— У меня правильнописание хромает. Оно хорошее, но почему-то хромает...(с) Винни-Пух.
Crave, by NautiBitz
Chapter 7: Fill You In
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A/N: Many thanks to my genius of a lifemate lovebytez, who helped me work out a few difficult plot points and afterwards said, "Do I need to find you a distinguished older gentleman now?" Aww. She's the best.
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"The fuck was I drinking last night?"
Buffy glanced at her husband in the mirror, spit out her toothpaste. "Lots and lots of whiskey?"
Rubbing his eyes and facing the toilet to lift the seat, he said, "Must have been a damn lot for me to ask my father to take you to Paris."
Toothbrush in her mouth, she froze.
"I don't know what got into me," he said, mainly to himself. "He tells me he's accepting some award there next week, so I'm all, 'Buffy's been dying to go'..."
Buffy blinked at her reflection.
The 'little conference'? The 'awards thing' Spike had tried to invite her to? They were one and the same. And they were in Paris.
Lindsey was still puzzling out his rationale: "...then he says he's between assistants, so I start talking you up -- I don't even know why. I mean, yeah, he had a point, you don't want to be a paralegal all your life; maybe meeting people in tourism could do you good, but still..." He flushed the toilet. "It's like I forgot who I was talking to."
Wow. He really is an evil genius. "He said I don't want to be a paralegal all my life?"
Their eyes met in the mirror. "Well, do you?"
"I..." She'd always had a vague interest in law, but Lindsey knew she'd chosen the field chiefly as a means to support herself. Seeing the unpredictability of gallery ownership -- and losing everything with her mother's death -- made her seek a profession that was dependable and solid. Don't you mean safe? "Maybe; I don't know." She looked down at the faucet, rinsed her toothbrush and mumbled, "So now I'm assisting him. In Paris."
"Yeah," he said slowly, "Didn't he tell you that on the way to the elevator?"
No, he molested me instead. "Of course he did! It just... sounds odd in the light of day."
"Right; you were juiced last night too. I feel like I pressured you to say yes or something."
"No, you didn't." He did. "It's my choice." Sort of.
"Hey, you want to go, that's fine." He turned on the shower. "It's Paris, I get it. You're a sophisticated gal, you need to see the world."
"'Sophisticated gal'?" she teased him. "What am I, a racehorse?"
"All I'm saying is, if he can give you that every now and then, that's great." He adjusted the knobs. "As long as he doesn't try to sweep you off your feet and fuckin', romance you or whatever..."
"Ha ha ha," she laughed, a little too loud, her heart pounding. "That's funny."
He closed the shower door and squinted at her. "He's not into you -- right? I mean, has he said anything or done anything...?"
Survival instincts kicking in and trumping everything else, Buffy looked him in the eye and laughed, "Lindsey. No. He hasn't said or done or implied anything like that. And even if he did, do you honestly think I could be swept anywhere by a man like him?"
With a chuckle, he relaxed. "Hell, no."
"Remember that." Because she firmly agreed, wall pinning and errant moans aside. "I think, underneath it all, he's a lonely guy who regrets alienating his family. Enter me as the new family member with no first-hand knowledge of his past; plus he likes my moxie..." She shrugged. "I guess he wants me to fill that void." Or something.
"Well," Lindsey said with a sigh, "maybe this isn't temporary, huh? Maybe he really does want to mend the fence now that I'm all growed up."
"Maybe he does."
He stared at their joined hands. "I'm never gonna forgive him, though."
Rubbing his knuckles, she ventured quietly, "For what?"
He cracked a smile, shook his head. "Nothing. Everything. Stuff I'm not even sure is real anymore." He walked backwards to the shower. "And one wild hunch no one would ever believe."
"Tell me, Lindsey," Buffy begged him. "Please. I'm your wife; I'll believe you. What did he do?"
He looked her over, opened his mouth to speak, then reconsidered. "I don't want to cloud your head with shit I can't prove. Go to Paris. Have fun--"
"Lind, please! I'm begging you, I'm here, I'm listening--"
"Jesus fucking Christ Buffy, stop trying to force it out of me!"
Shocked and chastened, she stepped back. "Okay! Sorry. I..."
"You're not my damn therapist, all right? Some things are better left alone." He sighed, grabbed his towel. "I gotta get ready."
