A Glorious Morning Have I Seen
By Miss Murchison
All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.
How and why this
thing happened: Devil
Piglet remarked that Spike should have sex
with someone who was always nice to him. The more I thought about
this, and the more wine I drank, the more sense it made. I started to
remember how one other character had never gotten the storylines or
the fun I thought she deserved. So this fic
began as a sweet tale intended to rectify a few wrongs. But a few
glasses of wine later, I started musing on the fact that there are no
unembarrassing sexual positions, and that
the vast majority of them are utterly ridiculous. So this story
degenerated into bedroom farce.
A mildly AU late Season 4 or early Season 5. Spike is not in love
with Buffy, and Dawn doesn’t exist.
beta, and to
for beta and suggesting the wonderful Shakespearian title. (I’m sorry
I didn’t post in time for the Bard’s birthday. And it's my fault, not
Kes', that I originally posted it as "A Glorious Morning I Have
Seen.") And to
Piglet for the original idea.
She woke up
happy. Slowly, her sleepy brain unpacked memories, and she recalled the
reason for her happiness. It wasn’t difficult. There were plenty of
tactile stimuli to help her remember the events of the previous evening.
She was in her
own bed, which had been shorn of all covers except the bottom sheet and
some pillows. The top sheet, blanket and duvet were huddled in a pile on
the floor, with discarded clothing scattered over them.
Her companion of
the previous night was lying on his side, and she was curled tightly
against the elegant curve of his spine, her breasts rubbing against the
alabaster skin of his back, her hips pressed against his firm, perfect
ass. One of her arms was thrust up, following the line of his own arm and
shoulder, with her hand resting lightly in his hair. The platinum locks
were rebelling against the hair gel he used, and the unruly curls were
trying to twist round her fingertips. Her other arm traced the curve of
his ass and thigh, so that she could feel the hardness of bone and muscle,
sheathed by that unmarked white skin.
She had no idea
how long she lay there, unable to think past this moment, her mind too
obsessed with the pleasurable memories of the previous evening to worry
about what would happen next or even to wonder how she had let this
But finally he
roused from his extraordinarily still sleep. As he stretched his limbs,
his flesh slipped against hers, stimulating her entire body.
Then he rolled
over, dark blue eyes meeting hers mischievously, but with a note of
Joyce,” said Spike. “Did you have a good time last night?”
hadn’t started out to be much fun. She had been sitting home alone,
feeling sorry for herself. She had just gone over the bank statements,
and had figured out how to pay for Buffy’s tuition and how to meet the due
date for the loan she had taken out to fix up the house after the last
time it had been invaded by hostile demons. There would be no vacation
for Joyce again this year, but she was used to that. It wasn’t as if she
had a social life anyway.
She could go
stay with her sister for a few days for free and at least pretend she was
having a vacation. That, of course, would mean endless treks to outlet
malls and listening to snide comments about how she didn’t have a man.
But Ted, her
first effort at finding a replacement for Hank, had been a disaster.
Joyce hadn’t much wanted any of the men who came around afterwards, even
the ones she was able to verify were entirely human. They were all too
Hank-like, and she had cut the relationships short before anything had
come of them. One 18-year long mistake was enough for a lifetime.
interlude last year with Rupert Giles on top of that police car—well, two
interludes—had aroused all the feelings she had been trying to repress,
but nothing had come of that either. Giles was definitely not Hank-like.
She had flirted with him a bit before the incident, and daydreamed a
little about Buffy’s Watcher, but having sex in that way had destroyed any
incipient relationship. They hadn’t been in control of themselves when it
happened, and she suspected they both felt somewhat violated by having
their hormones hijacked by enchanted band candy. Not to mention Buffy’s
horror at the thought of her mother and Watcher having sex. Buffy came
first with Joyce, and she was reluctant to enter into an affair that her
daughter would disapprove. She suspected Giles felt the same way.
Whatever the reason, the Watcher barely met Joyce’s eyes when they
happened to meet.
