Notes:
Just wanted to see if I could write the Sex. Jury's still out.
Title is borrowed from Lenny Kravitz. I borrowed a line from a Garbage
song. You figure it out. I don't have to explain where this
belongs in the time line do I? Okay, post 6 - pre 7. Thanks to Bitca for
the beta and the encouragement and to the ladies who showed interest throughout
the long, painful process. I suffered for my art. Now it's your
turn.
She's been hovering on the landing trying to decide what she should do. She
heard him sobbing on her way to the bathroom, and although she knows he won’t
thank her for it, she just can't bring herself to walk past. The sound is just
so pitiful that she can’t help pushing the door open a little further. The
light from the hallway is thrown over his huddled form and he flinches at being
discovered. Holding her breath she makes a decision. She reaches for the light
switch in the hall and flicks it off, returning them both to the welcoming arms
of the dark.
He's trying to control the crying. She could have told him that the more you
try and control tears the more desperate they are to get out and the more
violent and noisy they become. She doesn't think now's the appropriate time to
bring it up.
As quietly as she can, Willow makes her way to the single bed that occupies
most of the tiny room and lays herself down, trying to make the most of the
space available. She doesn't want to ask Spike to move in case he forces her to
go back to her own bed. He sniffs, then shifts a little. Willow presses her
slight form into the curve of the vampire's back and wraps an arm around his
chest in what she hopes is a comforting way. She wants to remind Spike that
he's not alone. Not physically anyway.
"Oh Willow," he moans.
"Shhh. It's alright." She flattens her hand against his chest to stop
him from pulling away from her. She's expecting him to fight her and she's
prepared for an argument, but neither comes. Instead, he just sort of sighs and
leans back into her, holding her hand tightly over the place where his heart
used to beat. She moves to arrange the comforter over them but he pulls tighter
on her hand, and she has to tell him it's OK, she's not going anywhere, before
he’ll relax and let go. When she's tucked them both in, Willow settles back
into him and lets him clutch her hand again.
Lying with her chin on his shoulder, she imagines she can just make out where
her breath is ruffling the tiny hairs on his ears, and she wonders whether she
should ask if it's tickling him and if he wants her to move. But she figures
he'd say something if he did. Willow really doesn't want to move just yet
anyway. It feels so nice.
Willow and Spike are lying so close that Willow's sure that he can feel her
heart beating through both their skins. She wonders if that and the rush of her
blood are soothing for Spike. She thinks of newborn puppies and how they are
lulled to sleep by alarm clocks masquerading as their mothers’ heartbeats.
Willow hopes it's like that for him and not a torment.
He's still crying but it's starting to ease. He sniffles occasionally and
Willow wishes she'd had the presence of mind to grab the box of tissues from
the dresser. She offers him the sleeve of her pyjama top, trying not to focus
on the fact that if he takes her up on the offer, her sleeve will be covered in
vampire snot. Do vampires even have snot, she wonders? Obviously, she decides,
or he wouldn't be in need of a tissue.
He snorts, very wetly, and genteelly wipes his eyes with the cuff she presents
to him. She notes, with a smile, that he rather graciously declines to wipe his
nose with it. He does surprise her though when he takes her hand and brushes
soft, damp lips against her palm. He cradles it tenderly to his cheek
momentarily, before clasping it once more against his chest. "Thanks,
Will,” he murmurs softly.
"Welcome." Willow rubs her cheek against the broad expanse of his
back and before she understands the consequences of her actions, she kisses the
little piece of exposed, bare skin where the neck of his T-shirt is pulled
down. Willow feels Spike's body tense and she thinks maybe she heard his eyes
snap open, but he doesn't say anything.
Spike's skin is so soft and he tastes so clean, like lemons. Like one of Giles'
fancy soaps. Willow wants to be sure. It seems important somehow. Willow's
tongue darts from her mouth to lick at the spot again. Just a tiny touch of her
tongue - barely a touch really, but he shudders anyway and soon Willow is
tapping out delicate dots and dashes of Morse code on the back of his neck and
shoulders.
