Title: Sense Memory
Timing: Season 6
Pairing: Spike/Buffy’s panties
Warnings: Wanking, panty sniffing, and memories of debauched sex
Summary: After leaving the demolished building during “Wrecked,” Spike makes his way back to his crypt for a bit of kip. Dreams of the night before give him a cockstand he can’t ignore.
A/N: This fic is dedicated to eowyn_315, who inadvertently inspired me to write this based on a comment she made on my recent kink post. She generously wrote Spike door!porn for me. I thought it only fair that she get some Spike panty!porn in return.
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.
Through a tangle of dreams full of writhing limbs and breathless cries, the perfume of her sweat and cunt stole on him furtively. It had lingered with him alongside the tread-marked scratches lining his back and paisley-patterned bites ringing his neck and arms.
As he surfaced from beneath the sexual miasma, Spike’s eyes cracked open in the dim glow of the crypt. He could smell her on him still, a dense, fragrant scent that permeated his skin and crept slyly along his senses. If an aroma could grip him in a suffocating stranglehold, hers did with a passion. It was on his fingers, face, cock, thighs – that decadent funk that he had brought up in her and had stewed along until it had come to a boil. It made him hard, made him arch, made him moan. Thinking of the devilish grin on her lips when she pressed her quim to his face, a low growl rose up from his chest, his fangs dropping a hair only to quickly recede back up into his gum line.
Rolling onto his back, Spike pushed the sheet draped across him down to his waist, his sleepy stare trained on the tented fabric at his hips. Beautiful cockstand, that. Was a shame it had to go to waste, he thought. Knew a bird who might appreciate what he could do with it.
Bringing his hand up to rub the sleep out of his eyes, he paused when his palm drifted over the bridge of his nose. Cupping it, he inhaled deeply. It hit him then, the memory of holding her open with thumb and index fingers as he deeply tongued her, the quivering in her legs so violent that he had to lift her up out of the dust and hook her knees over his shoulders to keep her steady. The desperate whine that followed and the press of her heels to his back drove every ounce of stolen blood he had straight to his cock. He had rooted about her wet sex like a pig at a trough, hungry to have his fill, uncaring of the slick mess it made on his face. She had balked when he came up for a kiss, but soon relented with a moan when he forced his tongue into her mouth so that she could know the deep well of her desire, know it and revel.
Scooting back against the headboard, Spike dabbed the tips of his fingers across his lips and tongue. He imagined they were her dusky nipples, the hot press of her breasts against his mouth. Slayer knew what she wanted and had no qualms about taking it. All that brewing tension had been too much for her after all. So, tits in mouth and cunt in hand, he had showed her what she had been denying herself.
Cracking his eyes open revealed his cock bent back across his belly, rigid and flushed, twitching impatiently for the company of his fist. Never one to disappoint, he smiled and grasped it, fondling himself freely while squeezing his way along the length with varying amounts of pressure.
The girl had presented herself like a bitch in heat, ass in the air, knees splayed wide. The dewy pout of her sex had picked up the ambient light filtering in from the caved in ceiling, shimmering like a teardrop as she rocked her haunches about like an over-eager puppy keen to play. Need like that would undo any man, so he had put his cock to good use and did what he did best. She wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon, of that he was certain.
Eyeing his progress, each successive stroke getting faster, Spike flung his hand out to his right until it slammed against his nightstand. Fumbling along the surface, he found what he was looking for. Clutching a scrap of fabric in his fist, he drew back and mashed it to his face, stroking harder to keep time with the increasing strength of his growls and moans. Her thong was full of her; unadulterated, direct, and laced with the slick that had been pooling out of her and greasing her up while they fought. The bit of lingerie had quickly been ripped off once they crashed through the floor and left to lay strewn amongst the other debris of Buffy’s shed modesty.
“Randy bitch,” he moaned, lipping the fabric, gnawing the elastic bands. “Flashin’ your tight, little cunt like it was goin’ out of style.”
Flinging the thong down toward his groin, his left hand snatched it up and twined the lacy fabric around his cock. Once snuggly wrapped, he tugged the bands tight, cinching her panties around the base of his prick with a violent twist. Pumping rapidly through the narrow channel of his fist, a burn shot through his groin and began to force its way out of him with a painful intensity. The itchy material of her knickers combined with the smooth silk at the crotch drove him to the edge. His eyes screwed shut when he felt his own pre-cum dampen the remoistened residue that her pussy had left.
Grimacing, his hips arched up with a snap and he squeezed hard. With a strangled cry of her name, Spike began to spend in deep trembling bouts against his stomach. The rhythmic pulse of his load, steady under his fingers, the thudding of her heart, funk of her sex, slick of his cum, taste of her twat, his oh fuck fuck fuck…
One last thrust and he dropped his ass back to the bed, his inner thighs and abs subtly shaking from his release. Petting his cock lightly as it softened, Spike let out a sigh and leaned over to tuck Buffy’s panties under the bed for safe-keeping. Would come in handy a time or two, he absently thought as he sucked his gooey fingers into his mouth with a satisfied pop.
“God, do you sleep through anything? I was, like, yelling and nothing.”
When he jerked awake later in the evening, a candle clattering to the floor, there she was disapproving pout in place, self-righteous indignation full on. Didn’t think she’d come calling so soon. Stranger things had happened though, he thought with some satisfaction.
Spike eyed her suggestively and peeled his sheet off of him. His dried spendings still lined his cock and stomach so that the sheet clung with an uncomfortable pull.
“I’m a bit knackered. Had a long night,” he explained, a bit of tongue slipping out between his teeth. Buffy’s pupils dilated a hair, the faint hint of interest wafting to him through her jeans. Bingo. Girl was primed.
With an inquisitive head tilt, he watched her closely and added, “Someone should teach you how to use candles in foreplay, luv.”
Glancing down at the floor when she irritably threw his pants at him and started to explain the situation with Dawn, Spike resolutely decided that hot candle wax would definitely feature in his next fantasy. He only hoped her panties were up for the task.