Joyce sometimes wondered why she had put her life on hold to avoid
upsetting a child who didn’t seem to need her for anything except making
tuition payments. The house was empty and lonely these days.
evening with just my shower massage for company,” she had thought, as a
firm knock sounded on the back door.
had gone to check it out. Now that Buffy lived in the college dorm, no
one ever came to the kitchen door in the evenings except Spike, and he and
Joyce had had their usual weekday TV night yesterday, when they had shared
pizza and gossip over a rerun of “Dawson’s Creek.” He wouldn’t be back
for a few more days, when they had made plans to watch “Casablanca,” which
was playing on some cable station he couldn’t get in his crypt.
recognized his silhouette when she peeked outside, and hastened to unlock
the door. He was standing there calmly, his hands thrust in the pockets
of his old leather duster, the sly smile that reached his eyes assuring
her that he hadn’t come to report that some disaster had befallen Buffy or
one of her friends. Joyce was convinced that although Spike might not be
completely reformed, he would never enjoy imparting information that hurt
She held the
door open in invitation and tried not too feel too overjoyed that he was
here. After all, the simplest explanation was—
forget something yesterday?” she asked.
“No, pet, I
remembered something tonight.” He reached into his coat pocket. “You
said you hadn’t seen ‘Hobson’s Choice’ in twenty years, so I nick—uh,
found you a copy.”
He had done
that for her? She was gratified, but was also assailed by sudden fear.
“It is the one with John Mills and Charles Laughton, isn’t it?” she asked
“Is it bloody
likely I’d get you the remake with John Boy Walton?” he scoffed, holding
up the box.
at that, and said, “I could kiss you!” In fact, she did lean forward to
kiss him on the cheek. But as her lips brushed his face, he turned and
opened his mouth against hers.
shocked resistance, she reacted with astonished pleasure, pulling him
close to her and returning his kiss for a breathless moment. She stopped
only because she had to gasp for breath; she was shaking, every nerve
alert and aroused by the unexpectedly erotic encounter with a male body
after her long stretch of celibacy.
pulled away, gasping, “I’m sorry!” She turned around and began fumbling
in a cabinet for snacks and a bottle of the beer she kept around
especially for him.
that she heard him say, “I’m not,” behind her, but her panicked mind chose
to ignore that. She was suddenly conscious that she was wearing only a
long, much-washed shirt and a pair of sweatpants that she had pulled on in
lieu of pajamas. She glanced down and saw that her erect nipples were
outlined against the thin, faded fabric of the shirt.
“We’re out of
Doritos!” she said brightly, trying to keep the hysteria out of her
voice. “Do you mind some nips—Cheese Nips, I mean.”
“That will be
fine, Joyce,” he had responded in a tone that indicated he was trying hard
not to laugh. However, it also seemed to indicate he wasn’t planning on
grabbing her from behind, tossing her on the kitchen counter, and
snatched at the sheet that was lying crumpled at the bottom of the bed,
trying to pull it over her body. But Spike reached out and took her hand
gently, holding it up and away from her so that she remained exposed to
“Don’t hide from
me,” he said. His eyebrow twitched, and mischief sparked in his eyes.
“Unless it’s a game of hide and seek you have in mind.”
She dropped the
sheet, and he dropped his hand to stroke her side. Her body began to
tremble as it had when he first kissed her last night, this time with the
memory of past pleasure and the anticipation of more.
he murmured, as he explored the curve of her hip and thigh.
She searched his
face for any trace of irony and found none. She relaxed, her shame at the
imperfections she perceived in her forty-something body fading away as she
saw herself mirrored in his gaze. He looked like a man aroused by an
attractive woman, and she began once again to believe herself as desirable
as he had made her feel the night before.
