Chapter 27: Joy
awesome banner by dampersnspoons
[ Read the whole story | Read the last chapter | Chapter list ]
A/N: I never know what people are going to think anymore, so I'm not going to attempt to predict. As usual, you might not love everyone's behavior here or in the last several chapters; you might even hate where I've gone with the entire story, but I'm going to be okay with that from now on. I just have to remember that no matter what I do, there will ALWAYS be people who are unsatisfied. This is not my problem. (That's my new chant.) This is not my problem. This is not my problem...
ANYway. The rest of you, enjoy!
After the storm, a calm. And naturally, lots of sex.
A charged hush enveloped them like warm, surging bath water, both calm and rousing at once. Their only soundtrack remained the low hum of whirlpool jets, errant soft moans of relaxation, the occasional splash as their entwined hands surfaced and submerged.
Spike had to be careful now. The best thing that ever happened to him was in his arms, hot and thrumming and slippery, and he wasn't going to let her slip away. Knew she would, eventually, but Hell if he'd be the cause.
Above all, he had to keep his mouth shut. Let this be what it was without talk, without damning analysis... or without him whooping and prancing about like a kid who'd just snatched the brass carousel ring. The slightest assumption could send her running, and he was liable to propose marriage next time he took a breath. So, he made a conscious effort to dress her wounds, walk her up the grand staircase and help her into his sunken tub with nary a word.
Well, except, "Might be a bit hot."
"I like it hot," she'd said with a coy grin, which made him imagine rigorously fucking her in his Rio flat. Right by the windows, shoreline twinkling below, their mingled sweat coating her backside... Oh, the places they could go.
But he knew better than to speak of the future, and here she was, seated between his legs, allowing him to hold her.
Buffy let out a contented sigh. "Your tub is way better than mine."
Spike traced the line of her clavicle. Live with me and it's yours. All of them are yours. You should see the one on my island. Do you like sailing?
She lay her head back on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
She was so pretty, but not in any usual way. She had a face from a distant era, a face that revealed so much, even in repose. It wasn't just her eyes, it was the thin line of her nose, the fullness of her lips, the delicate curve of her chin. Her long, graceful neck, sheened with bath oils and gleaming in the candlelight ...reminded him that he was one violent shithead.
Fingers rising to her throat, he said, "I'm sorry."
She touched his arm and looked up at him. "I'm not."
Such a simple answer, so many possible implications.
Wisely, she averted her gaze and changed the subject. "Is that a shower over there, or a Polynesian dance club?"
"Big enough for two," he said, smelling her hair.
"It's big enough for the circus, Spike."
Spike tightened his legs around hers, rubbed his toes against her smooth calf. "Yeah. I get that a lot."
She chuckled, momentarily disarmed.
Love the way you laugh. "I love the way you laugh." Fuck.
Mercifully, Buffy wasn't spooked. In fact, she pointed her chin at the far door and asked, "That's your bedroom, right?"
"Why, wanna sleep over?" This thought just tumbled right out, too, but it sounded more like lascivious teasing than sappy adoration. Small favors?
She became rigid in his arms, and he was sure he'd crossed a line and lost her for the night. Mentally berating himself and counting the seconds to I should probably go, he almost missed it when she said, "I guess I could."
He stilled. Was she fucking with him? Was she not fucking with him? "You...?" He craned his neck to see her eyes. "Did you and Lindsey--"
"No. No, we didn't--" She spun, buoyant, to face him, straddling his lap and anchoring her grasp at his neck. "Could we not talk about him right now?"
"Yeah. No, I..." He shook it out of his mind, grateful for one more opportunity to hold her hips and gaze into her eyes. "Stay." He added quickly, "If you want to."
He watched her internal struggle, wishing he could talk her through it, but that would only push her away, wouldn't it?
Buffy looked down into the water, the dark rift between them, and confessed, "I don't even know how I got here."
Spike held his tongue. Gave her the space to explain, though she didn't have to.
