Chapter 1.02
Sunday, May 5th, 2002
Pulling away slightly Buffy hissed at him. "Spike,
no, Dawn's still awake. We can't."
"Shhh, pet. It's fine. I'm not planning anything
noisy, not just yet anyway." She looked up into his face, her
confusion evident as he used a booted foot to push open the bathroom
door. He sat her down on the edge of the bathtub and moved to
lock both doors, ensuring their privacy.
"Just what exactly are you planning?" she asked.
Spike shrugged out of his duster, hanging it up on the back of
the door. He crossed the room and brushed against Buffy as he
turned on the bath taps. Then he took a seat next to her and kissed
her once more before answering.
"Plan on soaking you in a nice hot bath until
you finally relax, love. It's been a long day and I know you're
nervous about me staying here but I promise I won't make you regret
it." He dipped long fingers into the water pooling in the bottom
of the tub swirling it slightly before adjusting the flow from
the cold water tap. He scanned the selection of oils, salts and
potions before selecting a camellia scented bubble bath, which
he added to the water. Then he claimed one last tender kiss before
moving to kneel at her feet.
His movements were slow, gentle and precise.
He unzipped and removed her boots and then lifted the hem of her
skirt, letting it rest across her thighs. His fingers teased the
elasticated top of her hold-up stocking until he was able to roll
the delicate material down the length of her leg, the soft touch
of his lips following where his hands had been. He slid the flimsy
black wisp from her foot and then began all over again with her
other leg. Then he reached up and drew her hemline back into place,
the fabric brushing against her sensitised skin all the way from
thigh to shin.
Buffy found herself unable to take her eyes from
the vision that knelt before her. Her fallen angel, perfect of
form and redeemed by love. His face glowed with the intensity
of the emotions shown in his eyes. Devotion, compassion, desire,
adoration but most of all love. It was the look in those eyes
when they met hers and not the skilled manipulation of expert
hands that made her knees tremble.
He reached over and turned off the faucets, checking
the bath's temperature one last time and she wondered if she was
in some sort of dream or if her attention had been entirely focused
on him, that the bath had filled so apparently quickly. He took
her hands in his and pulled her up to her feet whilst he remained
kneeling in front of her, and when she wobbled slightly he reached
his right arm around her thighs to steady her. His left hand deftly
loosened the bow securing the skirt's waistband and then he placed
a hand at either side to pull it down her thighs in one languorous
movement until it fell into an ebony ripple around her feet, exposing
her black lace thong.
His hands returned to her hips and she responded
to his gentle pressure by returning to her seat on the rim of
the tub. He parted her knees and shuffled closer, his silk shirt
brushing against the inside of her thighs, making her clamp her
teeth on her lower lip to keep from moaning. Her arms snaked around
him, elbows resting on his shoulders, small fingers twining into
the gelled stiffness of his hair as she bent forward to place
her lips to the top of his head.
Behind her, his agile fingers unbound the ribbon
which criss-crossed her back holding her halter in place, freeing
it from the loops that acted as its guide. They smoothed their
way down her arms until he could hold her own, pulling them from
his hair. He finally stood to remove her crimson top, which now
hung loose around her neck, and her choker. He pulled her to her
feet once more, this time clasping her against the length of his
body for several seconds or minutes, his chin resting atop her
head.
Then he knelt at her feet once more, kissing
her between her breasts and moving down to her navel. He looked
up; catching her gaze and holding it as he slowly removed the
last of her clothing. He slid up her body and worked his way along
her jaw to her earlobe nibbling gently with blunt teeth, causing
her to release an almost silent gasp of air.
He took a small step back, just enough to let
him loosen the buttons on his own shirt, but as he moved to undo
the second one her tiny manicured hands brushed his own away to
continue the job themselves. Taking her cue from him, her movements
were unhurried and when his shirt hung loose on his shoulders
she moved her lips down the centre of his chest stopping only
when she reached his belt buckle, before turning her attention
to his shirt cuffs. She pushed the soft fabric from his shoulders
letting it drift to the floor. Her fingers traced the lines of
his upper body where groups of muscles met, roaming across his
chest, stomach, arms and back. She memorised the flawless shape
of his body in a way she had never allowed herself to do before,
always rushing, pushing him to fuck her hard and fast. Hiding
under sheets and rugs or running as soon as it was over.
Her hands moved to his belt buckle, but before
she could get it undone he pulled them away, kissing the each
palm before releasing them. Whilst she was still wondering what
she had done wrong he picked her up, his right arm behind her
back and his left behind her knees and lowered her into the scented
water. He picked up the clothes strewn on the floor and moved
them to the far side of the room where they were less likely to
get splashed, before sitting down on the edge of the bath to remove
his boots and socks. Buffy watched and waited wondering what his
next move would be.
