Adding Spice - Part Two
Dec. 11th, 2006 01:52 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! All remaining errors are mine.
Part One
She brought him to her breasts first. He lifted her up, rubbing the smooth ridges of his forehead over one and then the other, loving the weight, and heat. He lapped and nuzzled at the fragrant crease where they met her rib cage. Buffy gasped at the rough touch of his tongue and tightened her fingers in his hair, the tension in her way out of line with the unsophisticated caresses.
“Well, well, someone really is quite the groupie,” he purred.
“Shut-up Spike,” she panted. Then, “No, talk more.”
He exhaled a surprised snort of laughter, earning himself a prompt whap on the head, but she was snickering too. He hesitated and then lunged, opening his mouth over one breast and rumbling in satisfaction when her laughter was cut off by a gasping cry. But the feeling was short-lived, pushed out by the sensation of her skin pressing against his fangs.
Before, that delicate tension had always been broken before it could register, the scythes driving deep, severing and ruining. The flesh here was so soft—memories came, once fond recollection and now the stuff of nightmare. He wanted desperately to recoil but couldn’t, unable to parse out the motions that would release her without harm.
“Hey,” Buffy said over his ear. He felt her hands start into motion, rubbing over his head. “We don’t have to do this.” There was acceptance in her voice, no trace of fear. The tension went out of him in a rush. He carefully released her breast and pulled in one breath and then another.
“No. I’m alright.” He looked up, meeting her eyes.
Buffy returned his rueful smile, but there was a shadow between her brows and an ominous set to her lower lip. Before she could say anything more, he dropped her to the bed in front of him; the duvet plumped up around her with a little pop. He arched over her on his knuckles.
“Now what sort of vampire would I be,” he mused. “If I can’t even impress a pretty girl with my fangs?”
He deliberately tipped his head back at an arrogant angle and looked down her body, glowing faintly in his demon sight, her pretty tits, and sleek belly, the curve of her pubic bone that seemed to beg for the press of his palm, her pale thighs draped over the darkness of his jeans.
“Pretty, pretty girl,” he murmured. She whispered his name and shifted restlessly under his gaze, as if it were his hand that was stroking her.
He planted a palm between her breasts over her heart, nearly spanning her rib cage with his splayed fingers. Before he could slide it down her body her hand came up to cover his, pinning it in place. He jerked his gaze to her face.
She’d only told him she loved him a few times since he’d turned up on her doorstep one night. And every time it damn near broke his heart, her brave, little-girl voice. How hard it was for her to say, and not exactly easy for him to hear. Maybe she’d seen that it bothered him; it was months gone since she’d said it last.
Buffy’s heart, pounding away under his palm, was high on his list of things that he didn’t let himself want anymore. But like his craving for living blood, suckled from a tender throat, it might be the sort of thing that only a stake was going to cure.
Tonight she seemed to be offering him both.
He stared down at her tremulous smile and watchful eyes and then at their hands, her fingers now curled around his. He waited, but it didn’t come, that burning mix of anger and hope and self-loathing that he remembered from previous declarations.
He leaned down and pressed a fanged kiss to her lips, levering himself to his feet before she could even pull in a breath. He stripped off his t-shirt, watching her smile go sly as he shucked his jeans with a feeling of great relief and kicked them aside. “Pretty, pretty vampire,” she said.
He went down to one knee, then the other, between her spread legs, feeling almost drunk with anticipation. He took a firm grip on the curve one hip, rubbing his thumb absently over the bone; the other found its way back between her breasts and pressed down.
“Keep very, very still,” he said.
He’d never done this before, tried not to hurt someone with his fangs, but he’s learning. He learns that she likes it when he pulls the quivering skin of her belly between his teeth, just enough so that she feels the prick, and then laves the tiny marks away.
He learns that the rough surface of his tongue is too harsh for her clit (at first), but not for the silky nether lips, and the crease where her legs meet her body. The velvet tip is just right though, and when she is grasping at the sheets and bucking in earnest against the fierce grip of his hands, long, laving strokes made her keen and arch and finally clutch at his hair.
It’s the clutching that makes him jerk his head away before there can be any painful accidents, pushing back on his heels.
“Oh no. Keep your grabby little mitts to yourself or I’ll stop.” He licked his tangy lips, watching her expression change as the meaning slowly penetrated.
He caught the half-playful kick before it could connect with his chest.
“It’s not my hand,” she said a little breathlessly.
“So it’s not.” He brought her foot to his mouth, taking a firm hold on her knee before deliberately rasping across the ticklish arch and toes.
“Payback,” she said, when she could breathe again, “there will be payback.”
“Promise?” He worried thoughtfully at her ankle and then lapped across her calf, like a predator trying to decide where first to sink in its teeth. Buffy collapsed back, eyes closed, and after a moment she stretched her arms over her head. The sight of her abandoning herself to his teeth and tongue—he drank it in sips as he worked his way. A glance before he swiped his tongue across the salty crease behind her knee. A long look before he pressed her thigh open on the bed, pinned it with both hands and bit his way from knee to hip, savoring her little gasps and twitches.
And now he’s right back at her juicy little quim. Imagine that. He’s aware that he’s not the only one who’s noticed. Time to learn something new; he stills her with a forearm across her lower belly, and then pushes his tongue deep inside.
