Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No profit is gained from my writerly endeavors and no copyright infringement is intended.
Fucking was like fighting. Maybe that’s why she and Spike were so good at it. To thrust and parry, glide, dodge, and converge was familiar – comfortable even. They were made for it. The desire to draw first blood, to triumph over the weakness of their enemy compelled them both to clash again and again. However, when it was Spike that got the upper hand, the thrill of the game was quickly lost on Buffy.
Post orgasmic bliss, Buffy lay back on her elbows, her knees drawn up so that they crossed. She swung her ankle slightly, tapping out an invisible rhythm in the still air of the crypt. What might have been considered a smile formed at her lips.
“That good, huh Slayer?” Spike purred, lying lengthwise on the bed with her, his hand propping up his head. “Must’ve hit all the right places that time.”
Buffy turned to look at him, her tiny grin disappearing. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not that.”
“Than what’s gotten under your skirt to chase all those dark clouds away?”
She could have referenced any number of things that had occurred in the last handful of days since she crawled from Spike’s bed completely disarmed of her defenses. But after that night two weeks ago, Buffy had been eerily silent and withdrawn. She feared when the constricting weight of her past and present would be momentary lifted again. She hadn’t known that freedom for so long that when she tasted it, it lashed her like some corralled beast unable to escape the narrow walls of its enclosure. Her blood had revealed her hidden secrets and he had sipped down her suffering with tender compassion which had left her depleted. She was shaken when she found herself lying in his bed the next morning. That night the nightmares hadn’t come.
“My day didn’t actually suck. It was kinda okay, bearable even. I didn’t feel like…” she trailed off, that grim expression stealing into her eyes even as she struggled to regain her small smile.
Buffy took in the bite marks at the juncture of his shoulder and neck and the angry welts that blossomed along his forearms where she had clawed him in her passion. She liked to mark him in this fierce, possessive way. Like any artist, she thrilled at seeing her handiwork stretched out across her taught, pale canvas. But it never lasted. All the painful reminders of their trysts faded away to light shades of green and yellow and then nothing scant hours after they were applied. It made her all the more determined to leave something of permanence on him, but he had years of practice and he was always the one that left the indelible marks.
Spike shook her from her sullen contemplation. “Yeah? What could have been so good? Finally come to your senses and ditch Burgers R’Us?”
“It’s just been easier…with Dawn and Tara helping. Work’s work, but I had a few moments to myself. Something…,” Buffy hesitated, unable to place her finger on the elusive emotion that gnawed at her. Something was different – better. It was hard to say what, but she could feel it and it made her anxious and alert.
“Do I have a fightin’ chance then of not ending the night getting kicked in the head or a broken nose?”
“Could be your lucky day,” she replied.
Spike considered the walking contradiction that was Buffy Summers. The Slayer was giving off mixed signals. While her words seemed almost on the upside of positive she was barely able to camouflage her ready nervousness. It wasn’t like her to be so on edge and not lash out. He had to steal upon this opportunity since occasions such as these were far and few between.
“Seein’ as you’re all sunshiney, up for a bit of fun?”
“Fun? Fun like the type we just had or some other…fun?”
“More of the shaggin’ variety if you’re up to it. Had a few ideas thought we could try.”
“Like what?” She eyed him skeptically and shifted her weight as one of her legs prickled with the tingling sensation of falling asleep.
“Wouldn’t take much work on your part, luv. I’ll do all the drivin’. You just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Buffy searched his face for signs of duplicity. While his suggestion now was cloaked in casual nonchalance, she sensed the probing unspoken question he was posing. Do you trust me? He had gotten a taste of her. Score 1 for the vampire. But to her relief, he had yet to betray her confidence and had not brought up her emotional breakdown for either further discussion or to gloat.
She peered at him through lowered lashes, her gaze weary and searching. “Okay,” she acquiesced, but her eyes never left his.
Spike sidled up alongside her considering the most effective plan of attack. Whether she cared to admit it or not, he had chipped away at the hard, protective shell imposed by her resurrection and had caught a glimpse of a Buffy she believed no longer existed. The tangibility of that girl even now set a light flush across his cool flesh. He knew she was real because he had tasted her, scented her among the spiteful anger that drowned out her silent suffering. He would find her again. Save her. Buffy just had to be willing to save herself as well.