"I knew." She glanced at him briefly. "That you were seeing someone tonight? Don't ask me how, it's... It's kind of a long, largely irrational story."
A faint smile curled his lips. He'd assumed she'd called the agency, used her wily charms to get them talking. "It's not important to me how."
"I didn't plan on doing anything about--" She trailed off with a self-conscious huff. "I was sitting at home, just... holding that watch? Next thing I knew, I was outside the gate." Her eyes finally rested on his for a while. "You forgot to change your code."
He wanted to kiss her. "I never dreamed you'd sneak in with it."
"Well, I thought I was sneaking in," she admitted through an adorable pout, "until Nigel opened the side door for me. So much for stealthiness."
"That code alerts Garrett. You never let me tell you that part."
"Yeah. It doesn't turn off the security cameras either. They watched me walk all the way up."
"They didn't ask you to leave, did they?"
"Actually," she shifted in his lap to get closer, "Nigel asked me what took me so long."
Nigel said that? "That sly dog..."
"Please don't fire him."
"Bugger that, he's getting a raise."
She smiled briefly with him. "He sent the girl away and let me through, and... that's when everything got really clear." She pet the hair at the nape of his neck. "I knew exactly what I had to do."
He let that hang in the air for a moment, until he couldn't keep quiet anymore. "Is it still clear?"
"Slight fog forming now. Chance of rain. Thunderstorms..."
That last word came out as no more than a whisper, because he'd begun to glide a teasing caress over her slick thighs, up her behind, to her lower back. "Anything I can do to change the weather?"
She nodded, and pressed her lips to his.
* * *
Water billowed onto the granite floor with her every move. Her arms encircling his head, her breasts bouncing in his face, his fingers curved inside of her, Buffy gulped and gasped his name and he thought, Fuck careful.
* * *
"Clear out, Chef," Spike announced as he strut into the kitchen, arm slung low around Buffy's waist. "You're off tonight."
"But," Buffy reached out to Marco as he left the room, "with the five stars..."
"Too bad; cooking you my specialty." He pulled out a stool for her to sit on, smacked it twice.
She sat down, smoothing his pink Oxford shirt over her naked bottom first. "How many stars are you?"
He grabbed a pan from the array and cocked a brow. "Just one great big one, baby."
She rolled her eyes, but with a smile.
Yeah, she liked him.
"Here's how it goes," he said, slinging the pan on the stovetop and gathering the ingredients from the refrigerator. "First, butter. Lots of butter. Little milk. Dab of mustard... Fromage..." he sniffed a block of Gruyere, and tossed it her way. She caught it. "Jambon... Baguette."
She caught the baguette too. "So, basically you're making a grilled cheese sandwich with ham."
"Croque Monsieur," he corrected her. "But, yeah, basically. Do you mind?"
"Actually it sounds pretty fantastic right now."
He beamed, and took the bread that she held out.
"Can I help?" She placed her elbows on the counter and her chin on her palms, fingers curled on her rosy cheeks. Her hair, cascading over her shoulders, was still damp and wavy at the ends and she looked quite like she'd just orgasmed in a bathtub. "Not that I mind just sitting here watching you slice bread in your skivvies."
"By all means, relax and enjoy the impressive view."
"What is your view, anyway?" She nodded at the wall of windows. At night, all they could see was their reflection. "Out there."
"Back yard," he said, melting butter in a saucepan and grabbing a wooden spoon for the flour. "Fountain. Pool. Tennis court. Guest house. Birdseye view of the commonfolk. What you'd expect."
"Do you play tennis?" she asked, touching the rim of the fruit bowl.
"No, Harm was the--" He realized he shouldn't be bringing her up. Not when it made her so uncomfortable. "No, I don't."
Buffy picked up an orange, inspected it and put it down. "I think Lilah Morgan might be spying on us."
Was that all? "Not might. Was."
"She was?" She sat up straight in alarm. "How do you know? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Hang on now." He put the whisk down. "I found out the day after we... After I took you to that motel."