It feels so good to touch someone again. She hasn't wanted to touch or be
touched by anyone for so long. It's been too long, and he's been such a comfort
to her these past few months, more than she could have thought possible. She
had thought that there was no hope left for her when Giles had spirited her
away to the elegant and alien streets of Bath to “mend”. She was certain it was
her fate to be hidden away forever, the constant and stifling presence of Giles
and 'the ladies' her only companions. Not that she was hungry for company in
the beginning.
Then one night out of the blue (well the black actually) just as she and Giles
were preparing to turn in, there was a knock on the imposing front door. He
appeared out of the darkness, looking half crazed and broken and begging
sanctuary. Giles had sent her to bed, like some naughty schoolgirl but she had
listened at the bedroom door to their muffled voices for most of the night.
Heated and angry words and the sound of breaking things from Giles; plaintive
and repentant pleading from Spike, and was that sobbing she could hear? The
next morning Giles had informed her that Spike would be staying with them for a
little while; that he was going through a crisis of his own but she was to
focus on her own er, issues.
It didn't take long to find out what the crisis was and Willow felt better
knowing there was someone else around who was just as big a fuck-up as she was.
Someone else to share the weight of Giles’ well meant but nonetheless,
condescending lectures. For the first time since she’d left Sunnydale, she'd
been able to feel something other than self - self-pity, self-loathing,
self-involvement. Because of Spike, Willow is remembering how to feel compassion
and sympathy and all those other things that used to make Willow Willow. She's
grateful to him for that.
They had fallen into a comforting routine during the weeks that followed
Spike's sudden arrival. There was meditation and medication, lessons and lectures
and a very slow acceptance of their respective fates. Of an evening, after the
supper dishes were washed and dried and put away, Giles would allow them an
hour's private constitutional. Most nights they usually only got as far as the
open field adjacent to the house where they'd sit and whisper their war stories
or just look at the stars until Giles' silhouette filled the open back door as
he searched them out.
She found she missed him the few days every fortnight she had to return to
Devon and the ladies, and it seemed he missed her too. The day before she would
have to leave he would get very quiet. While their lessons would continue in
her absence, Giles found Spike to be sullen and withdrawn, but he would always
recover by the time the sound of Giles' key in the lock announced their return.
He would meet them in the downstairs hall with a hesitant smile and silently
take Willow's bag from the Watcher and take it up to her room. The tea things
would always be arranged on a tray on the kitchen counter and the kettle was
always magically just coming to the boil. Willow wants to ask Giles if Spike
could be the one to drive her to Devon and bring her back but she's afraid he'd
say no.
"What is it you want from me Willow?" Spike’s growl brings her back
to the here and now. Willow's never known how to ask for what she wants, so she
asks a question of her own.
"How long has it been since someone's touched you Spike? Was it Anya?
Buffy?" He flinches and Willow immediately regrets saying her name. She presses
her forehead, then a tiny kiss to his back in apology and she prays he accepts.
The truth is Willow is sick of talking and sicker still of listening. All
Willow wants is to feel skin on skin; to drown in heat and breath and sweat.
She wants to disappear inside someone until she can't hear herself think.
Willow has been convinced for the last month and a bit that that someone is
Spike. "I just thought..."
Throwing the covers off he sits up, trying to muster the strength to stand and
leave. She moves with him, sitting up behind him on her knees. It takes all of
Willow's strength to keep him on the bed. She knows he could get away from her
if he *really* wanted to. "Please, Spike..." she says imploringly.
Suddenly the most important thing in the world is to convince him to stay.
He sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands for the longest time.
Her arms have snaked themselves around him of their own accord and her cheek
has found a home on his shoulder. The hand on his chest ghosts ever so lightly
against the cotton over his nipple. A sharp intake of breath and another
shudder and his voice is a moan.
"What’s the matter, Willow? You want a little cold comfort? What is it
with you women?" He spits the word out like a curse. "Any convenient
body will do?"
