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.
The door of Giles’ flat flew open as Buffy bounced in, brimming with excitement. “Oh, my God! Spike, I just saw the perfect wedding dress!”
Spike jerked his head up from where he sat at Giles’ writing desk and pushed aside the wedding notices he was drafting. It had been ages since he’d had to use calligraphy, but it was coming back to him.
Taking in the Slayer’s joyful mood, he smiled and dropped his voice seductively. “Did you now? Was it one of those poofy jobs? Always wanted to crawl under one, see why they call ’em blushing brides.”
Beaming at him, Buffy grasped Spike’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “See! This just proves my point. I don’t know what Giles was talking about when he said you have poor taste. Where is he, anyway?” She looked around eagerly.
“Upstairs taking a sit-down. Another two glasses of scotch and your lush of a Watcher went ass over tit trying to make his way around.”
Buffy crossed her arms and held up her hand, ticking off her points. “First off… he’s not a lush. Like you’re really one to talk, anyway. Second, if his motor skills decided to take a vacation, how did he get upstairs?”
Spike shrugged. “Carried him, didn’t I? Thought it would be good practice for our wedding night,” he rumbled, his head dipping to nuzzle her ear.
“Oh.” Pressing herself to his side, she traced the edges of his lips with her finger. “You’re always so thoughtful.”
She dragged him down into a kiss, which he enthusiastically returned, his hands running into the mane of her hair. As the kiss deepened, Spike pushed her against the bar, his hands coming down on either side of her to grasp her waist and slowly grind his crotch against hers.
“Now, what was it that you were saying earlier about me making sweet love to you?”
Putting her hands on his chest, Buffy mounted a weak protest. “Spike! We promised to wait. You know I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Oh, I think you are, Slayer. Care for a preview?”
A small smile escaped despite her best efforts. She crossed her arms over her chest, arching her eyebrow.
“And what if I do?”
“Then hold on tight,” he suggested, lifting her up. “’Cause by the end of it, I’ll see to it you won’t even be able to stand.”
Giggling, Buffy wrapped her legs around Spike’s hips as he carried her into the bathroom and kicked the door shut with his boot.
“Been waiting all evening for this,” he rasped, continuing to kiss her lips, her throat. “All that wriggling you were doing on my lap earlier... It gives a man ideas. Couldn’t keep my mind off you while you were away.”
“Such are the Slayer’s powers of seduction,” Buffy quipped. “They don’t tell you about that little detail.”
Chuckling, Spike dropped to sit on the lid of the toilet while Buffy straddled his lap, one arm curling around his neck to steady herself.
“So… when I was out, what did you think about?” Buffy asked innocently, her hands pawing under Spike’s shirt, running over the points of his nipples. “Was it anything like this?” she whispered, biting down on his lip.
“More like this.”
Spike ran his hands up the inside of her shirt to knead her breasts. She nodded her approval when his fingers nimbly slipped under the line of her underwire to skim the sensitive undersides.
“I like it when you think the thinky thoughts,” she purred and yanked the top over her head, throwing it to the tiled floor behind her.
“Got a few more,” he murmured as her bra soon followed the discarded shirt and his mouth descended on her chest. “Been wanting to suck these luscious tits.”
Buffy mewled in response, her hand coming around to hold Spike’s head to her as they rocked against each other, her hips sliding over his as she writhed against his denim-clad erection.
“Points for sucking,” she moaned when Spike bit down on her nipples and gnawed gently at the puckered flesh. A squeal soon followed when he pinched them.
“Now, now. None of that,” he chided, his palm coming up to cover her mouth. “As much as I love a vocal woman, Watcher’s lost his sight, not his hearing. Wouldn’t want to give him a heart attack, would you?”
She pouted and bit down on his hand. “I’d like to see you try.”
Letting going of her, Spike’s eyes lit, flecks of gold crowding his irises. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Twisting the knob of the television to his left, he cranked the volume up and grabbed Buffy by the hand.
Stepping into the bathtub and kicking aside the manacles, he pulled her to him and began peeling her pants down her thighs, his hands skimming across her hips, the inside of her legs.
“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Presumptuous much?” Buffy backed up, her slacks now around her ankles, and put a few inches of distance between them.
In response, Spike only smiled coyly and sunk to his knees, his face level with her crotch.
“Then stop me,” he said as he leaned forward and blew across her dampened panties. “Stop your Big Bad.”
She gulped, hesitant, but waited to see what he would do next.
Pressing his nose softly against her, he inhaled and visibly shuddered. She didn’t object when he tugged her panties down to her knees. By the time he looked back up at her, she was flushed and worrying her lip. Wouldn’t take much more convincing.
“Just look at this puss. All warm and exposed – nearly gagging for it. Just itching for a bit of tongue….” he whispered, mimicking her earlier taunt from that afternoon as one of his fingers ran down the inside of her lips.
She squirmed when the tip of his finger traced the outside of her opening.
“Remind me again why I love you?” she asked while she slowly parted her legs and pushed her panties off the rest of the way to bring her knee up on the bathtub rim.
Tugging her close, he grinned. “Why don’t I show you?”
She nodded. Her knees went liquid.
Staring at her inner thighs, Spike slowly mouthed her skin, applying fleeting pressure as he moved up and in. The steady thud of her pulse filling her aroused tissues with blood made his cock harden further.