Bringing her wrist to his lips, he nibbled at her pulse point until he drew her fingers into his mouth to suckle on them. Her lips parted in a surprised gasp and the tiniest bit of her resistance dissipated as arousal stealthily took possession of her.
As he slunk down the length of her body, Buffy dug her nails into his scalp, pricking the sensitive skin in her grip. He growled at the sensation when the scrape became more insistent when he kissed her quivering thighs and slid his saliva-coated fingers into her. He set a slow, but hard pace, and when her brow started to draw together in concentration he twisted his fingers one-hundred-eighty degrees, which had her nearly jumping from the bed.
“Like that?” he husked, his intent blue eyes taking her in. She said nothing, but bucked against him with a flourish of her hips and gave his fingers an internal squeeze. She liked that he knew instinctively what she needed. She hated that he had this insight almost as much.
Repeating the previous motion, he moved his fingers and tweaked her clit. The combination set off a sharp, quick orgasm that had her reeling.
“How did you…?” Buffy panted, her eyes shining a bit from her excitement and exertion.
“Think that’s all, pet? Got a few more surprises up my sleeve.” Spike leaned over her and pushed her legs up and back so that her knees rested against her chest.
“Gonna go deep. Give me everything you have, Buffy. And push out.”
Buffy bore downward as his fingers hammered into her at a good clip. He felt her glands swelling as he stimulated her upper wall.
“Nnnnuh, urnnn, oh fuck, shit, what is that?” Buffy gasped.
“What do you feel, luv?”
“Pressure…uh, god, spreading out.”
“Good. ‘S what you should feel.”
The little bundle of flesh was firm under his fingers and he smiled anticipating what would come next. Too bad these sheets would have to be sacrificed for the job.
“Buffy…bear down, now!” Spike barked. She did and at just that moment Spike pushed upward with a gentle force on her g-spot, sending a stream of ejaculate from her pussy as she screamed her orgasm.
“Ahhhhhh!” Buffy cried. She fluttered about wildly, a woman possessed.
“That’s it. Put it all on me. Drench me, you filthy girl,” Spike crowed as he continued to work her. He drew himself up between her legs, his eyes transfixed as she shot her load, the streams spraying across his abdomen, slathering his cock, marking him.
“Oh fuck, so bloody hot,” Spike moaned. Buffy still shook violently, her eyes glassy and unfocused.
“Sp-sp-ungh…” she gulped, her mouth refusing to work.
Spike winked at her and drew her legs up over his shoulders as he plunged into her, the wetness allowing him easy entry to slide all the way to the hilt. He pounded into her, her ass in his hands, her shoulders flat against the bed as he held her nearly vertical striking her g-spot on every thrust, a wild grin on his face.
“Oh god, oh SHIT!” she screeched and Spike drew out of her quickly, watching her squirt again, the stream flying a good three feet.
Spike smiled down at her all ravaged and thoroughly fucked, his manly pride beaming.
Now that’s a job well done.
He watched the flush creep up Buffy’s breasts, her twitching fingers and cunt, her rumpled hair. She looked like a well-used and satiated woman, her pussy agape and drooling still. Spike took his cock in hand and jerked himself, watching her come down from where he had just sent her into orbit. That was sure to soften her up a bit.
“You got your shot,” Spike murmured, “only fair I get mine,” and he let loose ropey white spurts of jizz so that the fluid landed on her breasts and belly.
Buffy lay still as her breathing gentled and returned to normal. She glanced downward to glare at him when Spike began to draw curlicue patterns on her stomach with his cum.
“Okay, tell me I did not just pee all over your sheets?” Buffy asked, the liquid already starting to cool in the tepid air.
“Not as such, no.”
“What was that?”
“Just a bit of girl cum is all. Nothin’ to be fussed about,” he said, lapping up a glob of his own ejaculate.
“How come that’s never happened before and in, um, that quantity?” she asked surveying the soaked sheets that were now sticking to her butt.