"God, no Spike. Couldn't we just...be here for each other? Would that be
so bad? My head's so full..."
Willow loosens her hold on his chest, her hands making their way nervously to
the buttons of her pyjamas. Willing Spike to turn and look at her, to meet her
steady gaze, Willow opens them slowly, peeling back her shirt to reveal the
prettily flushed skin underneath. For all the boldness of her actions, Willow
is afraid. What if he turns her down? Who's going to block out the noise in her
head if Spike turns her away? She can't let that happen.
He's been thinking of her like this, just like this, since the first night he
spent in this house without her, and the thoughts have been making him crazy.
They’re just learning to be friends for Chrissakes and she's still so fucked
up, what with her girl dying and her near apocalyptic, post-power trip
meltdown. Not to mention the fact that he's not exactly her cup of tea,
physically speaking. And she's just starting to heal. The last thing Willow
needs is some suddenly souled, emotionally tortured vampire complicating
matters further by making her the focus of his latest obsession. So if it means
he gets to keep her for a little while longer, he’ll forgo his fantasy of
finding his comfort buried inside her. He doesn't want Willow to be another
little girl who’ll regret him in the morning. Besides he doesn't think he'd
survive it this time if he were again the one who wanted it more. Or if he hurt
her because neither of them really knew what it was they wanted.
But she's looking at him now with all kinds of want and he's too afraid to let
himself believe that he can have this. But he wants this. God how he wants it,
and he shouldn't be expected to turn it down just because it would be the right
thing to do, soul or no soul. His silent resolve not to touch her is broken and
in one liquid movement he has turned and pinned her to the bed. Grinding his
erection into her thigh he asks "Is this what you’re after little one? Is
this want you want?" Jesus, please let it be true. Although the words are
harsh, the tone is gentle as anything. "Not allowed to make the darkness
anymore; you want to touch it one more time?" He wonders how it's possible
to hope for something he's resigned himself to never getting.
She hears the defeat in his voice and it scares her more than any threat he's
ever made. He is the quintessential survivor. What hope is there for her if
Spike is giving up? And how does she explain it's not the darkness anymore
that's calling to her? And why can't she just say, "Yes"?
He wants her to understand. Needs her to really, so she can explain it to him,
so he can finally make some kind of sense of it all and then maybe he won’t go
crazy. Maybe if he says the words out loud.
"The people I care about, the people I love, will never, *can* never, look
at me the same way again. I’ve lost everything." Please God, not
everything. Can I please just have this?
He searches her face, looking for the lie he’s sure will come, something to
make him feel better, but he can’t find it. All he finds are sad green eyes, a
trembling bottom lip and a very tiny: "I know."
And right then he gets it. That she gets it. Because she feels it too. All the
love and support in the world from her friends isn’t going to save this little
girl because she doesn’t think she should be saved. That she’s even worth
saving. And all the time he thought... This is something they've carefully
avoided talking about out in the star covered field and now there it is, out in
the open.
Spike’s gaze travels from her face to the exposed flesh and he devours the
vision of her. The swell of her small breasts, the curve of her belly, the
intricate mapping of freckles across her pale skin. She is so open, so
ridiculously trusting. He forces himself to meet her gaze again and sees the
turmoil there. Fear, determination, uncertainty and an empathy that scares him.
Spike shakes his head, chuckling mirthlessly.
"Please don't laugh at me!" And when she lowers her tear-filled eyes
he feels his heart wrench.
"I'm sorry," says Spike, and he means it. His hand is cupping her
face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek. "I'm not laughing at you.
It's just...this is a bad idea."
"Why?" she wants to know, leaning into his touch.
"We’ll only end up hurting each other. I don't want to hurt you." His
voice cracks. "And I don't want to be hurt."
"I won't. You can't. There’s nothing left to hurt"
"Will, I..."
"I don't want anything," Willow lies.
"Jesus, Willow," he sighs. "You want everything." And she
knows it's true. She's not sure how he knows though.
"You're a fine one to talk," she wants to say, instead she leans
forward a little and runs her tongue lightly over the vampire's bottom lip.