She wondered if
because he was immortal, Spike felt no need to seek youth in his
companions, as Hank had begun to do before the divorce. Hank had gone in
search of younger women to forget his own aging, and that betrayal had
marred Joyce’s self-image for years. Now she gazed into Spike’ admiring
eyes in awe and gratitude, remembering how he had been at pains to remind
her of his true age the night before.
sitting on the couch, watching the movie. He had flung himself into a
corner of the sofa, lounging at his ease and making no effort to touch
her. She sat by his side, slumped back in the cushions, trying to not to
look at him. It did no good. The scent of him, clean masculinity
overlaid with cigarette smoke, was permeating her senses, and she was
cursing herself for a horny old woman desiring a man much too young for
her mind back to the film. “It’s as good as I remembered,” she heard
herself say. “Better. I was afraid I’d made too much of it in my mind
and I’d be disappointed when I saw it again.”
you mean,” Spike replied. “It was forty years between the first time I
saw it—well, first day I spent watching it over and over, trapped all day
in a movie theater when it was in its first release. Not that I
complained. Lots of popcorn and, er, other snacks, and the film was
brilliant. Still is.” His glance held meaning. “Didn’t see it again for
her eyes on the screen, watching Brenda de Banzie inform a horrified John
Mills that they were going to be married, and that he had little choice in
“I love the
way she pulls him out of that cellar, takes charge of his life, and makes
him a real man,” commented Spike.
to figure out what that could mean, and decided it had no reference points
outside the discussion of the movie. “And Laughton plays a good drunk,”
Spike, but went back to his previous topic. “Serves the other characters
right, the way they write that girl off just because they think she’s an
old maid. Not old at all, if you ask me. Besides, I like a woman who
knows what she wants.”
She turned to
look at him then. He was still lounging back on the couch, but she could
tell from his eyes that Spike knew exactly what Joyce wanted. Of course
he did; those vampire senses aside, he was always very perceptive about
others, although she suspected he was less insightful about himself. What
surprised her now was not the knowing look in his eyes, but the pleading
that was behind it. He was waiting for her to make a move, out of respect
perhaps, but also out of some fear of rejection. She realized how lonely
he must be, accepted by neither the human nor the demon world.
she thought, and leaned forward instinctively to comfort him.
He was doing the
comforting now, his lips feathery soft and teasing along lips, cheek,
throat and breasts, as his hands explored lower on her body, gently
opening her thighs and massaging her clit until she moaned and writhed her
hands in his hair. His tongue flicked across one nipple as he thrust a
finger inside her. She was already moist and ready, and she spread her
legs wide in invitation, but she felt him shake his head. “Not just yet,
He laughed, and
his lips moved to her other breast. “Not yet. It’s not the moment yet.”
Before she could
protest, there was a knock at the door.
He looked up at
her. Blue eyes that had been filled with passion a moment before flashed
with annoyance. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Should have sensed her—but
you filled my senses.”
Buffy’s voice from the other side of the door.
Joyce, for perhaps the fifth time in her life. (Several of the previous
utterances had occurred only the night before.)
She jumped off
the bed and snatched up her sweatpants, pulling them on with shaking
hands. She looked around for her shirt. No shirt.
another knock on the door.
“You can borrow
mine,” said Spike, stretching out on the bed and watching with amusement.
kicked his very recognizable red shirt under the bed along with the rest
of his clothes, and tossed sheet, blanket and duvet on top of him,
covering him completely.
“Be quiet,” she
hissed, yanking a t-shirt out of a drawer and pulling it over her head
before she reached for the doorknob.
Buffy stood in
the doorway with the shirt Joyce had worn the night before clasped in her
hands. She looked vaguely uneasy. “Is everything okay, mom? You’re
usually up and getting ready for work by now.”
wrong,” said Joyce quickly. “Why do you think anything’s wrong?”
“Well, the not
being up on time, which has happened before, like, never.” Buffy held up
the shirt. “And this was lying on the floor in the living room, so either
you were really absent-minded last night or you’re trying to take over my
role as the family slob. What on earth got into you?”