“Just gotta bang the right spot. Anyone can do it. No magic involved. As for the squirting bit, don’t know what mechanics in that cunny of yours allows you to pull it off, but can’t say I’m complaining. Hottest thing there is to see a girl spraying her juice all over.”
“Huh…” Buffy murmured, a shocked expression on her face.
Spike delved back into her folds, giving them little laps and licks as he kissed his way counterclockwise around her mound. His tongue angled a bit lower, sweeping at her tangy skin until it tickled her tight asshole. She squirmed beneath his ministrations, a ragged whimper escaping her swollen lips.
He poked his head up for a moment to waggle his brows at her because he knew it would brass her off and then dove back into the task of rimming her to oblivion. She shook and jerked and groaned deeply when his tongue pushed into her, the tip flicking erratically. She couldn’t believe that it was actually possible to feel more pleasure when he fucked her here than her pussy.
No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than Spike dipped two fingers back into her cunt, drawing out her juice and spreading it along her lips. As he licked her ass with fervor, Buffy moaned, “More!” all thought centered on how to draw out her pleasure. She could postpone their dance for this.
He added a third finger, rotating them back and forth in her channel, stretching her out. He spread them widthwise inside her, pressing against the strong muscles. She fucked him in earnest and Spike drew his head away from her asshole to let saliva pool along where his fingers were firmly planted in her quim. Tucking his pinky finger in to join the other three, Spike pushed them forward ever so slightly as Buffy’s cunt clamped down and gave little yield. She panted and gulped air, some strain appearing on her face as she tried to relax and accept his fingers comfortably.
Spike stilled his hand and crawled up Buffy’s body to sensually suckle on the underside of her breast and leave open mouthed kisses up her neck. He pushed his fingers in again and she gave a little gasp, gritting her teeth at the intrusion.
“Buffy, luv. Open your eyes,” Spike whispered, and Buffy squinted up at him, the pain becoming a bit much. But she was no stranger to pain.
“What if I told you you’re one finger away from having my whole hand up your quim?” Buffy stared at him, speechless. “And when I do you’re gonna be screaming my name to the high heavens?” Her eyes darted down to the junction of her thighs and then back up to his eyes. “You’re gonna have to open up for me though, sweetness. Think you can do that?”
Buffy stared at him, not missing the challenge in his voice. What? He didn’t think she could take a little more? Spike had to guess again.
“What do you think?” she sassed back.
Spike smiled indulgently down at her. The Slayer was always bristling and chomping the bit to show him up. Couldn’t expect anything less from his girl.
Leaning forward, Spike whispered directly into her ear, “Good, ‘cause here we go.”
While he spoke to her he had reached under the bed to pull out a bottle of lube. He doused the still visible parts of his hand and oiled her opening. Buffy stared at the ceiling considering what was about to happen.
I am going to have a fist in me. A fist – as in five fingers, up there. I’m so going to regret this.
Spike quirked a brow at her and warned, “Thought I told you you should be relaxin’, breathing deep. You’re gonna have to help me on this one, Buffy. Can’t force my way in.”
God, I have to trust him on this. Trust him, work with him. Fuck…Okay, I can do this. For the sake of mind blowing orgasms everywhere, I will do this.
Buffy nodded and tried to let all her muscles go lax, which eased some of the sting that she was feeling. Spike brought his hand down and started massaging her perineum in tight circles, easing the tension that seized the delicate tissues.
“There’s gonna be a lot of pressure and lot of stretchin’, but once you take it all in, I promise you it will be worth it.”
“And you would know how?” Buffy asked as she quirked a brow at him.
Spike smiled knowingly. “Trust me, Buffy. I know.”
She eyed him curiously, but did not pick up on the implications of the statement and instead let it slide.
“All right, let’s have a go at this then.” Spike started to ease his hand back and forth in her, curling his thumb into the palm of his hand and then pushing back in. He was pleased to see all fingers slide in without much of a hitch and his hand disappear to his knuckles.
“Here comes the hard part, pet. The knuckles are the widest part and it takes a bit to fit ‘em through. When I start pushing in, you push out and relax as best you can.”
