New Fic: Adding Spice
Oct. 16th, 2006 01:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
botiasRating: NC-17, explicit sex, some language
Timeline: Spike and Buffy are cohabiting in Rome, Buffy's curious.
A/N: Thanks to the incomparable![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beanbeans for much appreciated encouragement and now betaing! Oh and for naming the thing. This one's for you babe.
“Are you daft, woman? You’d be stuck with me. Forever.”
Buffy gave him a look that might have meant, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Did I say I wanted you to do the claiming thing? I don’t even know what it means really.” She shrugged. “Dawn said she read about it the other day.”
“And now you’re curious.” He looked her up and down like he was checking for sharp wooden objects.
“Sure. If it’s about vampires I should probably find out, right?”
He drifted closer to where she was perched cross-legged on the bed, “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. Everything.” She glanced down at the hairbrush she’d been fiddling with for the past few minutes, and then tossed it aside with a sigh. “I didn’t get a chance to get any details out of Dawn before Andrew asked me if you were going to make me your Bride of Darkness. I told them to shut-up and eat their penne.” She gave him a half-smile. “Smooth, huh?”
“Oh, very.”
He came to a stop in front of her. Dwarfed by the bed, with her scrubbed face, and bare toes, she looked … just as deadly as ever. He ran his eyes down the pale slip of nothing that she wore, that somehow managed to look both erotic and austere, and then back to her face. She was looking up at him, head tipped back, expression one of angelic inquiry.
The student, waiting patiently for the teacher to give forth. He wondered if Giles had ever been dumb enough to fall for it. He brushed his fingers over her hair where it covered her neck. The Slayer, waiting for an answer to her quip that she knows will never come. How many vampires had fallen to dust with that look as their last sight? He rubbed a strand between his fingertips, savoring the silky slip.
She kept it long these days; he wondered sometimes if it was for him.
His hand dropped to his side. “A vampire takes another’s blood, says ‘Mine’. Wham, big mystical ball and chain. The End.”
“Mine? You’ve got to be kidding me, that’s not even Sumerian.”
When he said nothing, she leaned forward. “That can’t be all. What about the whole Bride of Darkness thing?”
“What about it? As long as we both shall live? With a vampire? Even you can do the math. As soon as the bloom is off the rose, you get a free ride right to the top of your true love’s hit list.” He smiled, but there was no humor in it. He shrugged, blinked slowly. “Some vamps think it adds a certain—spice to the relationship.”
She swallowed and the movement drew his eyes to her throat. Reaching out slowly, he pressed a fingertip into the hollow at the base of her neck, savoring the pulse throbbing there and then followed the delicate curve of her collarbone pushing her hair aside as he went. He watched her face as he traced a finger over the faint scars.
“You think I don’t know that you want it?” he said.
She looked at him, almost frightened, and then turned her head away. Finally she said, “If you think that, then why—”
“Because you hate wanting it.” He let his hand fall away again.
Her hand flashed out and grabbed it before it reached his side. “You’re right, I do. Want you to—bite me. Kinda. Sometimes. OK. But I don’t hate wanting it.”
She searched his face, her hazel eyes almost gold in the dim light. He gave her a skeptical up-and-down look.
Buffy sat up, indignant. “Hey! I’m cohabiting with you in front of my sister, and my friends, and—and a guy who gossips more than my stylist after his third latte. I think I’m pretty ‘out’ with the whole vamp thing these days.”
Fine. “It doesn’t exactly bring back happy memories,” he said, reaching out to rub an imaginary speck off of one of the bed posts with his thumb.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stand down. When she went on her voice was soft. “Maybe not. But… we’ve gotten past that kind of thing before.” There was a pause. “Are you saying you don’t? Want it.”
He looked down then, searching for any hint of coyness in her intent face. He was a vampire for fuck’s sake. But that didn’t mean he thought it was a rollicking, grand idea. He wasn’t a slave to his baser impulses, after all. He opened his mouth to tell her as much and saw her face change with anticipation. The words stopped in his throat; she wanted this.
Breathing a disgusted sigh out through his nose, he looked away, glaring at nothing. No, it wasn’t his impulses he was a slave to. After a beat, she snickered. “That’s what I thought.”
Closing his eyes at the smugness in her voice, he let her tug him onto the bed. Placing her limbs delicately, she shifted herself onto his lap, settling herself with a little wiggle. He was hard, but that was hardly worth remarking on when she was around.
She leaned in to plant a kiss under his jaw. “So, what? Do you think you might hurt me?”
The question set his thoughts into ritual motion; like an old householder retiring for the night he checked all his internal bolts and stays and talismans, and found only comfort. Not even the most evil magics could make him hurt Buffy. He felt the same certainty about Dawn.
“No”, he said, lowering his head so that their noses brushed.
She reached up to stroke his face, guiding his mouth to hers. She kissed him slowly, in no particular hurry. Pushing gently at his shoulders until he was semi-reclining against the pillows, she sat back to tug at his boots, tossing them to the floor in a way that would have earned him a miffed look some days. She turned, reaching for his waist, and hesitated. He blinked in surprise when she grasped the little slip of nothing instead, sweeping it over her head.
Regarding him solemnly, she leaned forward to kiss him again, taking great care with lips and tongue as though there were already fangs to be mindful of. And then she began to pet and stroke and move; slowly at first, the rough fabric and the ridge of his fly turning what could been an easy slide of her hips over his cock into a slow, tugging grind. Just when he was about to rip open his jeans and plunge into her, she reared back, settling herself on him with a little hitch in her breath.
She reached between her legs and curled her fingers around his cock where it had worked its way out of his pants. She sat there for a moment, looking at him, riding the restless movements of his hips, her thumb moving in slick circles in time to her breaths. Then she swallowed and said, “Show me."
