Summary: Buffy visits Spike after 'Dead Things'.
Rating: NC-17
It was the soft gasp that woke him. Used to be he could sleep through anything, storms, earthquakes, Drusilla's ranting. But ever since Buffy had taken to visiting him at all hours of the day, he'd started waking up, attuned to her presence.
She was standing over him now, looking at him with wide, guilty eyes. One hand clutching a bag while the other was clasped over her mouth as she saw in the candlelight her previous night's handiwork. She crept forward, awed at the bruises and swelling that littered his face and upper torso.
As Spike lay there, naked but for a sheet covering his lower half, she tentatively extended her hand out to touch him, to confirm that he still existed. Her fingertips brushed against his chest and he groaned slightly, but not out of pain. She was here. She'd come back to him.
Startled, Buffy, tried to pull her hand away, only to find it tight in Spike's grasp. She glanced up at his eyes, one half-shut from the swelling, the other an intense blue. He tried to smile at her but the trauma to his jaw just made it seem even more twisted than usual.
"Thought I wouldn't see you back here for another 15 to 20 years."
Buffy started to move away, but his grip was firm and unyielding. Reluctantly, she quit struggling. She didn't want to beat him up again attempting to get away.
"I didn't kill the girl. It was someone else trying to make me think I did."
He looked at her bent head and slumped shoulders and was glad that it hadn't been her to do the deed. Already she carried too much responsibility and didn't need the added burden of the girl's death. His hand relaxed its grip and slowly stroked up her arm, caressing it. He thought about telling her that it didn't matter to him if she'd killed the girl but he figured that's the attitude that got him currently laid out, all purple and lumpy. Instead, he decided for once to keep his opinion to himself. He was in no shape for a second go-round.
"Glad to hear that."
It must have been the right thing to say, for she relaxed. With his hand on her arm, it seemed as if he could actually feel the tension ooze out of her. But when she glanced back up at him, at the marks she'd inflicted, her muscles became tight once more. With a quick jerk, she yanked her arm back towards her body and, with a sigh, he let it go this time.
Rummaging through her bag, she brought out a clear plastic package of ice. She held it; looking for a place she could lay it on him where it would do the most good. But there were too many spots and not enough ice. After watching her indecision for a moment, he took the ice from her and laid it aside.
"Ice isn't going to help, anyway. Already room temperature. Vampire, remember?"
"I never forget that you're a vampire."
As she turned from him to again forage in her bag, he muttered under his breath.
"No, luv, you never do."
Turning back, she held two packets of blood, human blood by the look of it.
"I bought them from Willy," she explained. "I told him I was going to use it to lure and trap vampires."
"Got this one lured and trapped, alright."
With care, Buffy sat on the bed, gently supporting him until he was sitting up. After watching Spike switch to game face and feed, she removed the empty packets and softly dabbed at the dribble of blood around his swollen mouth with a tissue. She then helped him lie back down, pulled the sheet up to his chest, and stood to gather up her things and leave.
Spike saw her flicker another glance at his bruised face and flinch again at the sight. Yeah, he hurt, but he refused to let what she did to him last night add to her problems. As she turned away, he dredged up his snarkiest tone.
"That's it then, Slayer? Beat the vamp to a pulp, then feed him, and everything's okay?"
She turned back to face him and he was heartened to see a bit of anger in her eyes.
"What do you want me to do? You said ice wouldn't work. I brought bandages but your entire face is wrecked."
He tried to lift an eyebrow, but that hurt too damned much. He settled for making his voice as low, husky, and seductive as possible.
"Kiss me better."
For a long moment, she just stood there, looking at him. He would have held his breath if he still breathed. As it was, when she stepped back towards him, he almost gasped in relief. And when she pulled the sheet all the way down, exposing him entirely, he shuddered. His voice quavered a bit when he spoke.
"Don't think you hit me down there."
She silently eyed him for a moment then smiling evilly she replied.
"Doesn't hurt to check."
Starting at the bottom of his feet, she carefully examined every inch of his skin and he was hard before she even reached his knees. She touched, poked, prodded, and caressed the front of him, slowly moving up his legs to his body. When her hands fondled his cock, and her warm breath brushed against it, he moaned. But she didn't linger there. She continued her exploration to the skin beneath his navel, then upwards, branding every muscle with the feel of her fingertips. When she got to his chest, she started discovering the bruises. Each one she found, she would press her lips against it, warmly wetting the skin, causing him to wish that she had hurt him even more than she had.
Damn, she was thorough. Every scrape, every discoloration received her lavish attention. She was hovering over him now, her knees on each side of his hips, her breasts slightly brushing his chest when she leant over him. Occasionally, she would tilt her hips so that when she lowered herself, her pelvis would rub against his erection. At times, it would be too much, and he would let out a groan, only to have her raise herself from him and ask in a mock innocent voice if she was 'hurting him' and maybe she ought to stop. Only at his repeated insistence would she then return to her ministrations.
At last she finished her kisses and pertly hopped off of the bed and made as if to leave. He was aching, more than he'd been when he first woke up, but now it was centered in his groin. He knew the bitch wanted him to beg, to beg her to stay, to beg her to fuck him. He could smell her arousal and he'd felt her pebbled nipples against his chest through her clothing. She wanted it just as badly as he did, which is why she just stood next to the bed, waiting for him to do something. Trying to keep the need out of his voice, he spoke.