* * *
While Lindsey took his shower, Buffy stepped out onto the balcony to contact the subject of their latest argument... and every argument they'd ever had, come to think of it.
"Yes, I'm calling for Spike Pratt. This is Buffy. No, Buffy. B as in--" Bastard. Butthead! "Boy. He'll know who I am."
As she waited to be connected, Buffy stared unseeingly at the urban sprawl beneath her, getting more and more furious with each passing second.
"Good morning, gorgeous. To what do I owe the immense--"
"Paris?"
"Sorry?"
"This 'little conference' of yours. The one I'll be 'assisting' you on."
After a pause, he said, "Did I not mention it's in Paris?"
"Kinda left that out, yeah."
"Well, I thought I'd surprise you. Could have been nice."
"What were you gonna do, chloroform me until the plane landed?"
She heard snickering. And not just his. "Didn't I tell you she was precious?"
What the...? Buffy's jaw dropped. "Am I on speakerphone?"
"Don't be shy, love. Tell my board of advisors how you really feel." This was followed by a burst of male laughter.
She mock-chortled along with them. "You have a tiny pe--"
He picked up the phone. "Cute. Now I'm just going to have to whip it out for them as well."
"Don't they know who I am to you?"
"Of course. You're my feisty new assistant."
"Oh, for crying out-- I have a job! A good one! This would be a demotion, Spike, do you understand?"
"My assistants start at one fifty a year. Oh -- I'm sorry, do you make more than that?"
"Well -- No, but that's not the point." Then it hit her: "Are you paying me this weekend?"
"Naturally."
"What are you paying for, exactly?"
"That's entirely up to you."
"Oh my god. Just when I think you couldn't possibly get more despicable--"
"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate the pillow talk, kitten, I do; but there's a time and place--"
"Pillow talk? This isn't high school, Spike. Stop pretending that we're sleeping together."
"Point is, I'm in the middle of something slightly more important than your moods. Mind if we slug this out later?"
"Yes. I mind. My 'moods' are your problem because they are caused by you."
He let out a burdened sigh. "Make it count. My people are waiting."
"You somehow knew I loved Paris, didn't you?" She paced on the balcony. "That's why you started that whole Tiger Beat Q&A 'what's your favorite place on earth' line of bullshit."
"Right. I don't know what any of that means. But I do know what kind of girl you really are, chaton, and you're the kind of girl who can't say no to a weekend in the most romantic city in the world."
"Romantic?" She grunted in frustration. "You are so full of--"
"I'll be home at six. You're welcome to drop by." He breathed in. "Wear something pink and... fluffy."
"Ugh!" She hung up in a fit of disgust.
* * *
"Hey," Lindsey said quietly, a palm flat on her desk.
"Hey."
"I don't want you to go. Is that crazy?" He sat down beside her. "I mean -- as your husband, I get a say in this, right?"
"I... Yeah. Of course." She wouldn't let him run off to Paris with another woman. But if she didn't go with Spike, her relationship was doomed. What was she supposed to do? "But what is it that's bothering you?"
"I don't know. I just have a bad feeling. I'm worried."
"About me? Honey, you don't have to worry about me. I can handle myself."
"I know. It's just a feeling." He shook his head, rapped on the table. "You know what? Forget it. You're right, you can handle yourself. Forget I said anything."
"Lind--"
He walked off, and she sighed. What if she told him the truth? Would he really leave her?
And what if Paris only spun things further out of control; doomed them even more?
Buffy knew what she had to do.
* * *
"No visit, pet?" Spike teased her when she called him after Huey's walk. "I always find it easier to get my point across in person... don't you?"
"And give you the chance to violate me again?" She locked the apartment door. "Thanks, but I'll pass."
"Oh, now. I did nothing of the sort, and you know it."
She returned Huey's leash to its hook and shrugged off her trench. "Spoken like a true date rapist."
"Careful, love. You're insulting me again."
"Good," she said, en route to the couch. "Because for someone who claims he isn't crass and isn't interested in taking me by force; wow, that was quite the contradiction last night."
"It was not." The flick of a lighter, an inhale. "I was proving a point."
"Ah." She dropped her shoes, tucked her feet underneath her. "I must have missed the point somewhere between the throttling and the forcible dry-humping."
"Mm," he said, inhaling again. "You were too busy mewing like a horny kitten. Which is the point. Where are you?"
