All About Spike - Plain Version
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Sequel to All Wrong; part of The Bittersweets Series
Summary: Ten minutes in bed with Spike and Buffy.
Author Notes: This is the second in the BITTERSWEETS series, following "All Wrong." The BITTERSWEETS are set in a AU season 6 verging off of "Wrecked."
Dedication: As always, for Kalima first and foremost. Also for the Bitches, and Deborah M.
Completed: late December 2001.
Disclaimer: Joss creates, I borrow
awoke in Buffy’s bed, in the dark.
She was straddling him, which should have been nice. Except that she was too still, and had
made herself too heavy. The sound
of her breathing wasn’t right, nor was the gleam of her eye whites,
reflecting the bit of ambient light that evaded the drawn blinds.
of it was right.
not the stake digging into his chest, just above the unbeating heart.
right at all.
tried to move, and discovered she’d cuffed him, in his sleep, to the
metal headboard. The cuffs seemed
skimpy, a good sharp yank would free him.
But he didn’t try it, because of the stake, not just poised, but
planted, held here with both her rigid hands.
did not seem like a game.
seemed very serious indeed.
night when she’d first brought him to this bed, he’d prayed to die
at her hand, but he’d certainly not meant so soon.
spent the whole long evening here.
Dawn was passing her Friday night visiting with Tara at the
university. They’d made a
token patrol together in the hour after sunset—more a crypt run than
anything else, to get him fresh clothes and cigarettes. She’d been quiet, but that
wasn’t unusual. Back at the
house she’d made her desires known; he was over an hour between her
thighs. Every time she came just
made her want more. The smell and
taste of her overflowing quim, the way she thrashed and squirmed, made him so
excited he vamped out, and that only got her crazier. She slid right off the bed onto his quivering prong, rode
his lap and all the while stared into his feral yellow eyes, transfixed. Her fearlessness almost frightened him;
there was nothing anymore to keep him from biting her. He could think of nothing else. As much as he needed the amazing fuck
she was giving him, he needed to sink his fangs into her neck, drink her, fill
himself with her as she was filled up with him. He couldn’t think clearly enough to understand why he
held back. She scraped at his skin
with her nails, sank her own teeth into his shoulder, taunted him for a monster
and a beast, until he flipped her over, pinned her arms up and covered her like
one. He spent inside her three
times, and still she didn’t tire.
He lifted her back to the bed, took her again with her knees over his
shoulders, slow and deep, back in his William face, and she gazed up at him
with a sad little smile, her hands wandering over her breasts, and whispered
that he was so pretty and sweet and must never never never stop fucking
her. And a little while after
that, when he was done in and thought she was too, she did what he’d not
dared to ask or hope for yet.
Knelt beside him and took him in her mouth. Surprised him by not being very adept, or sure of
herself. Too gentle. It almost wasn’t enough. He was tired, and even a vampire had
his limits. But he
couldn’t say that. Had to
tell her, after a while, that she mustn’t worry about hurting him. So timid—she didn’t seem
like the same girl who’d howled beneath him before. It was the heat of her and the sheer
astonishing intoxicating sight of
his prick between her lips that brought him off at last. She’d swallowed, and kissed it
when he’d done, her cheek on his thigh, and he’d thought again that
he wouldn’t want to go on living after she’d finished with him.
now it seemed she had.
knew he was awake, she’d felt him stir and tense. The pressure of the stake was hard
enough to break the skin. He
didn’t dare move lest she thrust it home. The full force of her slayer strength weighed on him. His mouth and tongue were dry as the
dust he might turn to at any moment.
this . . . “he struggled to form the words, “is this goodbye then,
decidedly not a game.
breath was ragged; her thighs squeezed his flanks almost hard enough to pop
ribs. And the stake. The stake dug into him, a point of
concentrated pain that radiated out to all his extremities, a harbinger of
well, he thought, when a thing
seems too perfect to be true, s’usually because it is.
He’d had a good innings.
A hundred and twenty years of it.
And a couple of real good days.
The last two, the best.
her bring it on, the queen of his dead heart.
leaned in closer to him. He could
see more now than just the gleam of eyes and teeth. She stared at him with blank concentrated attention. “Why didn’t you take
you?” But he knew what she meant.
Point of the stake jabbed just a little tighter. Just a little more pressure, it would push on through. He felt the trickle of his blood
welling around the tip.
couldn’t draw breath enough to more than whisper. “Wouldn’t hurt you. Not for worlds.”
wanted to. I saw you.”
was this? A question of
trust? But it wasn’t an
accusation she was making. More of
the only one in all the world you could drink. Have you forgotten that already?”
love. It’s what made you
ready for me at last.”
do it.” She drew down
closer, still holding the stake in place, and presented her neck. “Go on. You told me, one day, you’d slip it in.”
felt her trembling, and he was trembling now too, with sick fear and pity for
her, and love. His cock was hard
as the stake she held on him, and this was not a sham, and he could not bring
up his game face though his life depended on it. Which it did.
But there’d be no life if he did what she asked. Only despair.
goose-bumped flesh brushed against his mouth; she pressed her neck against
it. Used one hand to turn his
head, force him closer. The
trembling had advanced to quivering, like the presage of an earthquake that
animals and demons could feel in their bones; the blood behind her skin’s
thin veil galloped at him, howled for him.
unhappy she was!
he: how powerless.
help, no help after all.
kissed her neck, then wrenched his head around.
reared back and slapped him. The stake slipped a little; he bucked and gave one
good jerk against the handcuffs.
The chains snapped, but not before the headboard gave way, and the
bedframe collapsed beneath them with a jarring thud. Spike grabbed for the stake and tossed it away. Not that it mattered now whether she
held it or not. Buffy was weeping, weak and loose-limbed as a kitten in her
tangled hair. When Spike sat up in the wreck of the bed and took her in his
arms, she sobbed “I hate you, I hate you,” and struck at him with
her balled fist. The blow was no
harder than a hand-clap, and to spare her the embarrassment of it, he captured her hand and kissed
it and held it.
“Sssh. Sssh. It’s all right.
Sweetness. It’s all
right.” He tucked her head
against his neck and rocked her.
not all right. Now the goddamn bed is broken and where am I going to get
the freaking money to have it fixed?
about it. I broke it, I’ll
“How? How will you fix it?” She was still sobbing; the tears
sluicing down his chest.
. . . I know a demon who knows a guy.
I’ll take care of it.
We can sleep in the witches’ bed the meanwhile. Don’t cry anymore, pet. You’re starting to scare
“Starting?” She picked up her head, and looked at
him for the first time.
what you did to me?” He brought her hand to touch the little wound
she’d made in his breast.
She touched it as if its presence surprised her. Suddenly, her tears redoubled, and she
threw her arms around him.
God oh God if I’d killed you—!”
thought of that for a long time after, and the expression on her face, the
dropped remorseful mouth and saucer eyes as she took in what she’d almost
wasn’t I love you, but it was near
was, he thought, very near.
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