"Would you kiss me, Spike?" she asks and he looks at her for a long
time, studying her like she's a test he knows he's going to fail. When he
doesn't touch her it's impossible for Willow to hide her hurt and confusion,
and her tears threaten to spill over. "I’m sorry..."
The reassuring pressure of his lips on hers is her answer and he swallows her
relief.
She clutches desperately to his shoulders, pushing forward with her hips,
reaching for that delicious friction and she whimpers when he grabs her by the
arms and breaks contact. "Wha..?" she begins but is silenced by look
he gives her. Oh God. Please don't let him change his mind, she begs silently.
"Slow down OK? Just relax." He waits for her to nod her assent before
he kisses her again. He takes his time tasting her, exploring her eager mouth
with lips and teeth and tongue.
It's a luxury he's not been afforded with his most recent partners. Haste was
always a factor with Buffy, he never knew when she was just going get up and
leave so it was pretty much straight down to business with her and he doesn't
classify what they did as kissing anyway. It was always just a mashing of
mouths, grinding teeth against teeth and there was never any tenderness
allowed.
It was all about desperation and forgetting with Anya and he didn't really use
any of his best moves. And Harmony. Who cared? She was just a way to pass the
days, a choice he'd made and regretted just so there'd be a body to fill his
empty bed. With all of them the kissing had just been perfunctory, a necessary
step in the dance. Which was a pity because Spike loved to kiss.
Reluctantly he pulls away from her and makes his way to the other side of the
room. He checks the darkened hallway, ensuring the door to Giles' bedroom is
shut fast before quietly disappearing for a few agonising seconds. When he
emerges again out of the darkness, he listens intently for a sign that Giles
may be stirring. When he is sure the Watcher is sleeping soundly he closes the
door behind him. Spike has collected the pillows from Willow's empty bed in the
next room and with delicate care, he sets them down behind her.
Willow gorges herself on the look of him as he moves about the room, the
complete and unabashed beauty of him as he kneels in front of her. Slowly he
slips her shirt from her shoulders and her pyjama pants from her hips, then
lovingly arranges Willow across the bed before removing his own clothing. She
is gloriously naked, unashamedly wide open and wet, waiting for him. He is
almost drunk on the smell of her. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
he asks.
Willow smiles. "C'mere" she slurs and he finally lowers himself to
the bed.
"Do you know what that is?" she asks him, curling the fingers of her
right hand lightly under his nose. She is apparently oblivious to the fact that
he can smell nothing else, her unmistakable perfume has become part of the room
and he would willingly drown in it. "That’s me. Thinking about you,"
she whispers and although her cheeks colour, she doesn’t look away. "I
smell like that all the time lately." It's become part of her and it's
something of herself that she has begun to identify with Spike.
It's more than he's allowed himself to hope for and he has to close his eyes
against the look on her face or else he’ll start crying again.
He kisses her everywhere in every way. Sweet, feather-light kisses to her eyes,
her nose, her chin and the backs of her knees. Hot open-mouthed kisses to her
wrists, the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. Deep wet kisses to
her shoulders, the back of her neck and the rise of her belly. He tongues the
small of her back, the curve of her arse, the underside of her breasts and her
soft inner thighs. Willow is more than accommodating. She stretches and bends,
offering up neglected flesh for his adoration. She rolls and giggles at the
touch of his tongue on the arches of her feet, she growls and moans as his
clever mouth works itself over all but the most needy places. "You taste
so sweet Will. I could kiss you for hours."
Willow doesn't know what will happen tomorrow, she doesn’t really care, Giles
be damned. She just knows she can’t be without him tonight. Her whole body is
thrumming with desire, anticipating all the things Spike is going to do to her
in this bed, just down the hallway from a sleeping Watcher. "I want
more..." she moans, her need making her brave.
"Touch me," he breathes into her mouth, desperate to feel anything
other than this suffocating emptiness.