On to Part 3
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! All remaining errors are mine.Part One
Adding Spice - Part Two
She brought him to her breasts first. He lifted her up, rubbing the smooth ridges of his forehead over one and then the other, loving the weight, and heat. He lapped and nuzzled at the fragrant crease where they met her rib cage. Buffy gasped at the rough touch of his tongue and tightened her fingers in his hair, the tension in her way out of line with the unsophisticated caresses.
“Well, well, someone really is quite the groupie,” he purred.
“Shut-up Spike,” she panted. Then, “No, talk more.”
He exhaled a surprised snort of laughter, earning himself a prompt whap on the head, but she was snickering too. He hesitated and then lunged, opening his mouth over one breast and rumbling in satisfaction when her laughter was cut off by a gasping cry. But the feeling was short-lived, pushed out by the sensation of her skin pressing against his fangs.
Before, that delicate tension had always been broken before it could register, the scythes driving deep, severing and ruining. The flesh here was so soft—memories came, once fond recollection and now the stuff of nightmare. He wanted desperately to recoil but couldn’t, unable to parse out the motions that would release her without harm.
“Hey,” Buffy said over his ear. He felt her hands start into motion, rubbing over his head. “We don’t have to do this.” There was acceptance in her voice, no trace of fear. The tension went out of him in a rush. He carefully released her breast and pulled in one breath and then another.
“No. I’m alright.” He looked up, meeting her eyes.
Buffy returned his rueful smile, but there was a shadow between her brows and an ominous set to her lower lip. Before she could say anything more, he dropped her to the bed in front of him; the duvet plumped up around her with a little pop. He arched over her on his knuckles.
“Now what sort of vampire would I be,” he mused. “If I can’t even impress a pretty girl with my fangs?”
He deliberately tipped his head back at an arrogant angle and looked down her body, glowing faintly in his demon sight, her pretty tits, and sleek belly, the curve of her pubic bone that seemed to beg for the press of his palm, her pale thighs draped over the darkness of his jeans.
“Pretty, pretty girl,” he murmured. She whispered his name and shifted restlessly under his gaze, as if it were his hand that was stroking her.
He planted a palm between her breasts over her heart, nearly spanning her rib cage with his splayed fingers. Before he could slide it down her body her hand came up to cover his, pinning it in place. He jerked his gaze to her face.
She’d only told him she loved him a few times since he’d turned up on her doorstep one night. And every time it damn near broke his heart, her brave, little-girl voice. How hard it was for her to say, and not exactly easy for him to hear. Maybe she’d seen that it bothered him; it was months gone since she’d said it last.
Buffy’s heart, pounding away under his palm, was high on his list of things that he didn’t let himself want anymore. But like his craving for living blood, suckled from a tender throat, it might be the sort of thing that only a stake was going to cure.
Tonight she seemed to be offering him both.
He stared down at her tremulous smile and watchful eyes and then at their hands, her fingers now curled around his. He waited, but it didn’t come, that burning mix of anger and hope and self-loathing that he remembered from previous declarations.
He leaned down and pressed a fanged kiss to her lips, levering himself to his feet before she could even pull in a breath. He stripped off his t-shirt, watching her smile go sly as he shucked his jeans with a feeling of great relief and kicked them aside. “Pretty, pretty vampire,” she said.
He went down to one knee, then the other, between her spread legs, feeling almost drunk with anticipation. He took a firm grip on the curve one hip, rubbing his thumb absently over the bone; the other found its way back between her breasts and pressed down.
“Keep very, very still,” he said.
***
He’d never done this before, tried not to hurt someone with his fangs, but he’s learning. He learns that she likes it when he pulls the quivering skin of her belly between his teeth, just enough so that she feels the prick, and then laves the tiny marks away.
He learns that the rough surface of his tongue is too harsh for her clit (at first), but not for the silky nether lips, and the crease where her legs meet her body. The velvet tip is just right though, and when she is grasping at the sheets and bucking in earnest against the fierce grip of his hands, long, laving strokes made her keen and arch and finally clutch at his hair.
It’s the clutching that makes him jerk his head away before there can be any painful accidents, pushing back on his heels.
“Oh no. Keep your grabby little mitts to yourself or I’ll stop.” He licked his tangy lips, watching her expression change as the meaning slowly penetrated.
He caught the half-playful kick before it could connect with his chest.
“It’s not my hand,” she said a little breathlessly.
“So it’s not.” He brought her foot to his mouth, taking a firm hold on her knee before deliberately rasping across the ticklish arch and toes.
“Payback,” she said, when she could breathe again, “there will be payback.”
“Promise?” He worried thoughtfully at her ankle and then lapped across her calf, like a predator trying to decide where first to sink in its teeth. Buffy collapsed back, eyes closed, and after a moment she stretched her arms over her head. The sight of her abandoning herself to his teeth and tongue—he drank it in sips as he worked his way. A glance before he swiped his tongue across the salty crease behind her knee. A long look before he pressed her thigh open on the bed, pinned it with both hands and bit his way from knee to hip, savoring her little gasps and twitches.
And now he’s right back at her juicy little quim. Imagine that. He’s aware that he’s not the only one who’s noticed. Time to learn something new; he stills her with a forearm across her lower belly, and then pushes his tongue deep inside.
On to Part 3
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Date: 2006-12-12 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-12 04:17 am (UTC)