"Oh. How?"
"Well, she might be an amateur, but the bloke she hired wasn't." He pushed the bread into the oven. "Figured he had some kind of career-crushing drug scandal on me, so he came straight to me. I paid him off and had my guy check her out."
"What did he find?"
"Nothing." He tasted the sauce on his fingertip. "As in, nothing at all. It's like she didn't exist before 2003."
There was an appealing little spark of calculation in her eyes. "Did he give you any documents?"
"Just the one that says N/A all over it. Why?"
"It might throw a wrench in their progress."
His gaze lowered to the bubbling béchamel mix. "That still going on, then."
"I... I don't know, to be honest. We haven't talked a lot."
Their eyes met, cautious to insecure.
"So," she said, "how does Spike Pratt make his famous Croque Monsieur?"
He flashed her a grin, and launched into an enthusiastic demonstration.
* * *
"Hunh! Hunh! Hunh! Yeah!"
"Hhhhha..." Spike's eyes glazed over as he pounded Buffy on the kitchen island.
At first bite, she'd spilt melted cheese on his Oxford shirt. She'd hastily unbuttoned it and giggled at something he said, and as a result, he'd felt compelled to toss her on her back and tongue her nipples, then her pussy, then fuck the living daylights out of her.
Shirt sleeve still rolled up on one arm, the rest of it crumpled beneath her, she dug her fingernails into his neck and corkscrewed her pussy on his throbbing cock, leaving little drips of nectar on the lacquered countertop.
One possessive hand on her tit, the other on her spot, he felt goosebumps rise against his fingers as he said, "Love the way you fuck."
Her nipples tightened and her eyes rolled back. "Gonna come, gonna come, I'm gonna..."
"Come. Come. Come--"
She began to tremor, her inner walls pulsed and slicked him up anew and she elongated the word, "Fuck!"
At the end, she pinched his throat, blinked her eyes wide.
"'m gonna have to come on you now," he breathed. It felt real imperative right then -- the deed, and informing her of it.
"Do it," she whispered without skipping a beat. "Come on me."
Growling through clenched jaw, Spike revved up inside her, quickly pulled out, and claimed her quivering belly as his own.
It was damn satisfying, spattering daubs of white all over her golden skin. That's right. You're Spike's girl.
Chest heaving, back of her hand on her forehead, she exhaled a laugh. "Now I'm really hungry."
* * *
"What kind of bachelor are you?" she asked, sitting on his bed and giving it a test bounce. Didn't matter that he'd just had her -- the sight of her jiggling tits continued to have a shut-down effect on his brain. "No neon lights, no furry blankets; not even a waterbed."
"You want me to have a waterbed?"
She smiled at him. "No, Spike. I like it."
His heart might have actually fluttered just then. He turned his eyes to the floor. "I can't figure out if you're--"
A strange, tinny noise interrupted him, and Buffy whispered, "Shit." It was coming from the vicinity of her purse. She climbed over the bed to reach it, checked her phone, and shut it off.
Spike didn't have to ask who it was.
Perched bedside in profile, she looked down and said, "I sent him a text. I um, I told him a friend needed me and I might be out late."
Quietly, he came to her, sat beside her and combed his fingers through her hair. She took his face in her hands, kissed his cheek, then his lips, let out a soft mewl, and he was perfectly all right with being her diversion.
* * *
"Oh... Spike..."
Buffy undulated on top of him, a soft-focus vision in the first light of day; raw and tousled, like a secret whispered only to him. If he could see and hear and feel this every morning... "Oh, Buffy."
She bore down, pressing harder on his chest. "I have to go."
"I know... Me too. Can't help that I got so much stamina."
A shot of laughter broke through her panting. "Shut up and lemme come."
Not yet. "Tell me you like me."
She sputtered shyly, and her cheeks blushed a deeper pink.
Touching her face, he whispered, "Look at me and tell the truth."
Her eyelashes fanned up, and, gazing down at him, she said, soft and sweet, "I like you."