"At home. What does it--"
"Where is he?"
"Still working."
"Are you in your bed?"
"No!" She scoffed. "I'm sitting on the couch. Are you gonna ask me what I'm wearing now?"
"Would you tell me if I did?"
"It's neither pink nor fluffy," she said tersely. "I didn't call you for phone sex, Spike. I called you for a reason."
"The reason being you can't get enough of me. I understand and I feel exactly the same way."
"Spike--"
"Tell me something. Do you ever wear stockings, or are those obsolete now? I don't know why, but I've been imagining you slinking about in these nude pantyhose and me like, savagely ripping them from your bum. ...Maybe it's the working girl thing."
Momentarily derailed by his whimsy, she managed to get back on track: "Spike. I'm not going to Paris with you."
"Pet. You have to."
"No. I don't. Not if I tell him everything tonight. Which is the plan. There goes your blackmail and there goes the last time I ever have to put up with your harassment. Goodbye, Spike."
"Wait," he said, and she waited. "Is it that you don't trust me, or you don't trust yourself?"
"You, Spike. I don't trust you."
"Then you've nothing to worry about. I'm going to make you a promise, Buffy, and I'm a man of my word, all right?"
"This oughta be good." She reclined and stretched out, hooking an ankle over the back of the couch. As he spoke, she absently ran a hand down her exposed thigh.
"I promise that for the duration of the trip, I won't touch you. I won't taunt you. I'll treat you like a bloody colleague I have no physical interest in. We can play bloody Scrabble on the plane if you like. Better yet," she heard his fingers snap, "I'll teach you how to play chess."
"Why would you do that?"
"Well, you clearly have no idea how the game works--"
"No, I mean, why would you go through all this trouble just to ...play chess?"
"Because then it's up to you, isn't it?" He lowered his register to warn her, "'Course, you touch me, all bets are off."
"I'm not going to touch you, Spike."
"I won't expect it, then."
She sighed, fiddling with the sash on her wrap dress. "I don't understand you."
"This isn't just for me," he explained. "You need Paris. Look, I'll even give you one day off; you'll have an entire day alone to explore the city. The Louvre, the Pompidou, Maillol... Do you really want to pass that up?"
"Why are you being like this?"
"Because," he said firmly, "I cannot stand to see you waste away."
She pulled the sash and the knot came undone. "I'm not wasting."
"Yeah. Well. I also happen to like you quite a bit."
The dress open, she traced a light circle around her belly button. "So... you won't touch me at all."
"Only to, say, help you out of a car or what have you. Hands only. An occasional shoulder rub, but that's what I do when introducing a lady."
"You won't touch my spot?"
He chuckled, and lowered his volume to match hers. "I will not touch your lovely little spot. I swear it. Not until you're in my arms of your own accord."
Which wasn't going to happen. Especially if he was going to behave himself...
"So," he said. "Will I see you Thursday?"
She stared at Sunflower IV until her vision blurred. "I guess you will."
"Brilliant. Now about those pantyhose..."
"Spike. Nobody wears pantyhose anymore."
"Pity. They do still sell them though, don't they? Came in an egg... Am I making that up?"
She couldn't help but laugh. "There was an egg I think, at some point. It was plastic, my Mom used to buy them, and I... can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."
He let out a contented breath. "I love to hear you laugh."
She bit her lip. War. War. War. War. War! "Don't mistake that for affection."
"I wouldn't dare," he said, voice soft and airy. "Sweet dreams, chaton."
As if he were whispering in her ear, her nipples stiffened and she felt a twinge between her legs.
He disconnected, and she pressed the phone against her smiling lips. His fantasy was to tear cheap pantyhose off of her body? It was so absurd, and yet... oddly innocent. Savagery excluded.
She slid a hand to her sex, squeezed her thighs together and fixed her gaze on the painting he'd given her. The setting sun gave it a depth she hadn't noticed before.
Several minutes later, at the onset of her climax, she heard Lindsey's key in the lock. She didn't stop.
As he walked into the loft, she wiped her slippery-wet fingers on her dress and let out a shaky exhale.
"Babe?"
"Come here."
When he found her, she yanked off his belt and sucked at him hungrily until he came into her mouth.
They didn't talk about Paris again.
Read on... >>
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.