"You're only half done."
She raised her eyebrows in question.
"Did just my front. Completely forgot my backside."
Pursing her lips to keep from smiling, she managed to reply to him.
"Funny, I don't remember hitting you there."
"Knocked me on my arse. Bet it's all mottled up."
Unable to hold the grin back, she motioned for him to turn over which he did with alacrity. She looked at the part of him now exposed. There were a few minor scrapes on his shoulder blades, probably caused when she had repeatedly knocked him back against the hard pavement, but the rest of his back and the white marble of his ass was perfect and unmarred. Too perfect.
"Oh, you're right," she murmured huskily. "You're absolutely covered with bruises."
"I am? I mean, of course, I am. Hurts like a son of a bitch."
When he heard clothing being shifted, he glanced over at her and watched as she stripped down to her skin.
"You're so injured. I wouldn't want my clothes to rub up against you and bruise you even more," she explained with false sincerity.
This time, Buffy started at his shoulders and worked her way down. By the time she reached his butt, he was squirming, pressing himself against the mattress in search of relief.
"Now, Spike, I don't want to hurt you and you're really messed up back here. You're going to have to try to stay still. If you move too much, I think I might just give up," Buffy warned.
He stopped wiggling and did his best imitation of a statue, while Buffy studied him and thought about which part of that luscious rear she would attack first. And attack she did. She licked, wetting the skin, then blew air over it and watched it quiver in reaction. Every now and then she would nip it with her teeth then soothe it with soft kisses. And with every kiss, lick, and bite, she'd murmur to him, warm breath flowing over his skin.
"So bruised. Poor baby. I'll kiss it and make it better."
He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved when she halted the torment and sat up. Then fingers slipped between his slightly spread legs and stroked the underside of his balls and a harsh expletive exploded from him.
The hand stilled.
"Is that part achy?"
At his frantic nodding, a fingertip leisurely began traveling over every ridge.
"Guess I'll have to do this extra slowly, then.
His whole being seemed centered on the flesh she was touching. After what seemed an eternity, she cupped him and began massaging. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he flipped over and drew her face up to his, kissing her roughly, needing her so badly. When she pulled back from him, he was stunned. Prepared to do anything she wanted, he was surprised when she looked at him with laughing wide eyes and then pointedly gazed at his cock.
"Oh dear! I seemed to have missed this swelling and discoloration on my first inspection."
"Make it better, Buffy," he pleaded.
She slid down and he bit into his lower lip as he felt her breath hovering over him. Then her mouth and tongue moved on him, circling around the tip before engulfing it and a shout exploded from him.
"Fuck! Oh, fuck! Don't stop!"
She continued licking and sucking, twisting her tongue around him as he clawed at the sheets, his moans now incoherent. He was panting and gasping, pulling unnecessary air into his lungs with desperation. When she removed her mouth after one last tiny scrape of her teeth, he could only stare at her, blinking, trying to focus.
"I think I made it worse. It's even more swollen now."
It was then the thought flickered through his head that maybe the beating was only a warm-up. This teasing was actually going to finish him off. And now, like last night, he was going to lie back and take it. But he glanced into her eyes, and she gave him a tiny hint of a smile.
"Don't worry. I'll ease your pain."
She straddled him, then slowly and completely sank down. They both let out strangled groans as her wet heat at last enveloped him. For moments they stayed like that, adjusting again to the intimate feel of each other. Her tightness, pulsating around him; his length, stretching and invading her. Finally, it became too much and they had to move, had to create that marvelous friction.
Spike felt as if his entire being centered on the part that Buffy was furiously riding. A sheen of sweat covered her, making her body glow, effulgent. Any thoughts were soon impossible as their frantic movements caused the bed to repeatedly shift, banging the back of the crypt in a rhythmic drumming.
Their play beforehand had gone on much too long, so prolonging the pleasure was impossible. They were both too aroused to make this anything other than a quick, hot fuck. Buffy let out a scream as she climaxed on top of him, and those incredible slayer muscles squeezed and spasmed around him causing him to follow her over the edge, pumping inside of her.
She collapsed on him, panting heavily. His lips brushed against her forehead while his arms wrapped around her. Though Buffy rested on some of his more painful bruises, he didn't shift her. Spike simply closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of her against him and the taste of golden skin. The sight, sound, and scent of her, he'd memorized over the years, but this was all still so new, so precious to him.
As she moved to get up, he sighed and released her. She rose and quickly dressed as he lay there, watching her. Once again, she was leaving him. One would think he would get used to this after the first couple of dozen times, but it still hurt. With one quick glance at him, and a flick of her hair, she moved towards the ladder. Before stepping on that first rung, though, she paused and turned back to face him.
"Spike. I wanted to let you know that...that I'm sorry."
He was stunned. She was apologizing to him? A surge of happiness swept through him as he realized that she cared. She may not know it, may not ever admit it, but she cared. He glanced around, searching for something, anything, to keep her here with him. With a smile, his eyes lit upon an object. An object that he knew he could use to make her thrash and moan. Buffy was halfway to the upper level when he purred at her, stopping her.
"Buffy, don't forget the ice."
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