He scooted along the edge of the tub until he
was perched on the corner behind her left shoulder, leaning over
to gain access to the neck muscles he had begun to massage in
the living room what seemed like hours ago. Buffy felt as if her
bones had melted, soaked away in the warm water and his slow firm
manipulation. He worked his way outward, undoing knots in her
shoulders that she hadn't been aware of, then moving nimbly down
her spine as she leant forward against her raised knees.
Picking up a soft wash cloth he bathed her back
and her arms, before drawing her back to rest against the slope
of the tub. She expected him to move on to wash her breasts and
stomach, but instead he slid to the opposite end of the bath.
He reached down to draw a foot from the water resting it on his
denim clad thigh as he worked the muscles in it into a relaxed
submission. Talented fingers explored her calf and then higher,
and she belatedly realised that his every action was designed
to keep her balanced on a knife edge between relaxation and desire.
Letting that leg slip back under the water he picked up her other
foot and began all over again.
Only once he had kneaded all her muscles loose,
did he pick up the wash cloth again and smooth it along the golden
flesh of her legs. He took the showerhead from its holder and
turned the taps adjusting the flow through it until he was happy
with the temperature. Then he beckoned Buffy to move towards him.
She slid forward, bringing her knees up and leaning over them.
He unclipped the slides from her hair and raised her chin with
his hand, tilting her head back over so that when he wet her hair
he could do so without getting water in her eyes.
He turned the taps off again and just as she
opened her eyes he kissed her upraised mouth. He reached for her
shampoo squirting some into the palm of his hand. For a second
she wondered how he had known which was hers before she remembered
his heightened sense of smell. Of course he could tell which was
hers. She watched as he rubbed his palms together spreading the
liquid equally before he started to work it into her hair. Smooth
white hands with elegant fingers. She remembered years ago with
Willow discussing how fixation on insignificant details was a
major crush sign. With Spike, there seemed to be almost no detail
she hasn't fixated on at some point. Those eyes, those blue, blue
eyes that lay bare his every feeling. The chiselled cheekbones
that were wholly masculine yet still failed to make his face handsome
rather than stunningly beautiful. The smirk, infuriating at times,
irresistible at others and the scarred eyebrow, often raised in
her direction that begged to be kissed or licked or traced with
her fingers. His arms, his chest, his stomach. Her gaze fell below
the waistline of his jeans. His ass, other things. It seemed unfair
that he should be so perfect.
Then she remembered a story her mother once told
her. Something about Indian rugs or tapestries and how the weavers
would include one deliberate flaw somewhere in the design so that
its perfection would not attract evil spirits. Somehow that seemed
to explain the irony that was Spike, the soulless demon with the
body and heart of an angel. William had just been too perfect
to escape Dru's notice.
He didn't just shampoo her hair. His fingers
massaged her scalp so soothingly she let out a gentle moan when
he finished and reached for the shower spray once more, rinsing
out the lather. She shifted back in the water, taking care not
to splash, until she was supported once more by the back of the
tub. Her eyes travelled up and down what she could now see of
the vampire's body, the heat building within her beginning to
rival that of the cooling bath water.
She could almost have predicted his response.
The delicious eyebrow went up, as did other parts of his anatomy
and his comment was exactly what she expected. Save that, "like
what you see, pet?" was voiced in a husky whisper instead of his
normal half-sneering tone, she could have written his script.
This time, instead of embarrassment or denial
she replied with shy honesty. "Well, duh. What's not to like?"
Her smile was teasing, but slightly unsure. She wondered belatedly
if his sensitive ego would react unfavourably to being teased.
She had hurt him badly and deliberately in the recent past. Now,
she worried that those past sins would catch up with her allowing
innocent remarks to be misconstrued. "You're beautiful." She wanted
to say more, to let him know how the sight of him affected her.
How she wished she had the talent of Michel Angelo to sculpt him
as a new David, or let him live forever as a canvas masterpiece,
but somehow those two words were all she could manage.
"So are you, my love, so are you."
"Will," she whispered sensitive to her sister's
hopefully sleeping state. "I want you."
He smirked; his eyes alight with devilment. "I
know."
Her exasperated gasp left her mouth open and
he took full advantage. The kiss was deep but tender, passionate
but without brutality and Buffy was quick to respond. Her hand
moved to the back of his neck and she forced her fingers to hold
him loosely instead of pulling him toward her since he was now
balanced with both hands and the edge of one thigh on the rim
of the bath, neither foot touching the floor. So far he had been
true to his word about not making any noise and the last thing
she wanted was to have to wait for her sister to go back to sleep.
