All About Spike - Plain Version
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Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5
All Over It
Summary: Pre-Lover's Walk, Buffy's gotta stop an apocalypse. Luckily,
Spike's back in town and has just the stuff she needs.
Timeline: Early Season 3, post-Revelations, pre-Lover's
Walk (which doesn't happen, exactly).
Rating: NC-17, now
Disclaimer: Buffy, Spike and Sunnydale, et al, are property of Mutant
Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. I merely use them as pawns
in my perverse fantasies, and sometimes for chores.
Author's Note: After playing several rounds of the Buffy XBox game (which
takes place in S3 and has oodles of ooh-baby S/B subtext), Lovebytez
came up with this smutty little plot bunny and the title "Intercourse
with a Vampire". I ran with it, and as is often the case, went off on
a crazy tangent. This fic is dedicated to her.
Author's Note the Second: Having trouble believing this? Stop trying.
Distribution: Please ask first -
Feedback: I'm all over it.
Series Started/Completed: February 2003. Wha? How? I don't know.
Chapter Three: Performance Anxiety
Buffy paced from one end of the apartment to the other, listening
to her Watcher "yes I see" on the phone.
Finally, he hung up, but was unable to face her. AKA, bad news. "That was the Council. They've contacted the coven... who think an overseas psychic power shift will be too dangerous."
She nodded numbly. "Probably for the best. I mean, I don't think I could handle that kind of power. Not that I know anything about the...other kind..."
"Buffy, if you want to back out of this, just say the word--"
Suddenly, they heard three slow, leisurely knocks.
Buffy mustered some sarcasm. "That'll be my date!"
"I'll get the crossbow."
Buffy marched to the door, took a steadying breath, and opened it.
An entirely-too-smug-looking vampire leaned loosely against the doorframe.
"Spike?!" Giles sputtered, almost dropping his weapon. "You chose Spike?!"
"Giles." She quieted him with a look.
Spike smirked. "Watcher."
Lifting the crossbow, Giles attempted to restrain the anger in his voice.
"You may come in."
Eyes on Buffy, the vampire sauntered in the room. "Pretty dress."
"Shut up, Spike." She closed the door.
"Got all dolled up, didn't you?" he realized with haughty amusement, enjoying the way she blushed in response. "Did your hair, makeup..."
"Well, you're wearing cologne," she retorted.
"...Put on pretty jewelry--" Reaching out to touch the brown choker around her neck, he yelped, shook his smoking hand in the air and glared at her like she was insane.
"Little crosses, all in a row," she smiled, and laughed. "What, you thought I'd give you an all-access pass to my neck?"
"Well, I am gettin' one to your--" he pointed at her behind, and blocked her subsequent fist. "Guess I shoulda seen that coming."
"Shoulda," she agreed, and reversed the grip on him. "Let's go."
"What? No dinner? Candlelight, soft music?"
"Shut up and follow me," she enunciated slowly, dragging him toward the stairs.
He winked at Giles. "Women, ey?"
Giles looked ready to let the bolt fly.
"Remember, don't come up unless I scream," Buffy told Giles as she ascended the steps with Spike in tow.
"In a bad way, she means," Spike laughed.
Giles rolled his eyes.
"I am so gonna stake you after this," Buffy said matter-of-factly.
"If you don't, I will," Giles muttered.
"This is kinky, even for you," Spike observed as he closed the door behind him. "Doin' it in your Watcher's bed?"
"It's not for kink, Spike. It's the only place that--certain... people wouldn't come looking for me. And I get a bodyguard to boot."
"Certain people? That code word for Angel?"
She pursed her lips. "Are we done talking about him?"
"I'm fine with that, yeah." He slid off his coat and threw it on the armchair, then got to unbuttoning his shirt.
"What are you doing?"
"What's it look like I'm doing?"
"I don't want to see you naked!" she scoffed. "Clothes on."
"Y'know, I don't know what--" Angel taught you, he wanted to say, but amended, "you've learned in the past, but normally it's not possible without some clothing removal."
"Minimal removal," she sounded out. "You...open your pants, and I take these off." Bending forward to reveal a view down her neckline, she stepped out of her panties and tossed them aside.
His mouth went dry. Somehow, it was one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen.
"Now, here's the deal. You don't go all the way in. Just enough to make you--you know."
He finally registered what she'd said. "What?"
Exasperated, she explained, "If you don't go all the way in, it's not technically sex."
He lifted a brow, thought to object, and let it go. "Whatever you say, pet."
"Good. And I'll have a stake nearby just in case you're stupid enough to try anything."
"Right then. Good. I always perform well when there are killing implements on the bedside table."
"I don't need you to perform well," she ground out. "I just need you to perform."
"Well, that's downright romantic. I'm all aquiver."
"You want romance? Try finding another criminally insane--" Buffy stopped with a sigh. Don't piss off your only hope. "I just need you to get it done and get out."
"Bossy little bitch, aren't you?" He squinted. "Did Angel have to deal with this?"
A brief look of hurt, covered by a glare. Dead, you are so dead.
He heaved a histrionic sigh. "Boss away."
"That's better." So. Nothing left to do now but... Buffy sat down on the bed and scooched backward rigidly until her shoulders hit the headboard.
"Right then." Seeing her there waiting for him, bouncy hair shining in the brighter light of the sidetable, he suddenly felt ...awkward. "Can I at least take the top shirt off? And my boots?"
"Whatever," she rolled her eyes to her side, drumming her fingertips on the sheet Giles had put over the coverlet for them, no doubt planning to burn it afterward. She snuck a glance at Spike, kicking off his shoe. It's not really sex...in the sense of being sexy. It's saving the world. It'll be technical, and quick. And no one has to know. Not Angel, not Willow, not anyone but us three. Provided it works. Oh god, what if it doesn't work?