Joyce’s voice choked on the memory of what, precisely, had gotten into
her. “Nothing. That shirt—I just forgot it. I left it down there
undid the buttons. Slowly at first, as he gently but insistently explored
with hands and lips the flesh uncovered each time the shirt gaped open a
bit wider. But eventually he became impatient, his hands slipping between
the folds of fabric and inside the waistband of her sweatpants. Joyce
became impatient too, and the last fasteners were not treated with the
same courtesy as the first.
Joyce’s hysterical babbling with a laugh. “It’s okay, mom, I was only
teasing. Besides, I figured it out. You were going to sew a new button
on, right? There’s one missing, down by the tail. I saw the button on
the floor by the couch, and figured you dropped it last night and couldn’t
find it. I stuck it in the pocket.”
Joyce, snatching the shirt from Buffy and clutching it to her chest.
“That’s what happened of course. Sp—I was looking for the button.”
“So I was
right!” Buffy smirked. “I guess I’m just having a really perceptive
No sound emerged
from Joyce’s lips, but a low, masculine rumble emanated from behind her.
that?” asked Buffy, trying to peek over Joyce’s shoulder.
shifted position slightly to stand in her daughter’s way. “Clock radio,”
she said. “I keep hitting the snooze button.”
sure you’re all right, mom?” Buffy raised a hand to Joyce’s forehead.
“You’re all flushed, and you’re trembling.”
I really don’t feel that well,” said Joyce desperately. “It’s the flu,
some kind of bug. That’s why I overslept.”
shouldn’t go to work. Do you want me to take you to the doctor?”
But it would be great if you’d call the gallery and let them know I won’t
be in today. Could you do that for me right away? Because I don’t feel
up to it, and it’s getting late.” Joyce started to close the door.
stepped closer, looking concerned. “I’ll do that, sure, but shouldn’t I
get you something? Breakfast? Maybe you should take something? I could
see if there’s anything in your medicine chest.” She started to push past
her mother to check the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom.
Joyce almost shouted. She got a grip on herself and added more calmly,
“The best thing to do when you feel like this is to just get back in bed
and crawl under the covers.”
so,” said Buffy doubtfully, staying where she was, but obviously feeling
it was her filial duty to do something for her mother. “Are you sure you
don’t want me to make you breakfast?”
honey, I don’t feel like eating just now.” Joyce gripped the door with
whitened fingertips and tried to slowly inch it shut. She kept her voice
level with an effort. “I’m just going to do that going-back-to-bed thing
now, and I’ll make myself something later. So you can go back to
Buffy was still
hesitating, and a note of guilt entered her voice. “I don’t actually have
classes this morning. But—it’s not that I don’t want to stay and take care
of you, Mom, but I was going to go by one of the graveyards. I want to
check on that idiot Spike’s crypt. I haven’t seen him the last two nights
I’ve patrolled, and I’m not sure what he’s up to.”
trembling increased. “I’m sure he’s not up—that is, I’m sure he’s not up
to anything evil.”
another rumbling sound.
glanced idly over her mother’s shoulder again. “Your radio doesn’t seem
to be picking up that station really well. It keeps cutting in and out.”
it’s been in and out a lot—” Joyce stopped again, paralyzed by her own
noticed nothing. “I’ll call the gallery right away,” she said. “And then
I’m going to grab some breakfast and some weapons and go. I broke my
favorite axe when I missed a vamp and hit a tombstone with it last
night.” She had turned away, obviously more than a little relieved not to
have to spend the day nursing her sick mother. “I’ll call later, okay?”
She was already halfway down the stairs.
Joyce, and added reflexively, “Be careful.”
She locked the
bedroom door and sunk down on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed with relief
and remembered panic. She squealed involuntarily as a strong arm snaked
out from under the covers, grasped her by the waist, and pulled her down
into their soft and inviting depths.
She was pressed
up against him, unable to see him, but feeling his naked flesh pressed
against her through the thin fabric of her clothes.
she said, trying to sound stern, even as her mind catalogued the lean
muscles that were holding her with such casual strength.
