and his ear lobe. She sighs gently as she goes.

His eyes flutter shut, black lashes like soot on snow; he stands there, silent and unmoving, as she touches him. He is not too tall when he stands like this, and she can reach every part of him she wishes. And she touches him all over - moulding her hands over his forearms, watching as tendons cord; sliding her palms up his flat stomach to rest over his unbeating heart; leaning up on the balls of her feet to press little kisses into the hollow of his breastbone. Then she tugs on his t-shirt, and he helps her lift it off over his head in one smooth motion. She again slides her palms over him, this time over skin gradually warming as the heat of her body sinks into his own.

He is looking at her, eyes blue as a summer sky, and she smiles in response. It is a beautiful smile, free and easy. They kiss, wet and deep, and his strong hands curl around her shoulders. He makes a soft little sound, which she echoes when he reaches underneath her blouse to undo her bra.

Now their upper bodies are unclothed, and she twines her arms around his neck and pulls herself into him. His head lolls back and his mouth opens in a silent gasp at the first touch of skin on skin. Her belly glides against him, her breasts crush against his chest, nipples hardening on contact. His nails carve delicate crescents into her flesh as she nibbles his earlobe. She grins at the expression on his face, and looses her hands, crouching. Her arms skim down the length of him, following a trail of hot damp kisses. When she arrives at the button of his jeans, she mouths his straining erection through the denim. He groans, loudly, and his hands come down to tangle in her golden hair.

There is a growing wetness between her thighs, and looking into his down-turned face, she can see his nostrils flare and his jaw tense. There is sex in his eyes.

She fumbles a little with his zipper. His hands leave her head and clasp her own, and together, they free him from his clothing. He stands naked before her and she doesn't let go of his hands; instead, she uses them to remove her own garments. Now they are both naked.

She lies back on the cot, loose and relaxed. Her hair cascades over the pillow; her face is limned with silver from the faint moonlight streaming into the basement. His gaze is darkly intent, his lips slightly parted. He kneels between her legs and she watches him as he watches her. He runs one hand from her ankle upwards, tickling behind her knees, kneading her thighs, humming sotto-voce. Her muscles clench and release as he touches her, and her breath hitches as clever fingers find their way to her inner thigh, where they trace patterns on the petal-soft skin.

He is trembling as he positions himself over top of her. She shivers, too. The velvety tip of his penis brushes against her, and her fingers clutch at the sheets and then at the smooth planes of his back. He lowers himself inch by inch, sliding into her. His bottom lip juts out - impossibly sexy - and she arches up to worry at that lip with tongue and teeth.

They move as one, rapt. Her eyes are wide, clear, glossy; never leaving his face.

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