Willow can't believe she hasn't touched him yet. Her hands have been knotted in
her own hair or bound in the crumpled sheets or gripping the tatty bedhead but
she hasn't yet allowed herself to touch him. She wonders at her own restraint
because Willow has always wanted to see if he was cool to the touch, to feel if
he was more marble than flesh, to taste if the leather and tobacco had become
an integral part of his skin. Now's her chance and she can't think where to
start.
His skin is screaming out for her hands to be on him, to burn and consume him
and she's taking too long. Way too long. "Willow, c’mon please..." he
begs and the ache inside him is a third presence in the room.
Willows hands skitter like butterflies against his skin. She begins with his
face, where her fingers blaze a trail that her lips eagerly follow. They brush
delicately over the contours of his eyebrows - the scar above his left eye
earning the sweetest of kisses - his cheeks and nose, the line of his chin. Her
thumbs trace the curve of his bottom lip and she gasps when he runs his tongue
over them. Her hands dance across his shoulders and down the length of his
powerful arms. Her fingers explore the alabaster of his chest, trace along each
furrow of his too visible ribs and alight momentarily on his hips. They are
soon cupping the curve of his arse, caressing the small of his back and the
length of his spine, sweeping across his muscular back.
Obviously, Spike doesn't feel the same way that Tara felt, but Willow's trying
to focus on the *feeling* of him, rather than the feel.
Finally her hands cut a feather-light trail down Spike's torso until she reaches
the itch of his coarse hair. Eager fingers burrow there, carefully avoiding his
cock. He growls as she caresses his balls, shifting the weight of them in the
palm of her hand, then returns to the start. She traces gentle, teasing
circles, first around one nipple and then the other, her tongue replacing her
fingers when her hand makes its way back down the plane of his stomach with the
faintest of touches, his stomach muscles give an involuntary flutter. His large
hands flex where they rest on her hips. He is panting her name like a prayer.
He throws his head back and groans as at last, she connects with his hardening
flesh. It's been some time since Willow's held a man in her hands and she can't
quite get the rhythm. Spike winces at her enthusiasm. "Here, let me show
you," he says gently. Taking her hand, he guides it to her centre, coating
it with her own juices. He drags their thumbs over her swollen clit, once,
twice, and Willow shudders. Bringing their hands back to his thick cock he
wraps her slender fingers delicately around him. Spike places his hand over
hers and begins to move them together until she finds his rhythm.
Willow marvels at the cool, silk, slickness of him warming to her touch and the
heavy rise and fall of his chest as he breathes through each stroke of her
hand. "Is this right? Am I doing it right?" she asks him a little
uncertainly. It takes Spike a moment to focus on the fact she's speaking to him
and another moment to remember to respond. When he does, his voice catches in his
throat: "God. Fuck. Yes." She revels in the heady sense of power she
has over him when she realises that this is all in response to her.
"Is it good Spike?," she whispers tightening her grip and moving a
little quicker.
"Just a little harder, Pet. Faster. That’s it. Good girl." Spike’s
hips jerk, his body becoming taut and he comes, gasping her name. Willow
nuzzles his chest, feeling very pleased with herself, as he lies bonelessly
back against the bed.
She laps at the cum he's spilt across her fingers and his stomach. She swirls
the pads of her fingers over the random splashes on his thigh, bringing them
against his bottom lip before urging them between his teeth. The little sigh he
gives makes her smile.
They shift a little and her cheek is against his belly, her hair splayed out
against his chest. Spike's fingers are raking through her hair and she
remembers moments like this with Tara. She remembers the silk of Tara's hair
moving across her overly sensitive skin and the rippling bliss that would run
through her as it did. Willow follows the delicate trail of hair down from his
navel with tiny kisses, tasting her own salt on his skin. Willow sits up
slowly, letting her hair glide softly down, tickling Spike's stomach and over
the head of his erect cock.
"Don’t leave me." Spike suddenly sounds scared and Willow likes the
desperation in his voice.