Tags: crave, crave (teh filf), fanfiction, human au fic
Chapter 7: Fill You In
читать дальше
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: Many thanks to my genius of a lifemate lovebytez, who helped me work out a few difficult plot points and afterwards said, "Do I need to find you a distinguished older gentleman now?" Aww. She's the best.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The fuck was I drinking last night?"
Buffy glanced at her husband in the mirror, spit out her toothpaste. "Lots and lots of whiskey?"
Rubbing his eyes and facing the toilet to lift the seat, he said, "Must have been a damn lot for me to ask my father to take you to Paris."
Toothbrush in her mouth, she froze.
"I don't know what got into me," he said, mainly to himself. "He tells me he's accepting some award there next week, so I'm all, 'Buffy's been dying to go'..."
Buffy blinked at her reflection.
The 'little conference'? The 'awards thing' Spike had tried to invite her to? They were one and the same. And they were in Paris.
Lindsey was still puzzling out his rationale: "...then he says he's between assistants, so I start talking you up -- I don't even know why. I mean, yeah, he had a point, you don't want to be a paralegal all your life; maybe meeting people in tourism could do you good, but still..." He flushed the toilet. "It's like I forgot who I was talking to."
Wow. He really is an evil genius. "He said I don't want to be a paralegal all my life?"
Their eyes met in the mirror. "Well, do you?"
"I..." She'd always had a vague interest in law, but Lindsey knew she'd chosen the field chiefly as a means to support herself. Seeing the unpredictability of gallery ownership -- and losing everything with her mother's death -- made her seek a profession that was dependable and solid. Don't you mean safe? "Maybe; I don't know." She looked down at the faucet, rinsed her toothbrush and mumbled, "So now I'm assisting him. In Paris."
"Yeah," he said slowly, "Didn't he tell you that on the way to the elevator?"
No, he molested me instead. "Of course he did! It just... sounds odd in the light of day."
"Right; you were juiced last night too. I feel like I pressured you to say yes or something."
"No, you didn't." He did. "It's my choice." Sort of.
"Hey, you want to go, that's fine." He turned on the shower. "It's Paris, I get it. You're a sophisticated gal, you need to see the world."
"'Sophisticated gal'?" she teased him. "What am I, a racehorse?"
"All I'm saying is, if he can give you that every now and then, that's great." He adjusted the knobs. "As long as he doesn't try to sweep you off your feet and fuckin', romance you or whatever..."
"Ha ha ha," she laughed, a little too loud, her heart pounding. "That's funny."
He closed the shower door and squinted at her. "He's not into you -- right? I mean, has he said anything or done anything...?"
Survival instincts kicking in and trumping everything else, Buffy looked him in the eye and laughed, "Lindsey. No. He hasn't said or done or implied anything like that. And even if he did, do you honestly think I could be swept anywhere by a man like him?"
With a chuckle, he relaxed. "Hell, no."
"Remember that." Because she firmly agreed, wall pinning and errant moans aside. "I think, underneath it all, he's a lonely guy who regrets alienating his family. Enter me as the new family member with no first-hand knowledge of his past; plus he likes my moxie..." She shrugged. "I guess he wants me to fill that void." Or something.
"Well," Lindsey said with a sigh, "maybe this isn't temporary, huh? Maybe he really does want to mend the fence now that I'm all growed up."
"Maybe he does."
He stared at their joined hands. "I'm never gonna forgive him, though."
Rubbing his knuckles, she ventured quietly, "For what?"
He cracked a smile, shook his head. "Nothing. Everything. Stuff I'm not even sure is real anymore." He walked backwards to the shower. "And one wild hunch no one would ever believe."
"Tell me, Lindsey," Buffy begged him. "Please. I'm your wife; I'll believe you. What did he do?"
He looked her over, opened his mouth to speak, then reconsidered. "I don't want to cloud your head with shit I can't prove. Go to Paris. Have fun--"
"Lind, please! I'm begging you, I'm here, I'm listening--"
"Jesus fucking Christ Buffy, stop trying to force it out of me!"
Shocked and chastened, she stepped back. "Okay! Sorry. I..."
"You're not my damn therapist, all right? Some things are better left alone." He sighed, grabbed his towel. "I gotta get ready."
* * *
While Lindsey took his shower, Buffy stepped out onto the balcony to contact the subject of their latest argument... and every argument they'd ever had, come to think of it.