On to Part 2
Timeline: Spike and Buffy are cohabiting in Rome, Buffy's curious.
A/N: Thanks to the incomparable
beanbeans for much appreciated encouragement and now betaing! Oh and for naming the thing. This one's for you babe.Adding Spice - Part One
“Are you daft, woman? You’d be stuck with me. Forever.”
Buffy gave him a look that might have meant, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Did I say I wanted you to do the claiming thing? I don’t even know what it means really.” She shrugged. “Dawn said she read about it the other day.”
“And now you’re curious.” He looked her up and down like he was checking for sharp wooden objects.
“Sure. If it’s about vampires I should probably find out, right?”
He drifted closer to where she was perched cross-legged on the bed, “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. Everything.” She glanced down at the hairbrush she’d been fiddling with for the past few minutes, and then tossed it aside with a sigh. “I didn’t get a chance to get any details out of Dawn before Andrew asked me if you were going to make me your Bride of Darkness. I told them to shut-up and eat their penne.” She gave him a half-smile. “Smooth, huh?”
“Oh, very.”
He came to a stop in front of her. Dwarfed by the bed, with her scrubbed face, and bare toes, she looked … just as deadly as ever. He ran his eyes down the pale slip of nothing that she wore, that somehow managed to look both erotic and austere, and then back to her face. She was looking up at him, head tipped back, expression one of angelic inquiry.
The student, waiting patiently for the teacher to give forth. He wondered if Giles had ever been dumb enough to fall for it. He brushed his fingers over her hair where it covered her neck. The Slayer, waiting for an answer to her quip that she knows will never come. How many vampires had fallen to dust with that look as their last sight? He rubbed a strand between his fingertips, savoring the silky slip.
She kept it long these days; he wondered sometimes if it was for him.
His hand dropped to his side. “A vampire takes another’s blood, says ‘Mine’. Wham, big mystical ball and chain. The End.”
“Mine? You’ve got to be kidding me, that’s not even Sumerian.”
When he said nothing, she leaned forward. “That can’t be all. What about the whole Bride of Darkness thing?”
“What about it? As long as we both shall live? With a vampire? Even you can do the math. As soon as the bloom is off the rose, you get a free ride right to the top of your true love’s hit list.” He smiled, but there was no humor in it. He shrugged, blinked slowly. “Some vamps think it adds a certain—spice to the relationship.”
She swallowed and the movement drew his eyes to her throat. Reaching out slowly, he pressed a fingertip into the hollow at the base of her neck, savoring the pulse throbbing there and then followed the delicate curve of her collarbone pushing her hair aside as he went. He watched her face as he traced a finger over the faint scars.
“You think I don’t know that you want it?” he said.
She looked at him, almost frightened, and then turned her head away. Finally she said, “If you think that, then why—”
“Because you hate wanting it.” He let his hand fall away again.
Her hand flashed out and grabbed it before it reached his side. “You’re right, I do. Want you to—bite me. Kinda. Sometimes. OK. But I don’t hate wanting it.”
She searched his face, her hazel eyes almost gold in the dim light. He gave her a skeptical up-and-down look.
Buffy sat up, indignant. “Hey! I’m cohabiting with you in front of my sister, and my friends, and—and a guy who gossips more than my stylist after his third latte. I think I’m pretty ‘out’ with the whole vamp thing these days.”
Fine. “It doesn’t exactly bring back happy memories,” he said, reaching out to rub an imaginary speck off of one of the bed posts with his thumb.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stand down. When she went on her voice was soft. “Maybe not. But… we’ve gotten past that kind of thing before.” There was a pause. “Are you saying you don’t? Want it.”
He looked down then, searching for any hint of coyness in her intent face. He was a vampire for fuck’s sake. But that didn’t mean he thought it was a rollicking, grand idea. He wasn’t a slave to his baser impulses, after all. He opened his mouth to tell her as much and saw her face change with anticipation. The words stopped in his throat; she wanted this.
Breathing a disgusted sigh out through his nose, he looked away, glaring at nothing. No, it wasn’t his impulses he was a slave to. After a beat, she snickered. “That’s what I thought.”
Closing his eyes at the smugness in her voice, he let her tug him onto the bed. Placing her limbs delicately, she shifted herself onto his lap, settling herself with a little wiggle. He was hard, but that was hardly worth remarking on when she was around.
She leaned in to plant a kiss under his jaw. “So, what? Do you think you might hurt me?”
The question set his thoughts into ritual motion; like an old householder retiring for the night he checked all his internal bolts and stays and talismans, and found only comfort. Not even the most evil magics could make him hurt Buffy. He felt the same certainty about Dawn.
“No”, he said, lowering his head so that their noses brushed.
She reached up to stroke his face, guiding his mouth to hers. She kissed him slowly, in no particular hurry. Pushing gently at his shoulders until he was semi-reclining against the pillows, she sat back to tug at his boots, tossing them to the floor in a way that would have earned him a miffed look some days. She turned, reaching for his waist, and hesitated. He blinked in surprise when she grasped the little slip of nothing instead, sweeping it over her head.
Regarding him solemnly, she leaned forward to kiss him again, taking great care with lips and tongue as though there were already fangs to be mindful of. And then she began to pet and stroke and move; slowly at first, the rough fabric and the ridge of his fly turning what could been an easy slide of her hips over his cock into a slow, tugging grind. Just when he was about to rip open his jeans and plunge into her, she reared back, settling herself on him with a little hitch in her breath.
She reached between her legs and curled her fingers around his cock where it had worked its way out of his pants. She sat there for a moment, looking at him, riding the restless movements of his hips, her thumb moving in slick circles in time to her breaths. Then she swallowed and said, “Show me."
On to Part 2
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Date: 2007-03-19 08:11 pm (UTC)