"I'm not going anywhere," she says, placing a reassuring kiss over
his belly button. Settling on her knees between his thighs she wets her lips
and takes him into her mouth. Spike's hips jerk and she moves with him so she
doesn't gag. Placing her hands on his hips she continues sucking him, swirling
her tongue around the head relaxing her throat so she can take more of him into
her. This she remembers.
His hands go to her hair and he's moaning her name. "Christ, Willow. Where
did you...? Oh fuck, yeah that's it. So good. Yeah. Clever girl. Just like
that. Fuck yes! Keep doing that. I love that. Don’t stop! Don’t...”
Willow suddenly remembers Giles is sleeping down the hall. One hand makes its
way from his hip to his mouth, trying to quiet him. She releases him and the
cool air on his moist skin makes him groan. "Shhh. I'm glad you like that
but we need to be quiet okay?"
Spike takes her fingers into his mouth and begins to suck them. Tentatively
Willow pumps them into Spike's mouth. He hums and the combination of his tongue
writhing between her fingers and the vibration of his throat acts as a
conductor. Willow feels the electricity burning through her, finding a home in
the pit of her stomach and snaking out in all directions. The laving of her
flesh, as his tongue runs over her palm, is so erotic that Willow's stomach
tightens, her thighs coated in her desire.
Cradling his balls, Willow takes Spike back into her mouth and it's not long
before she feels the now familiar tension in his body rising again. "Fuck.
I'm gonna come..."
Sweeping her tongue down the thick shaft of his cock and up over the weeping
head she sucks deeply once, twice and he's coming again and she's trying to
swallow all of his seed. He's trying to be so quiet but he can't stop the tide
of his breathing, released as short, shallow gasps. He pulls her up to meet him
in a ravenous kiss, tasting himself on her lips.
With as much grace as haste will allow Willow pushes Spike back on the bed then
rising over him, she presses her wet cunt against his belly. Taking his hand
and placing it to her lips, she begins to kiss each of his fingers. Willow
whispers, “so beautiful” because she’s always thought so, gay or otherwise.
Spike's eyes only open when Willow sucks two of his fingers into her greedy
little mouth.
Spike's fingers leave Willow's mouth with a wet 'pop' and she drags them down
the length of her body until they reach her aching cunt. Willow likes the chill
against her molten skin as the air hits the glistening trail of saliva and she
hisses her pleasure as she guides Spike's hand into her heat, showing him the
rhythm she needs. "See what you do to me?" she moans as he begins to
move independently of her. Leaning forward, she kisses him deeply, eyes wide
open. He returns the kiss, running his tongue along the roof of her mouth, then
along the line of her chin before nipping hungrily at her throat.
His other hand captures her breast, pinching and plucking at her nipple. Moving
her weight forward onto her arms she lowers her head to place long, hot kisses
along his chin, across his jaw line, behind his ears, down his neck to his
chest and back again. His dips his mouth to her breasts, first one, then the
other, his teeth and tongue tugging against her nipples so hard the twitching
travels down through her belly and connects directly with her cunt. "Oh
God, that's nice. I really like that," she hisses.
Spike slips the two fingers Willow held in her mouth into her tight heat.
"I'm inside you Will, do you feel me? I'm right here and I’m fucking you
and it feels so good doesn't it, baby? Hmmm? Do you like the way I'm touching
you?"
"Yes" she growls around a sharp intake of breath. She presses herself
harder against his magical fingers, demanding his full and fast attention.
"Harder. Do it harder."
"God, you're so tight. You're gonna burn me up, sweet girl, you're so
hot." He watches Willow intently. Eyes closed, head rolling on her
shoulders, he could be anyone. Spike wants her to know it's him. He needs her
to see him.
"Willow. Look at me. C'mon Pet, look at me. I need you to see me,
Will." His insistent pleading pulls her back from the precipice.
"Spike" she moans, eyes half lidded but still focussed on his
exquisite face.
"Good girl. Stay with me, Will."
The slow, steady rhythm he initiates builds until he is pumping fiercely into
her, his thumb nail scraping over her sensitive clit, until she is riding his
hand ferociously, grabbing weakly at his busy hands. She releases a guttural
moan as she bucks and writhes to her climax.