When his lips reached her, he spread her apart, opening her to his tongue. As promised, Spike went slowly, licking long circles around her entrance, dipping his tongue in to shallowly thrust into her opening. She quivered whenever he did this, her lips pouting with concentration.
“Think you need a bit more?” At her nod, he slowly corkscrewed two of his fingers into her, the mellow warmth of being stretched setting her hips rocking. She dropped down slightly, seating his fingers as far as they would go.
“Just look at that,” he said with awe, staring at where his fingers had disappeared in her to the third knuckle. “Beautiful.” He unbuttoned his fly and gripped his cock. She watched his fist firmly slide down its length.
“Mm, goes right to your toes, doesn’t it?” he crooned, when he wriggled his fingers back and forth inside her.
“Not… not just my toes,” she corrected. “Try north of the knees and south of my waist.”
“You mean this bit, right here?”
Taking his fingers out for a moment, Spike leaned forward and gave her pussy an open-mouthed kiss, producing a light suction that had her hips jerking involuntarily. She whimpered and thrust herself forward, her mouth open, upper lip sweating.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, pet.”
Breaching her again, he swore, “This is how I’ll take you. Slow and gentle like. Get you primed for the rest of the night. Are you a goer, Slayer? You look like one to me.”
Buffy glared at him, one of her hands resting on the water tap, the other braced on her bent knee.
“If you stopped teasing me for a minute, you’d find out, wouldn’t you?” she muttered, flipping her hair with some sass as she continued to gyrate in counterpoint to his hand, setting a rhythm she liked.
Spike inclined his head. “You got it, princess,” he said and began thrusting his fingers into her, hard and fast. Her gasps and moans immediately picked up from the renewed effort.
Hammering into her, he put his head against her belly and closed his eyes, feeling the work his fingers were doing through her lower abdomen. It was good, being close like this, trying to feel what she was feeling.
As he changed his tactic from stabbing thrusts and his fingers began to stroke her upper wall, she slumped low, almost in a squat as she stood above him.
Buffy let out one long throaty groan after another, working toward her orgasm. There was nothing light or delicate about it, nothing girly or shy. She was letting herself go, all her inhibitions.
“That’s it, pet,” Spike goaded, his teeth scraping lightly against her hip. “Give it to me, Buffy. Want to see your cunt working for it, takin’ what she needs.”
“Huuu, God. Spike…” she moaned, her head lolling. She squeezed his fingers hard and bent at the waist, her hair falling into her eyes. The thought of what those muscles could do to his cock brought him to the very edge. He itched to stroke himself off, let all the tension out, but he stayed focused on her.
“Nnnn. There! Over…”
“Right here?” he asked, as he pounded hard, his free hand holding her ass.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!” she cried, desperate whining sounds creeping from her throat. Looked like that was the right spot.
“Please, please, pleasssse,” she mumbled, her face unattractively scrunched up, teeth bared. “More.”
Adding two more fingers, he pressed the heel of his other hand over her abdomen. Watching her closely, his eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, Spike sandwiched her upper wall between his fingers and hand and pressed down hard. The unexpected intensity of the maneuver rocketed her into a trembling release, which caused her to reflexively squeeze Spike’s shoulder.
Through this, Spike held her up as her hips and knees jerked spastically, watching lines of fluid wet her thighs. She was glorious, his Slayer. He had never seen her come so thoroughly undone. It was like watching a Spanish stallion have its head and gallop full force. He only wished he could be a part of that – that release, that freedom.
“Shit!” he growled, brought out of his thoughts when his own orgasm painted his jeans with milky-white lines.
A girlish laugh sounded above him. “Doesn’t always behave itself when you want it to, huh? Kinda like me.”
When Spike glanced up, he was met with Buffy’s sunny smile. If the expression on her face was any indication, it had been one hell of a ride. She continued to rock against his fingers slowly.
“Mmmmnnnn…” she purred with contentment.
“Want another one?” Spike clucked through his teeth, his eyebrow arched at her.
At Buffy’s bewildered, wordless look, he winked and continued to rub her upper wall. Reaching back, he spread the wet of her arousal around her asshole, despite a few mumbled, incoherent protests, and gently pressed against it as his internal fingers did a 180 and pressed against her rectum.
She gasped, her eyes going wide. “How…?” she moaned, shuddering with a fresh orgasm that felt substantially different and less intense than the other. When her quivering stopped, she slumped to her knees, and fell against Spike’s chest.
He preened at her. “That was just to wean you off the cum-high you girls get.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Pig.”
Her breathing settled as they quietly laid back, Buffy’s hand loosely wrapped around Spike’s cock. Draping his arm around one of her bare shoulders, he watched her lightly squeeze him and run her hands into his spendings. With her index finger, she drew a small heart in one glob, striking an arrow through the center of it.
When Buffy picked up her head, she gazed at Spike like she was just seeing him for the first time.
“Honey?” she whispered, her hand palming his cheek.
“What do you think about Wind Beneath My Wings as our song?”
Spike’s hand reached up and pulled hers from his cheek. Her dreamy smile soon disappeared when he glared at her like she had grown two heads.
Flustered, she smoothed down her hair. “What?”