"Yes, I'm calling for Spike Pratt. This is Buffy. No, Buffy. B as in--" Bastard. Butthead! "Boy. He'll know who I am."
As she waited to be connected, Buffy stared unseeingly at the urban sprawl beneath her, getting more and more furious with each passing second.
"Good morning, gorgeous. To what do I owe the immense--"
"Paris?"
"Sorry?"
"This 'little conference' of yours. The one I'll be 'assisting' you on."
After a pause, he said, "Did I not mention it's in Paris?"
"Kinda left that out, yeah."
"Well, I thought I'd surprise you. Could have been nice."
"What were you gonna do, chloroform me until the plane landed?"
She heard snickering. And not just his. "Didn't I tell you she was precious?"
What the...? Buffy's jaw dropped. "Am I on speakerphone?"
"Don't be shy, love. Tell my board of advisors how you really feel." This was followed by a burst of male laughter.
She mock-chortled along with them. "You have a tiny pe--"
He picked up the phone. "Cute. Now I'm just going to have to whip it out for them as well."
"Don't they know who I am to you?"
"Of course. You're my feisty new assistant."
"Oh, for crying out-- I have a job! A good one! This would be a demotion, Spike, do you understand?"
"My assistants start at one fifty a year. Oh -- I'm sorry, do you make more than that?"
"Well -- No, but that's not the point." Then it hit her: "Are you paying me this weekend?"
"Naturally."
"What are you paying for, exactly?"
"That's entirely up to you."
"Oh my god. Just when I think you couldn't possibly get more despicable--"
"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate the pillow talk, kitten, I do; but there's a time and place--"
"Pillow talk? This isn't high school, Spike. Stop pretending that we're sleeping together."
"Point is, I'm in the middle of something slightly more important than your moods. Mind if we slug this out later?"
"Yes. I mind. My 'moods' are your problem because they are caused by you."
He let out a burdened sigh. "Make it count. My people are waiting."
"You somehow knew I loved Paris, didn't you?" She paced on the balcony. "That's why you started that whole Tiger Beat Q&A 'what's your favorite place on earth' line of bullshit."
"Right. I don't know what any of that means. But I do know what kind of girl you really are, chaton, and you're the kind of girl who can't say no to a weekend in the most romantic city in the world."
"Romantic?" She grunted in frustration. "You are so full of--"
"I'll be home at six. You're welcome to drop by." He breathed in. "Wear something pink and... fluffy."
"Ugh!" She hung up in a fit of disgust.
* * *
"Hey," Lindsey said quietly, a palm flat on her desk.
"Hey."
"I don't want you to go. Is that crazy?" He sat down beside her. "I mean -- as your husband, I get a say in this, right?"
"I... Yeah. Of course." She wouldn't let him run off to Paris with another woman. But if she didn't go with Spike, her relationship was doomed. What was she supposed to do? "But what is it that's bothering you?"
"I don't know. I just have a bad feeling. I'm worried."
"About me? Honey, you don't have to worry about me. I can handle myself."
"I know. It's just a feeling." He shook his head, rapped on the table. "You know what? Forget it. You're right, you can handle yourself. Forget I said anything."
"Lind--"
He walked off, and she sighed. What if she told him the truth? Would he really leave her?
And what if Paris only spun things further out of control; doomed them even more?
Buffy knew what she had to do.
* * *
"No visit, pet?" Spike teased her when she called him after Huey's walk. "I always find it easier to get my point across in person... don't you?"
"And give you the chance to violate me again?" She locked the apartment door. "Thanks, but I'll pass."
"Oh, now. I did nothing of the sort, and you know it."
She returned Huey's leash to its hook and shrugged off her trench. "Spoken like a true date rapist."
"Careful, love. You're insulting me again."
"Good," she said, en route to the couch. "Because for someone who claims he isn't crass and isn't interested in taking me by force; wow, that was quite the contradiction last night."
"It was not." The flick of a lighter, an inhale. "I was proving a point."
"Ah." She dropped her shoes, tucked her feet underneath her. "I must have missed the point somewhere between the throttling and the forcible dry-humping."
"Mm," he said, inhaling again. "You were too busy mewing like a horny kitten. Which is the point. Where are you?"
"At home. What does it--"
"Where is he?"
"Still working."
"Are you in your bed?"