“Sorry,” he said
unrepentantly, kissing her so thoroughly her brain stopped working
very badly,” she said weakly, at last.
“Is this how
you’re punishing me, then?” he asked.
that her hand had crept down, apparently on its own whim, and was busily
stroking the length of his cock.
He pulled her
closer. “Harder,” he muttered into her ear.
She assumed he
meant he wanted her to be rougher, because it would have been impossible
for his erection to be longer or harder than it was already.
remembered how fascinated she had been the night before, when she pulled
his jeans down over his hips as he lay sprawled across her bed. Every
reassurance she had ever heard—or repeated to Hank—about size not
mattering had fled her mind and been replaced with awed admiration. She
had crawled back on the bed beside him, her hand sliding along his inner
thigh before reaching to caress the incredibly long, hard shaft of his
“Go on,” he
had said hoarsely. “You know you want to.”
grinned wildly before taking him in her mouth. Yes, she had wanted to,
and, for the first time, she enjoyed it to the fullest. That was
something Hank had never understood; she actually liked doing this. Hank
had assumed she was demeaning herself out of love or the desire to keep
him, and his smug satisfaction with her “sacrifice” had ruined her
enjoyment of it.
purred instructions and roared approval of her efforts, his hand cruising
her body as she crouched beside him, his fingers playing with her soft,
full breasts and teasing the curve of her ass. But it hadn’t been his
ministrations to her that made her come; it was the feel of him in her
mouth, the hard globe of his ass squeezed in the hand that she had slipped
beneath him, and the cries of pleasure her efforts had forced from between
understood and approved her feelings perfectly, just as he later crowed
encouragement when she climbed on top of him, riding him, feeling that
magnificent cock slide inside her as her muscles clenched around him.
Hank had hated the loss of control he felt on the rare occasions he
allowed her to be on top. Spike, sensing that she was glorying in the
freedom of movement, had made no effort to thrust, letting her set the
pace of their lovemaking. He had moaned his approval when she dipped
forward suddenly, clenching her thighs and rubbing her breasts against his
chest. “Surprise me, love,” he had said. “Keep surprising me.”
Joyce gave a
gasp of surprise as she realized Spike had no intention of waiting until
the house was empty again to resume their lovemaking.
she said weakly, thinking of Buffy moving around in the kitchen
downstairs. But she made no attempt to stop him as he pulled off her
pants and t-shirt.
His mind was
obviously not on Buffy. “Why not? After all, I can’t go anywhere in the
daylight, and it appears you now have the day off.” His lips were against
her ear, and the soft exhalation of his breath as he spoke was sending
almost as many shivers down her spine as the gentle pressure of his
fingers stroking the underside of her breast.
His lips moved
from her ear to her mouth, effectively cutting off any further
remonstrance. She opened her mouth to his, reminded again of that first,
thrilling kiss in the kitchen the night before. Her fears and
embarrassment then seemed silly and pointless now; she was grateful that
she hadn’t let herself be overwhelmed by them.
His hand was
between her legs, stimulating her to even greater arousal. Buffy’s
presence was almost forgotten as she reached down to stroke him with one
hand, the other still clasping him behind the neck, as if to prevent his
mouth from escaping from her questing tongue and lips.
But Spike pulled
away from her hand and used his own to open her thighs wider. She thought
that he would bury his cock inside her, and she was too aroused to
protest, thinking that she could muffle her cries against his lips when he
made her come. Buffy wouldn’t hear. It would be all right. There was no
reason to wait until her daughter left the house, and that throbbing,
insistent sensation between her legs was reason enough to do this right
Instead, he slid
down her body and buried his face between her thighs.
She was about to
scream. She had discovered last night that she was a screamer after all.