Buffy eyed him with a bit of trepidation, but nodded slowly. “You’ll stop if…if it’s too much?”
“’Course I will. You sound the alarm and this experiment ends here and now.”
Buffy nodded again. “Do it.”
As Spike started pushing, Buffy started to pant, filling her lungs with air while simultaneously relaxing her muscles.
“That’s a good girl. Doin’ such a good job. Can you feel it, Buffy? We’re close, real close,” Spike babbled, his running commentary doing something to calm her nerves and distract her from the discomfort.
“Ugh!” Buffy groaned and grimaced, the burning sensation becoming overwhelming as she bore down harder, trying to escape the pain.
Do it harder…God, do it harder, she thought with a wild desperation even as small tremors wracked her thighs. Make it so I never forget. But it was too much.
“Spike, I don’t think I…” and then the world stopped. She felt all at once his knuckles pass through her entrance and his hand sink in to the wrist.
“Uh…uh…I…” Buffy whispered, her eyes wide and incredulous as sensation seemed to fill every corner of her body; her cunt the pulsing epicenter from which every fevered flush emanated. Some deep, carnal thing in her arched at the perverse thrill of being grounded by the very hand that had inflicted so much carnage. It sent wild shudders up her body.
“Unnnnnnhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaa!” she cried out, her vocalizations an unending litany of vowels.
Spike’s hand had not moved inside her since it sank in to her contracting channel. He stared at her his eyes wide, taking in the picture before him. Buffy impaled on his fist, writhing in some sort of spastic ecstasy. Her hands grasped the sheets and her eyes darted about, the sensations so intense.
Spike twitched his fist ever so slightly and Buffy screamed a howl of pleasure, which quickly turned into ragged sobbing moans.
“Ohhhh, oh god, ooooohhh!” Buffy cried. She began to panic as her body was swept up in the feeling of absolute release. She lost all control as her eyelids fluttered and mouth twitched, her lips opening to choked silence. As she spent in deep waves, her arms flailed as she searched for something to hold onto.
She reached blindly for Spike, some unknown terror grasping her. Without removing his fist from her, Spike crept closer, his hand sliding along her belly in soothing gestures, tweaking her nipples, stroking her cheek. The movement rotated and pushed his fist in deeper. She screamed again.
“Uhhhh, Spiiiike! Spike, ungh, un, un, unnnn!”
“Hush, I have you, luv. Right here. Right beside you.”
She fluttered under him like a bird, unbelieving that the pleasured sensations hadn’t subsided yet. That she was still at the mercy of these wild shudders.
“What does it feel like? Tell me how it feels, my hand deep inside you all the way?”
“Oh god,” she cried out, her face softening, her eyes looking into his with tenderness he had never seen on the Slayer’s face. “I...I wish, wish you could…feel it. Never…before…anything. Never…” she murmured and went silent again except for the scratchy moans escaping her throat. His hand filled all her empty spaces and calm washed over her as his free hand gently caressed her.
She pulled him down for a kiss, his tongue sliding between her trembling lips to suckle on her own. She opened her mouth wide and his fingers tunneled through her hair, the kiss passionate, but gentle. She nibbled on his lips as he drank in her whimpers.
Oh god, oh god, spikespikespikespike…need you, oh love y---?
Buffy stilled for a moment beneath him looking up wildly into his eyes. She half-expecting that Spike had somehow known, been privy to her thoughts, but he currently had his face buried along her neck, biting the flesh harshly.
“So beautiful. So beautiful, my fierce, deadly girl,” he murmured into her hair as she continued to quiver in his arms. He twisted his fist slightly and Buffy’s mouth opened into a soundless scream, her jaw working. A fresh flood of cum leaked from her, drenching the bed and suddenly making Spike’s invasion a bit more slippery as her walls gave a little and settled.
She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t his, that he had no right to call her these things, that his words meant nothing to her. But they did. God, they did. They meant everything.
Buffy fell limp and silent against the sheets and her head rolled back. Spike kissed along her neck and covered her abdomen with his other hand, pressing slightly along her belly. She gave a tiny gasp and her legs shuddered again. Spike pushed her knees up and to the side, her pussy flushed a bright pink.