"No!" She scoffed. "I'm sitting on the couch. Are you gonna ask me what I'm wearing now?"
"Would you tell me if I did?"
"It's neither pink nor fluffy," she said tersely. "I didn't call you for phone sex, Spike. I called you for a reason."
"The reason being you can't get enough of me. I understand and I feel exactly the same way."
"Spike--"
"Tell me something. Do you ever wear stockings, or are those obsolete now? I don't know why, but I've been imagining you slinking about in these nude pantyhose and me like, savagely ripping them from your bum. ...Maybe it's the working girl thing."
Momentarily derailed by his whimsy, she managed to get back on track: "Spike. I'm not going to Paris with you."
"Pet. You have to."
"No. I don't. Not if I tell him everything tonight. Which is the plan. There goes your blackmail and there goes the last time I ever have to put up with your harassment. Goodbye, Spike."
"Wait," he said, and she waited. "Is it that you don't trust me, or you don't trust yourself?"
"You, Spike. I don't trust you."
"Then you've nothing to worry about. I'm going to make you a promise, Buffy, and I'm a man of my word, all right?"
"This oughta be good." She reclined and stretched out, hooking an ankle over the back of the couch. As he spoke, she absently ran a hand down her exposed thigh.
"I promise that for the duration of the trip, I won't touch you. I won't taunt you. I'll treat you like a bloody colleague I have no physical interest in. We can play bloody Scrabble on the plane if you like. Better yet," she heard his fingers snap, "I'll teach you how to play chess."
"Why would you do that?"
"Well, you clearly have no idea how the game works--"
"No, I mean, why would you go through all this trouble just to ...play chess?"
"Because then it's up to you, isn't it?" He lowered his register to warn her, "'Course, you touch me, all bets are off."
"I'm not going to touch you, Spike."
"I won't expect it, then."
She sighed, fiddling with the sash on her wrap dress. "I don't understand you."
"This isn't just for me," he explained. "You need Paris. Look, I'll even give you one day off; you'll have an entire day alone to explore the city. The Louvre, the Pompidou, Maillol... Do you really want to pass that up?"
"Why are you being like this?"
"Because," he said firmly, "I cannot stand to see you waste away."
She pulled the sash and the knot came undone. "I'm not wasting."
"Yeah. Well. I also happen to like you quite a bit."
The dress open, she traced a light circle around her belly button. "So... you won't touch me at all."
"Only to, say, help you out of a car or what have you. Hands only. An occasional shoulder rub, but that's what I do when introducing a lady."
"You won't touch my spot?"
He chuckled, and lowered his volume to match hers. "I will not touch your lovely little spot. I swear it. Not until you're in my arms of your own accord."
Which wasn't going to happen. Especially if he was going to behave himself...
"So," he said. "Will I see you Thursday?"
She stared at Sunflower IV until her vision blurred. "I guess you will."
"Brilliant. Now about those pantyhose..."
"Spike. Nobody wears pantyhose anymore."
"Pity. They do still sell them though, don't they? Came in an egg... Am I making that up?"
She couldn't help but laugh. "There was an egg I think, at some point. It was plastic, my Mom used to buy them, and I... can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."
He let out a contented breath. "I love to hear you laugh."
She bit her lip. War. War. War. War. War! "Don't mistake that for affection."
"I wouldn't dare," he said, voice soft and airy. "Sweet dreams, chaton."
As if he were whispering in her ear, her nipples stiffened and she felt a twinge between her legs.
He disconnected, and she pressed the phone against her smiling lips. His fantasy was to tear cheap pantyhose off of her body? It was so absurd, and yet... oddly innocent. Savagery excluded.
She slid a hand to her sex, squeezed her thighs together and fixed her gaze on the painting he'd given her. The setting sun gave it a depth she hadn't noticed before.
Several minutes later, at the onset of her climax, she heard Lindsey's key in the lock. She didn't stop.
As he walked into the loft, she wiped her slippery-wet fingers on her dress and let out a shaky exhale.
"Babe?"
"Come here."
When he found her, she yanked off his belt and sucked at him hungrily until he came into her mouth.
They didn't talk about Paris again.
Read on... >>
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.
Tags: crave, crave (teh filf), fanfiction, human au fic
@темы: Сперто. Без суда и следствия., spuffy, Spike, Buffy&Angel, Crave, NautiBitz, Buffy, fanfiction