Willow's certain that her body is no longer solid matter. Unable to hold
herself up any longer she collapses back against him, breathing hard. Before
the tremors of pleasure running through Willow's body subside Spike flips them
so she is lying back on the bed and he is poised between her thighs. "Open
up, sweetheart," he urges, and Willow eagerly complies. Placing his hands
under her backside he lifts her to his mouth like a ripe peach. The sensation
of his knowledgeable tongue and blunt teeth working her desperate cunt causes
Willow to hiss and growl. He pauses, looking up at her and orders "I want
you to ride my mouth until you scream yourself mute, do you understand?"
Locking her fingers together in his hair and arching her back, Willow grinds
herself against his face and tries to take control of the pace. She is
completely unprepared for the increase in the intensity of feeling, as Spike
obliges her silent demand. "Oh God, it's too much. I can't..." But he
is relentless, taking her clit between his teeth, alternately biting and
sucking at her until she comes violently and still he fucks her with his
tongue.
Starbursts of white light explode behind her eyes as the pleasure almost
becomes pain. Her hands are no longer in his hair, they are grappling with the
sheets as she scrambles to get away while wave after powerful wave crashes over
her, dragging her down to drown in sensation. Willow forgets her own advice to
Spike and screams, thrashing wildly in the tangled sheets.
"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod..."
Savouring the taste of her he tongues her clean, then offers a chaste kiss
there before moving up her body to settle at her side. "Mmmm. such a pretty
cunt." he purrs.
Taking her in his arms he holds her close while her cunt pulses, pumping in
time with her heart, and her whole body shudders with the waves of ecstasy
still threatening to drag her under. "Shh, kitten. I got you." Willow
drifts away to the music of his mumbled nonsenses and her ragged breathing.
Willow can hear her name being called softly from somewhere far away. She can
hear something else, somehow familiar but not instantly recognisable. Slowly
she opens her eyes and is met with the vision of Spike lovingly mouthing her
breasts. She recognises the other sound now. It's her. She's mewling. She is
recumbent, her legs splayed brazenly open, as Spike’s fingers dip lazily into
her wet folds. She notes with pleasure the insistent pressure of his hard cock
pressing against her thigh. "Welcome back, love" he smiles and kisses
her, snaking his tongue around her own. "Are you ready for me sweetheart?
Because I *really* want to fuck you now. Would you like that?" Spike asks
tenderly, placing butterfly kisses against her throat. Willow nods, still
deliciously weak.
"You have to say the words Will. You have to say you want me to fuck you
or it won’t happen." Without warning he removes his hand. It takes more
control than he thought he possessed because all the time Willow's licking at
him, pushing and rubbing herself against him. Slow, languid movements like an
oversized house cat, only far more dangerous.
"I want my cock inside you. I'm gonna fuck you senseless, kitten. I
promise you’ll come so hard. Do you want my cock here?" He returns his
hand to her needy cunt, slipping his fingers gracefully back in and flexes them
so they’re held firmly inside her. She cannot find her voice but grinds down
against him further in answer.
"Tell me. Tell me what you want, sweet. Do you want me?"
"Spike," she gasps. "Please...I want..."
"Yes Will? What do you want? Just tell me, Pet, and you can have anything
you want"
"Spike," she snarls, desperately grabbing to bring his wrist to force
more of his hand inside her heat. "Fuck me. Now."
And then he's inside and above and around her and he's surrounding her and she
can't breath and God it feels so good. She is full and complete and she doesn't
think she can take anymore, doesn't know if she can do it again but she will
because she doesn't want this to end.
She scalds him as he sheaths himself within her and he hisses from the heat of
her. The rhythmic rocking of her hips is soothing him, guiding him. The smell,
taste, feel of her cunt; opening herself up to him; welcoming him in,
swallowing him whole. Hot. Wet. Home.
And all the time he's fucking her, he talks to her.
"Tell me what you like baby. I want you to feel good. How does that feel?