“Gonna pull out, luv. Give us a little push.”
She didn’t immediately respond, but then he felt the downward contraction of her muscles as she went to expel him. He rotated out slightly and both moaned low, the pleasure racing around her loins and up her chest. His knuckles at her entrance stretched her hole wide. She arched wantonly up at the sensation, so utterly exposed. Spike stared in wonder at the sight of her so thoroughly stretched, committing it to memory. He undid his fist and slowly lengthened his fingers out, pulling the digits out smoothly from her passage. They were wrinkled and pruney from the moisture. He crept back up toward her head, her eyelids fluttering open.
“How was it?”
“How…?” He was met with a blank expression as she stared into nothing.
Buffy’s fist crashed into the face of the vampire she was fighting. The bone and cartilage of his nose splintered beneath her knuckles upon impact. It felt good to destroy, to tear down the body’s infrastructure piece by piece. Screaming fiercely, she let her opponent backhand her and send her sprawling to the ground. She knew the pain, needed it. It was all she had, all she would ever need to know again. Wasn’t that why they brought her back? To be their fighting machine? To be this town’s anonymous protector immemorial oppressed by bills, and addiction, and all the bullshit that came along with being alive?
“What’s brought this on, luv?” Spike asked as Buffy threw the covers off after a brief recovery and hurriedly gathered her clothes.
“Hey now,” he said and grabbed her arm to turn her around so that she would face him.
“Let go, Spike. NOW,” she demanded and shrugged out of his grasp, but he made to grab her again and she knocked his hand away.
“Don’t touch me!” she hissed and drew her arm back to strike him. He easily blocked it, watching her explosive reaction.
“You know what I am!” she cried as a devastating punch connected with Spike’s temple. “You can’t have me. There is no Buffy, Spike. There’s just this. Me. Her.”
“Stop…” Tears glittered in her eyes as she zipped up her boots and jumped for the ladder. “Stop trying to save me.”
Buffy leapt onto the unfortunate vamp and straddled its waist as she pummeled its face into nothing. Nothing. She was nothing. This thing was nothing. Finally staking it, she collapsed onto the grass, letting the scattered dust fall into her hair and cling to her coat. It might as well have been ashes. Next time – if there ever was a next time – Buffy would ensure there would be nothing left for them to bring back. To entomb her body now in the cold earth was an affront. Better to be scattered on the winds than bound to the mortal coil in any sense.
She crawled to her knees and glanced back in the direction of Restfield. She wondered if Spike had heard the scuffle, if he would come after her to face her demon. No, she thought, he’s already had his shot at me. Already squirmed deep inside just where he wanted.
When Buffy turned the key and pushed open the front door she was relieved to find the house silent. Placing her keys on the front table, she spied the folded piece of stationary tucked under the napkin holder. It was Dawn’s. She was staying with Tara tonight. Some big exam the next day that she needed help studying for. It was good that she didn’t have to see her this way. After all the progress they were making it would be devastating for Dawn to see her sister so torn. Talk about relapse.
Putting the note down she went up to the bathroom to wash the day’s grime off. She never looks at herself in the mirror after she’s been with Spike. When she first did she was frightened by what she saw. Tonight she fears she won’t even recognize her reflection. When she steps under the water the spray stings her skin like needles and she lets the warmth envelope her until it all comes crashing down. She sinks to the floor crying, biting her knuckles to hold back her whimpers.
Why do I keep letting him in? Why – I can’t – I can’t feel…
But she could. She could feel and it scared her like nothing else. She didn’t know where she stood anymore, couldn’t pinpoint when the feeling of despair had started to lift. Change was never easy and with no one to guide her she was lost. She had tried so hard to be the grown-up when there was no one else there to be. Tried to be a mother to Dawn when all she wanted to do was sink to her knees and beg the Powers to give her back her only constant. Who’s going to take care of us? she had whispered between heaving sobs as she held Dawnie at the threshold of their home months ago. It was still a question that begged answering.