She had never known that about herself, but Hank had apparently not been
skillful or persistent enough to find her scream threshold. Spike had
located it with great dispatch the evening before.
her hands over her mouth.
she muttered into her palm. “There’s a Slayer in the house, and I’m being
eaten by a vampire. This is a scenario in which screaming could lead to
fatal misunderstandings, not to mention extreme embarrassment.”
flicked against her clit again, and his fingers probed her mercilessly.
Joyce heard Buffy tread up the stairs and throw open the door to one of
the other bedrooms. Only a few panels of drywall separated her daughter
from any sounds that emanated from Joyce’s throat.
Joyce gave a mew
of frustration and horror and pulled away from him, flinging herself onto
her stomach and burying her face in a pillow as she whimpered the
sensations she could not shout out to the world.
immediately, however, she realized that her change of position had not
rescued her from Spike’s erotic attentions. She felt his hand slide over
her back and down to her ass, slipping in between her thighs as he
murmured, “Relax, love, your little daughter’s so dense that if you
screamed out you were coming, she’d ask where.”
He had no need
to ask where, and she bucked involuntarily against his hand, coming up
onto hands and knees. She felt him move between her legs, and she needed
no further encouragement to spread her knees wider apart. His hips ground
against hers as his cock replaced his hand, slipping inside her moist,
warm center. One of his hands grasped her shoulder, and she braced
herself to take his weight. His other hand reached around her ribs to
caress her breasts. As his fingers massaged her nipple and he began to
thrust, there was another knock on the door.
Buffy. “I’m going, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything
“Oh, no,” moaned
Joyce. “Stop,” she added to Spike.
He growled in
frustration but obediently began to withdraw.
“No!” She was
too aroused. The sensation of him pulling away from her was too much to
bear. She reached behind with one hand and grabbed him by the ass. “I
just said ‘stop,’” she whispered. “Don’t go anywhere. Just—don’t do
anything at all right now. Don’t move.”
voice sounded worried. “Are you okay in there?” The doorknob rattled.
thought desperately, “please, don’t let my only child break down my
bedroom door and find me doing it doggie style with a vampire.”
“I’m fine!” she
called frantically. “I told you—I went back to bed. But I think I’m
going to be feeling much better very, very soon.”
purred in her ear, and his cock thrust deeper inside her once as if to
punctuate her statement.
Joyce emitted a
squeak that she hoped did not penetrate the door and gave him a warning
pinch on the butt.
“Well, okay, if
you’re sure you just want to rest.” Buffy stomped down the stairs with
emphatic thuds that should have been impossible for a girl her size. She
was going fairly slowly, apparently loaded down with armaments.
As each step
reverberated on a riser, Spike thrust into Joyce, and she felt everything
spiraling out of control again. It was a sensation she had become very
familiar with the night before. “Congratulations, Joyce,” she thought.
“You are finally, officially, multi-orgasmic. Multi-multi-orgasmic, in
Buffy shut the
front door so violently it set up a vibration throughout the house that
seemed to shoot directly into Joyce’s nervous system. Overwhelmed with
relief and passion, she screamed out her climax, her howl of ecstasy
merging with the last reverberations from the slamming door. Panting, she
could no longer support herself on hands and knees, and would have fallen
onto the pillows if Spike had not wrapped one arm around her waist, his
other hand still clutching her shoulder. He pulled her back against him,
his cock still moving inside her, thrusting more shallowly and
murmured into her ear. “Not too tired, I hope.” They were both on their
knees and upright from the waist up. She was able to loll her head back
against his shoulder. The hand that had been gripping her shoulder slid
down to gently massage her clit. His other arm was still comforting and
strong around her waist.
A moment before,
she had been completely spent, but, amazingly, this shift in position
seemed to have revealed new erogenous zones in an area she had thought
already completely mapped. “No,” she gasped. “Not too tired.”
murmured, punctuating each phrase he uttered with a thrust. “After all,
the day has barely started.”
All day, she
thought. All day to do this, rest, and then do it again. She smiled as
her body mounted towards orgasm again, more slowly and luxuriously this
time. Joyce was getting a lovely little vacation after all.