Is that good? Do you like that? Should I do it slower? Faster? What if I
touched you there? Or here? Does that work? Would you like me to do it
again?"
Just the deep baritone of his voice, saying these things to her between deep,
deliberate kisses is enough, she thinks, to make her come again. She tries to
answer him, to tell him that it's all good, it's all working for her, that she
thinks she may die from the pleasure of it but she can't form the words. All
she is capable of is incoherence.
"You make the prettiest noises, Sweet, when I’m inside you"
He loves the way she growls and moans. Her breath catching in her throat. The
little mewling noise as her body begins the ascent. The way she vocalises every
sensation. There is nothing she feels that she does not telegraph. There are no
lies, no pretense. She hums and sighs. Her wanton pleasure as she writhes and
bucks beneath him. Her clutching, grasping hands, the way she holds onto him as
if he were her only lifeline. The way her legs wrap around him, defying him to
escape, allowing for only mere millimetres of space to exist between them. Her
desire for him to crush her to the mattress, to pin her down, welcoming the
full weight of him on her; to be left breathless by it. The tiny half moon
marks that traverse his body from her needy little hands; his arms, back and
arse; the bruising on his shoulders and chest from her blunt little teeth. No
sweet gentle kisses but tongues licking and sucking wetly at any and all
available flesh within reach, sweat-slick and wanting. He pulls her closer to
him so their bodies are skin to skin, from chest to groin and all points in
between, for maximum contact. He is thrusting into her harder and harder. She
pushes back against him matching him thrust for thrust. "Are you there,
kitten?" He growls in her ear as he nears his climax.
"Just..." Both their hands scramble for her clit, but he bats her
hand away, working her feverishly.
"Come for me, Willow" he urges.
"Spike!"
"JesusGod. I can't...Will!" he keens, his voice getting louder and
louder. Willow places her hand over his mouth again. "Shh, shh"
Clutching desperately to each other, her hand still over his mouth, Willow can
taste the copper on her tongue where she's bitten through her lip to stop from
crying out. She kisses him hard, pushing her bleeding lip into his mouth and he
suckles her. Spike can no longer hold back and he comes; his roar stifled by
Willow's mouth on his. The hungry pulling on her lip and his desperate fingers
pinching her clit brings her to orgasm.
They lie together, him still inside her, until the electricity that is
crackling in the air around them subsides and the sweat on their skin cools and
chills their flesh. "You feel so good inside me," she croons. Spike
places lazy kisses tenderly along her neck, enjoying the simple pleasure of her
fingers in his hair and her sweet heat still surrounding him.
Lying back in the small confines of his bed, Spike collects the bed linen from
the floor and they arrange themselves for sleep. Facing one another, they are a
tangle of spent limbs with Willow wrapped around Spike like a blanket.
Somewhere in the back of her mind Willow knows she’ll have to face Giles but
tonight that’s a lifetime away.
Watching Spike sleep, briefly at peace with the world, Willow fancies she might
know something of what young William was like before the turning and she mourns
the gentle man who was torn down so that this beautiful monster might be.
William remains, his heart an ugly, purple bruise just under the surface of the
demon’s skin, open and bleeding and raw. Willow thinks that William is stronger
than the beast that wears his face could ever be. The sheer tenacity of his
will to have survived over a century chained to a fiend and still have his
monumental capacity to love and his almost self destructive need to be loved
intact is proof enough for her.
"Beautiful, delicate boy," she sighs. She kisses his forehead softly,
rubbing her cheek against his hair. "I'm so sorry things turned out the
way they did for you."
Willow doesn't realise he's awake until she feels her skin slick with his
tears. "Let it go baby, its OK." They're both crying like orphaned
children, holding fast to the only comfort they’ll allow themselves.
How long was long enough before penitents are granted a stillness of heart she
wonders? There has to be a way for them to be OK. Maybe they can figure it out
together. Maybe tomorrow it’ll be easier. "We're gonna be alright, Spike.
Everything's gonna be okay, you’ll see," she soothes, as she rocks them
both to sleep.
The End
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