Spike was tempted to fold his red button-down before placing it on the chair. Get it together, mate, he told himself. She's the Slayer, not your soddin' childhood crush. Girl you've wanted to kill forever. You could kill her tonight, right now, if you wanted to. Snap her neck while she's in the throes of--
"Spike? Sometime today?"
"Right. Sorry." He planted his knuckles on the mattress and crawled
up the bed toward her, pausing at her feet. Freshly pedicured. Possibly
just today. When she'd sat in the salon, had she been thinking about him
gazing at her feet? What color he might like?
"Here." When he looked up, Buffy was holding the amulet's necklace open by the corners of its chain. "Be kinda pointless without this."
Nodding, he climbed closer and ducked through the chain.
His face inches away from hers now, she touched the amulet. "Looks good on."
Mesmerized by her lips, he moved to kiss her.
She pushed him back, all shock and revulsion. "What are you doing?"
"Breakin' the ice! Gettin' in the mood! Isn't that what--"
"There will be no kissing," she established, waving an index finger in front of his nose.
"Fine," he hrumphed, "Didn't want to kiss you anyway."
"Well, good to know the feeling's mutual. Can we start now?"
"You are one hell of a bedmate, you know that? No wonder A--"
She drew back a fist, daring him to finish that sentence.
He rolled his eyes. Couldn't see her naked, couldn't go all the way, couldn't even taunt her about Angelus. This was turning out to be less fun than he thought it'd be.
Buffy collected herself. The sooner this was over, the better. "Hurry up, open your pants."
"I'm gettin' there girl, give me a bloody sec..." Hovering over her, careful not to touch, he pulled his belt out of its loops, flung it off the bed, and unzipped.
"Okay." Buffy lifted her chin, determined not to look down. "Go for it."
"What?" She looked at his face.
"I need a little help here."
She glanced. "Why?"
"...That's not hard?"
"Not entirely, no. Haven't really given me a reason."
That's not hard? "Well--do something."
"Me, do something? You do it."
She wrinkled her nose. "What do you want me to do?"
"Touch it, play with it, give it a kiss, I don't bloody care."
Scoff. "'Give it a'...? No way!"
"Or, you could lose the dress."
She lifted her brow at that. "You play with it. I don't have to do anything but 'accept your cold, dead seed,' according to the book."
"I know that, but--Oh come on, we're wasting time!"
"Look, woman, I don't care what the bloody book said, alright? I'm
helping you out, you damn well better help me out. Tit for
tat. Well, not necessarily tit--"
She emitted a growl of frustration. "Fine."
"Look, I'm not jumpin' for joy over this either, Summers."
"I gathered that."
"I just want to get this over with so we can go our separate ways."
"All I've been saying..." Training her eyes on the ceiling, she
reached down to wrap her fingers around his supposedly not-hard penis. Well,
he wasn't lying, she realized, and grudgingly began to tug, feeling
the foreskin roll back and forth at her touch. The absurdity of the situation
hit her. This isn't me. I'm not me right now. I'm watching a movie of
someone who looks like me. I hate this movie.
Hot little hands, he thought, watching her move to look him in the eye.
"I hate you," she spat.
It jumped in her hand.
After a moment, he asked, "Why?"
Pumping slowly, softly, eyes still on his, she said, "You're a despicable, evil bastard."
He hissed as his cock lengthened.
She gripped a bit tighter, at the base, fingertips brushing against his balls. "I hate the way you look at me."
Gazing at her lips, back up at her eyes, his voice turned low and reedy. "How do I look at you?"
She pulled faster, harder, watching his expression. "Like that."
Suddenly, it strained against her palm, hard as stone. She let go, looked down, and saw it bobbing in mid-air. "How's that?"
"That's good," he breathed.
"Then it's showtime." 'Hey Buffy, what'd you do last night?'
'I made Spike come in me so I could save the world.' She clicked off
the bedside light, leaving only the dim glow of the antique lamp on the
bureau. When he looked down to watch her lift her dress, she yanked his
head up by the hair. "Don't. Look."
He could've complained or made a hurtful comment, but he knew something
she didn't: she was liking this.
"Now bring it close to me," she instructed, loosening her grip on his hair. "Slowly."
One arm outstretched, eyes focused on hers, he pressed the tip of his cock against her crevice and tried not to smirk. Just as he'd suspected, she was wet. Almost wet enough to take him completely. He rubbed it against her clit and back down a few times, making more liquid emerge.
Okay, that felt... Anyway. She wasn't here to feel good. "Stop that."
"Just situating, love..."
"Well, stop 'situating' and put it in."
Now that's the kind of bossing he could abide by. Obediently, he popped
his head through her velvety threshold, letting slip a moan. Took every
bit of strength he had not to drive all the way in. Well, that, and she
was holding him up with one hand.
For Buffy, the whole watching-a-movie detachment approach had suddenly lost steam. This was all way too real, Spike was on top of her, over her, inside her... Not sex, not really sex... "A little bit more, but that's it."
He nodded, and corkscrewed his hips to maneuver into her further. Wet, yeah--but she was tight as a virgin. Had she not done this with anyone since what's-his-name?
"Okay," she gasped, halting his chest, preventing further progress.
"That it?" he murmured.
"Alright, love." He began to pump, keeping his hand on the base of his cock, not trusting himself to stop at such a shallow depth without it. But god, this felt good. Even just the tip being kissed by her sweet slippery lips...yeah, this might do.
Continued in Chapter Four: Let It In
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