A/N: Of course, while I’m writing a midterm paper on Trauma, this bunny comes to me. Written for
’s March kink of the month “cock and balls.” There is arguably far more than just that in this piece *g*. I feel dirty...
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.
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“How’s this?” The press of her fingers inside him sends a small shudder coursing through him. She moves slowly, methodically rotating her wrist from side to side as he lifts himself up and pushes back.
“’S good,” he whispers. His eyes drop closed when her other hand comes up to pet his flank, a long caress that starts at his waist, glides over his ass, and ends at his thigh. He flinches when she unashamedly scoops up his balls, and presses them gently. The warmth of her palm and knowing squeezes causes them to tingle.
Spike shifts and eases up on one knee to relieve the pressure on his cock where it lays pressed flush between his stomach and the bed. Dabs of precum paint his abs, which ripple as he clenches his muscles and bears down on her hand. When she withdraws her fingers, he involuntarily thrusts forward, his cock tunneling through air. There’s a light laugh on her breath when he feels her lips at his hip, and she nips him lightly, suckling on the tender, thin skin along the bone.
“Do you want me to go deeper?” she asks, and corkscrews her fingers in a little harder to find out for herself.
“Fuck! Yeah, like that,” he groans and flexes his hips back. His over-eager snap dislodges her mouth from his skin.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she notes wryly, and picks up the rhythm, so that he rocks forward on every thrust, the globes of his ass juddering with the movement.
While she keeps up her steady assault, he can feel her maneuver herself over the back of his thigh, her bare sex hugging his leg. She squeezes and relaxes her muscles experimentally, the down of her curls catching on the fine hair dusting his legs.
Craning his neck back to look at her over his shoulder, he gives her a dangerous grin, his tongue curling behind his teeth between pants. “Gonna put me to good use, then?” he gets out, and bounces his thigh slightly to jostle her where she sits astride him.
“You better believe it.” He groans when she grinds down against his leg in counterpoint to the fingers busily working his ass. Her light thrashes cause a thin line of arousal to wet his thigh. With less drag, he can distinctly feel her swollen clit skimming across skin. The soft sucking noise that her movements generate brings him ever closer to release.
Spreading his cheeks wider, Dawn watches the three fingers of her right hand emerge and disappear into Spike’s ass. He’s straining now, meeting her thrusts, so she tones the pace back a hair. She doesn’t want this to be over too quickly.
A light pinch to his rear gets his attention. “Give me a cock report. On a scale of 1 to explode, how close are you?”
It takes him a few seconds to compose himself. He licks his lips before he answers. His open-mouthed moans have dried him out, made his throat itch.
“Nearly there,” he gruffly pants. His asshole seizes up around her fingers for a moment, but she slows to a shallow thrust to keep him on the edge where she wants him.
Stopping altogether, she leans forward along his back, her breasts brushing against his shoulder blades until her lips are close to his ear. The change in angle forces her finger ramrod against his prostate. Her teeth lightly latch onto the lobe when a ragged moan erupts from his throat. She laughs under breath as she drums the spot with her fingers, and watches him buck up and squirm beneath her.
“Grab your cock. Stroke it,” she demands. Her tongue swarms into his ear as he reaches down to grasp his dick. Leaning to one side, she checks to see if he did it. When it’s clear that he has – the slight jerk of his body signaling that his left hand is hard at work beating himself off – her teeth rake along the back of his neck.
“Imperious little bitch,” Spike mutters, his breathe catching when she sucks and bites down on the sensitive flesh. “Not that I’m complaining,” he adds quickly when she draws away.
As she eases off his back, her tongue trailing a path along the bumps of his spine, and moves directly behind him, Dawn coaxes him up onto hands and knees. Drawing back to peer between his thighs, she can see him working the root of his cock at a leisurely pace, his balls swaying slightly with his strokes. His head is bent, too, watching.
Dropping her cheek against his ass, she turns to press her lips against the V of his back. “Prepare for lift-off,” she sings. It’s all the warning he gets before she slams back into him.
Her thrusts are hard and fast, relentless and rapid. The expletives that escape Spike’s mouth are some of filthiest and most colorful she’s heard yet.
“Oh, bloody fuck – !” he cries out, his hand racing hers when a hot, swirling sensation starts in his groin and blots out all other feeling.
When his balls draw up, and all he can manage to get out are strangled sobs and pleas, she withdraws her fingers quickly. A protest would rise, but then her tongue is in him, and her fist is tugging on his sac, and the tips of her fingers brush his where he’s milking himself with everything he has.
He vamps when he comes, snarling and snapping, and burrowing his face in a pillow to muffle his screams. His fingers shake with the force of his grip around his prick when the tremors start to subside.
By the time he sinks with exhaustion flat onto his stomach, the sheets and his spendings stuck to his belly, he remembers Dawn, who’s been so very quiet. He sighs when she continues to lap his asshole with feather-light touches. It’s the rim of her thumb making a half-moon rotation around his hole that causes him to whimper.
“You’re a dream, you know that?” he lisps through his fangs.
His voice is hushed and reverent. She raises her head slowly when she hears the heartfelt awe directed at her.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she teases, and crawls up the mattress to lie next to him. When she touches the ridges of his face, he opens his amber eyes and leans in to kiss her.
“Look. You bit right through the pillow,” Dawn notes with a hint of amusement, fingering the two small puncture marks dotting the pillowcase. “They don’t tell you that in the primer for vampire shagathons, you know.”
“Blighters always forget something,” Spike laughs, his face returning to his human mask. “Might want to make note of it in that lil book you carry about. Beauty’s in the details.”
“For posterity,” she agrees, reaching over the side of the bed for the notebook in question. Twining her hair around his wrist in tight spools, his hand drops to weigh her breast while she diligently scribbles. A smile starts to form on her lips when he pinches her nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers. As soon as his mouth takes their place, and his hands slide between her legs, she drops the ledger onto the comforter altogether.
“You know, Niblet,” Spike whispers conversationally, his palms kneading her inner thighs, “I don’t think when the Council asked you to document vampire rituals and behaviors, they had this quite in mind.”
“Probably not,” she admits smugly, “but clinical, removed observation really just doesn’t cut it these days.”
Pressing her thighs open, Spike parts the flowering, moist lips of her pussy. She sighs when his thumbs rub light circles into the tissues surrounding her entrance.
“Yeah,” she mutters, her back arched when his thumb slides into her. “My methodology. Much better.”