When the water turned cold she struggled to her feet and wrapped herself in a terry bathrobe. As she passed the vanity, Buffy reluctantly looked up at her reflection and took in her startling appearance. Her fraught expression reminded her of childhood when she pleaded with Joyce for attention or to help her when something seemed beyond her grasp. She hurriedly shuffled out across the carpet to her room.
Remember…He said to remember…
Buffy crouched at her closet and shoved boxes aside until she reached the bottom most strata and spied an unopened UPS box she had never bothered to unpack after their move from LA to Sunnydale. Sealed tight with packing tape she tore open the box with shaking fingers, brushing aside the Styrofoam peanuts that spilled onto her lap. As she rooted around its contents, her hand finally came to rest on the soft plush fabric of her old Hemery cheerleading uniform. There was an overwhelming sense of relief as she clutched the living memory of her past to her body. Worrying the fabric in her hands, she spotted an old grease stain just barely visible on one of the pleats. In the 8th grade, Erica had covertly whispered to her that Zackary Leery was giving her the eye and Buffy’s head had shot up as she sat eating lunch in the cafeteria. Unfortunately, a forkful of spaghetti had been en route to her mouth and just as she spazzed a glob of marinara sauce had fallen onto her uniform. She hadn’t paid it any mind though when she spied Zack smiling at her and elbowing his buddies as a blush lit up his cheeks.
Delving deeper into the box the pads of her fingers brushed against something textured and solid. Drawing the heavy thing out with her hands, she sniffled back tears when she realized what it was – an incised terra cotta pot. She cradled the delicate thing to her in her palms. She and Joyce had made this together. It was for a class art project and Buffy had complained petulantly that she was no good with her hands. That she couldn’t make pottery and that the clay just didn’t like her. But Joyce had showed her what hands could do and had guided Buffy’s in firm and steady sweeps on the pottery wheel, helping her mold this vessel from nothing.
She sat in her darkened room for long moments amidst the paraphernalia from her past. There were picture albums, ticket stubs, braids of lanyard, a pair of old shoes thrown into this box that held the contents of her life. It was a strange thing to be able to draw out these memories like taffy; strands at a time, some coming easily, others needing a good pull to disengage them. Buffy pushed the cheerleading outfit back into the box and got up to bring the bowl to her dresser. Sitting there it looked empty with nothing in it. It needed to be filled with emery boards, pens whose ink had dried out and pencils whose erasers were long gone, but Buffy didn’t have any of those things. Reaching into her nightstand she pulled out a stake and placed it into the pot, the whittled end pointing downward. She played her fingers over the horizontal grooves etched into the kiln-darkened clay. If done right a stake could make the exact same pattern given a steady hand. She should know. She had done it in a fit of rage not too long ago to an unfortunate fledgling. Buffy’s wrist jerked away as she backed away from her dresser and sank onto her bed.
She hadn’t been back in five days. But then, he hadn’t expected her to. Something had happened. He just wasn’t sure what. Perhaps this time he had pushed too far. On the fifth day he heard her silently slip in and pad quietly to the hatch. Her quiet entrance was a curiosity. It likely meant she wanted to be done with him at last.
Spike leaned against the frame of the bed and watched her descend awaiting his fate like one resigned to execution. When she turned her eyes toward him, they were subdued with a gentled look that seemed out of place on the Slayer’s face.
“Show me how,” she whispered.
“The fisting. Show me.”
He looked at her, squinting through his bruised eye.
“Ready to use them for something other than violence, pet?” he asked almost bitterly, averting his gaze from her.
She stared at him, her expression hard, her eyes flashing defensively, but she shook it from her and ducked her head and nodded.
“What brought on this change of heart?”
Buffy couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead she shuffled uneasily and mumbled, “I was thinking. There was this thing with mom, and I just…”
“Look at me, Buffy,” Spike sighed and approached her warily. Her eyes were open to him and for once she was hiding nothing. All the anger that had flown from her fists was gone now. Now all she looked was lost.
“Gotta learn not to break everything you touch, for one,” he whispered to her, drawing her chin up with his fingers so she looked directly at him. Without breaking eye contact, Spike slowly and dispassionately slipped out of his shirt and jeans until he stood naked in front of her.