He smiled and teased her, "I knew it."
"Shut up," she said with a grin, cupping his mouth and riding him faster until her grin faded. "Harder."
He dug his fingertips into her spot and she arched and opened her mouth wide until the broken end of a wail sounded.
After she collapsed on him, he said, "Let's get in the shower."
* * *
"Oh my GOD I love this thing," she said, as multiple shower heads pelted them from all directions. "You have all the best stuff."
"Have I mentioned? I'm filthy rich."
"Yeah." She smirked at him and swiped his body wash. "You've mentioned."
"Also insanely powerful and extremely good-loo--" Suddenly he had nothing more to say, because she'd begun to lather up his erection with long, steady strokes. He inhaled sharply and let his head fall back.
Buffy rinsed him off, pushed him against the glass, and when he opened his eyes again, she was on her knees.
Looking up at him, she tongued his scrotum.
"Ohhh..." Marry me.
With a vibrating moan, she sucked one ball into her mouth, then the other, then licked a line up his dick to the tip and spiraled her tongue around it.
Spike had never been one to let the girl take the lead here. He'd really been missing out.
Steam filled the shower, the mist kept them warm. Yes, they were in a hurry but he needed to experience this completely, and Buffy, sweet, wonderful Buffy knew this and wasn't afraid to take her time.
Enthralling him with minxish glances, she pleasured him with the hot, soft insides of her mouth, and again, with her, he dropped his guard and traded power for sheer joy.
Not to mention, at his first quiver, she opened her mouth and jacked him off on her tongue.
"Oh! God!"
When he was spent, she swallowed it, one saucy corner of her mouth upturned.
"Christ, Buffy," he said, and dropped to his knees to cradle her face. "Where the hell have you been all my life?"
She paused, then emitted a good-natured scoff.
Right. He shut his eyes. "Don't-- Yeah. I know."
"Rhetorical question. I get it."
He squinted at her. "Does it feel like I'm that much older than you?"
With a look of absolute honesty, of what he swore was even more than that, she shook her head. "No."
"You're so..." He touched her wet cheek. Don't go to work. Don't go back to him. Live with me. Marry me. Be with me. He took a sobering breath. "Doesn't feel that way to me either."
* * *
"When can I see you again?"
Rubbing the insides of his coat pockets, Spike immediately fixated on the ground like he'd just had his first-ever date.
Morning sun all bright and sensible and happy to announce that their time was over, they stood face to face in the circular driveway, not entirely ready to say goodbye.
Biting her lower lip, she outlined an edge of her car window. "When do you want to see me again?"
"Now," he admitted. "Is now all right?"
And there was that shy little burst of a laugh that he loved.
He took her wrist, and lightly thumbed the back of her hand. She really did wear Cartier well. No doubt she'd take it off before she got home, but it was the thought... "Whenever I can."
"It might be tough. To get away? He probably already suspects..." She trailed off.
"I'll do whatever it takes." He ducked his head to encourage eye contact, "Do you want to see me again?"
She whispered so quietly he had to read her lips, "A lot."
He raised her chin, saw her eyes welling, then stopped a tear in its tracks. "I'll come running, love. You know I will."
Read on... >>
If you're reading this, please don't be afraid to comment! I'm not gonna get down on my knees and beg or anything (I'll save that for the end), just bear in mind that you don't have to be original or funny, I just like to have a gist of the consensus. (I also love quotes. Just FYI. Quotes are super easy. All you have to do is cut and paste and be like, "Hey, I liked this part!" Then hit 'send'!)
Can you tell it's that time of the month, I'm not feeling all that well AND my girlfriend is away? I'M REALLY FUCKING NEEDY RIGHT NOW, OKAY? GOD.
*cuts self*
A NOTE ABOUT PLAGIARISM: Don't do it. Call me crazy, but I don't like finding my hard work pasted into other people's stories. If I find out you've plagiarized me or any other author, I will make sure everyone knows it. If you're not clear on what 'plagiarism' means, the definition is here.