That meant dragging him in the tub with her, jeans and all, was
out of the question, at least until Dawn left for school in the
morning.
He seemed to know the exact moment she needed
to catch her breath and drew back. Pulling a bath-sheet from the
rail, he laid it out flat on the floor before scooping her from
the tub and placing her on it. He knelt beside her and pulled
the edges of the towel over, wrapping her in soft Egyptian cotton.
Scooping her into his arms, he paused only to let her unlock the
door and to listen for Dawn's somnolent life-signs before he carried
her through to her room depositing her in the centre of her bed.
He crawled onto the mattress beside her with the grace of a predatory
jungle cat, his gaze held by the way her damp flesh tautened into
goose bumps in the cooler air, her nipples tightening into dusky
pink peaks that he could barely distinguish in the darkened room.
Buffy fumbled in the dark, finding the switch
for her bedside light illuminating the room in a soft glow. The
increased light level allowed him to take in the heavy grey blankets
secured over all the windows as well as the fact that the room
door still stood open.
"Bollocks," he muttered under his breath, but
before he could scramble off the bed to remedy the omission the
aforementioned parts of his anatomy were gripped through his jeans
by a proprietary hand.
"Mine and everything that goes with them." Her
grip wasn't unduly painful and fell well within Spike's definition
of foreplay, but he certainly wasn't moving anywhere. It seemed
his slayer had had enough teasing for one night. She gave him
one last squeeze before turning her attention and both hands to
his belt buckle.
"Only yours, Buffy, for as long as you want them,"
he purred into her ear before biting playfully at her lobe with
blunt teeth. He lay down on his side propping his head on one
hand so that he could watch his lover as she freed his erection
from his jeans.
She stroked the silken skin of his generous shaft,
using her fingertips near the base but curling her fingers as
she neared the tip so that her nails grazed the delicate flesh.
Like every other part of his being it responded to her whim and
when her hand was removed it twitched towards her. Spike expected
her to finish removing his jeans. Instead he had the air knocked
out of his lungs as she pushed him over onto his back and straddled
him, sliding her moist labia along his length before taking him
into her burning core.
All the while she looked into his eyes and he
returned her gaze. The second she impaled herself she remembered
the last time that she had seen that look on his face, a combination
of lust, surprise, awe and totally unguarded love. The sharp sensation
of being stretched around his cool cock triggering a flashback
to that first time in the abandoned house. She felt him tense
beneath her, his eyelids closing milliseconds too late to hide
the pain and fear that swamped his cornflower blue eyes and she
knew the same memory had been foremost in his mind.
She stilled. "Will, look at me." She spoke softly,
her voice just above a whisper. "This time it's different. It's
been a long time. I was impatient and I rushed things but this
isn't just about sex any more. I care about you and I'm not going
to throw your feelings back at you in the morning. Please don't
be afraid to show how you feel." Her hand moved to cup his cheek,
his eyes still closed. "Remember what I told you earlier. I love
you. I'm not in this to take what I want and leave you hanging.
I want to make you happy." Long, dark, damp eyelashes swept apart
and his eyes searched hers for answers.
She brushed her lips against his in an almost
chaste caress. "Spike, make love to me, please."
He raised his head slightly, running his tongue
along her lower lip coaxing her to open her mouth When she did
he drew his tongue against hers, tip against tip still far from
the forceful evasion they often employed. His hands travelled
down her flanks, one claiming her left hip the other hooking behind
her right knee, holding it at his waist so that when he rolled
them both over onto their sides her leg was hooked over his hip-bone.
Slowly, he flexed his hips. Initially withdrawing
only an inch or two each time, he built a steady rhythm. His hands
moved to her breasts alternately stroking, holding and kneading
them before tracing his thumbs around her aureoles. Finally he
drew each into his mouth in turn to suckle and tease them between
his blunt teeth, causing her to shudder as she moved to meet his
every thrust with one of her own.
Gradually, he increased the depth and speed of
each lunge until he could tell from the shivers running through
her and her small moans and sighs that she was close. He pushed
his still denim-covered thigh through between her legs, adding
to the pressure on her clitoris with each stroke. Pulling her
face into his shoulder he bent his neck to position blunt teeth
over her own.
"Door's still open, pet. Bite down," he whispered.
He squeezed her nipples tightly as he moved into
her, sending her spinning over the edge. She longed to scream
his name at the top of her voice. Instead she sank her teeth into
his shoulder. That pain and the pulsing of her hot muscles around
him brought him crashing after her, blunt teeth bruising her flesh
but unlike hers failing to draw blood.
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