“It can’t all be about pain, luv. Here now. Give me your hands.”
He took up her tiny fists in his own and smoothed out her fingers until they lay open in the palm of his hands. Drawing them up to his shoulders, he loosely entwined his fingers with hers so he could guide her movement. He led her hands in gentle sweeps across his shoulders, down his breast bone, across his abdomen in slow and easy caresses. Stopping short of his groin, he brought her hands back up to his face and guided her fingers to dance across his brow and cheekbones, to outline his lips, stroke his ears and meander down the strong cords of his neck.
When he dropped his hands to the side, Buffy continued to gently pet and stroke him, her eyes following the path her fingers made. Her hands wandered up the length of his spine, spreading across the sinewy muscles of his back and then back down to the hollow just above his coccyx. She thought that there should have been some sign of the damage that had been done to his back all those years ago in the church, but because of what they were only the most devastating of injuries were etched onto their skin as living memory of the pain they endured. Even then when she hadn’t even cared, she left nary a scratch on him to mark her victory. He had healed completely.
With his eyes half-lidded he let out a low, deep purr and tilted his head as he watched her trace the dips and curves of his body. However, when her hand slid from his back down his hips and cross his pelvis to his straining erection, Spike caught her wrist and pulled it back up to rest on his abdomen.
“Ah, ah, ah. It’s not always about that, is it? No matter what he has to say about it,” he murmured, nodding downward.
Moving closer to Spike, Buffy began the lazy caresses again, working her way down the silky expanse of his arms and pecs. As her hands molded the plains of his body and she listened to his rhythmic purrs of pleasure, tears of regret and shame formed at the corners of her eyes. She had never touched him like this before. Innocently, exploratory. She never let herself.
He could feel Buffy’s hands tremble as she slid them around his waist and over the globes of his ass. Scratchy little mewls bubbled out of her in time with her caresses and he smelled the salt of her tears where they fell onto her cheeks. All at once, Buffy stepped into the circle of his arms and wrapped her arms tightly around his ribs as her body took to shudders. She sobbed in this silent way, her nose pressed hard against Spike’s chest. He held her to him and kissed the top of her head, drew his fingers threw her hair. She tried to suppress her small whimpers, but he chided her futile efforts.
“There’s no shame in it, Buffy. Makes you no weaker to feel the hurt just like the rest of us. I know how hard it is for you. Come here, kitten.”
He rocked Buffy gently in his arms and she surrendered to the comfort. There was nothing else she could do. She trailed small kisses of penance down his chest and on his shoulders as her tears dried against his alabaster skin. That was what she ought to do, right? She wanted someone to tell her. She didn’t want to be wrong anymore.
He raised her small hands to his lips and kissed them, drawing her onto the bed beside him. She made no move to grab him or force him down. She just waited for once, her eyes attentive like that of a student awaiting instruction. He crawled onto his knees, which exposed the back of his cock and ass to her.
“Why do you want this?” he asked from over his shoulder, a searching look in his eyes. She said nothing for a long while. He could see her mind trying to draw the threads of her elusive emotions together, all articulation lost to her.
She started hesitantly. “I want…I want to try,” Spike looked at her eyes softly urging her on. “Try and…to try and give you…” He turned to her and put his arms lightly on her shoulders. She shook hard and averted her gaze from his. She looked about ready to run, terribly ashamed, but he had to know.
“Give me what, luv?”
Her eyes wide and glassy, but then hardened a tad with deliberateness. “What you made me feel.”
Spike gaped in surprise, but Buffy averted her gaze and pressed a hand to Spike’s lower back so that he bent over again. He weaved the fingers of her right hand in his own and kissed her knuckles with an aching tenderness.
“Do you really?”
She nodded. “It’s the only way I’ll ever find myself again.”
“Then I’ll show you everything.”
Buffy stared at Spike’s creamy flanks and well honed thighs and petted him lightly as though she were touching him for the first time.
“I’m ready,” she whispered and she closed her eyes as Spike opened himself to her.