Spike hit play, turned the volume knob all the way to the right, and Joan Jett sang, "Ahhh."
In time with the guitar riff, he slapped his face with aftershave.
Now I don't hardly know her
But I think I could love her
Hearing it blare from the guest house, Buffy smiled at her reflection, opened a tube of MangoLicious Gloss, and brushed it over her lips. Press, smack, kiss.
Crimson and clover
He coughed, waving at the cloud of deodorant billowing from under his arms.
Applying a light-brown mascara, she smeared some on her cheek. In her hurry to fix it, her makeup box spilled into the sink.
Now when she comes walking over
I've been waiting to show her
Damn, he was running out of clean clothes. He could've sworn there was one black t-shirt left... Yes. He sniffed it and pulled it over his head.
She flipped her hair and pushed tendrils out of her eyes. Or should they be in?
Crimson and clover
He pieced his platinum curls into straight, messy sections. Or should he comb it back?
Over and over
Spike winked at the mirror as he sang, "Yeah."
Buffy spun in a light perfume spritz. Adjusting her mini halter dress and taking a deep ready-or-not breath, she made for the stairs.
My my, such a sweet thing
I wanna do everything
What a beautiful feeling
Heartily singing along, Spike clicked off the bathroom light.
Crimson and clover, over and over
Buffy strode purposefully past the pool, hips switching to the beat.
Crimson and clover, over and over
Crimson and clover, over and
He opened the sliding door, and came face to face with Buffy.
Skin prickling, the air between them thick and tense, they stared at one another. Somebody had to make the first move.
As aggressive, driving guitars filled the brief silence, Buffy decided it would be her.
I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation
She grabbed his head and kissed him into action.
With his strong, suddenly very possessive hands lifting her dress and kneading her bare skin, she urged him into the guest house and slammed him ungracefully into the bureau. A lamp fell over.
A girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do
He laughed into her mouth. Bloody tiger in good-girl clothing.
She reached blindly into the drawer at his side and pulled out that long strip of Lifestyles. He snatched it out of her hand and tossed it onto the bed behind her.
Kissing her, threading his fingers through her hair, Spike untied the straps at the nape of her neck. As he peeled them down, exposing her pert breasts, she shivered at his brazen touch.
Eating her up, coasting his hands reverently over her goosebumping flesh, he squeezed her shoulders... and gave her a swift push.
Buffy landed on the bed, giggling and shielding her flushed face. If she weren't half naked beside a strip of condoms, she'd almost pull off 'demure'.
With a slow-spreading smirk, he pulled off his shirt, pounded his chest like King Kong to the beat of the music and theatrically outstretched his arms.
Then, he dove on top of her, eliciting a delicious scream.
And I'm only doin' good when I'm havin' fun
An' I don't have to please no one
Ardent, intoxicating kisses on her collarbone, neck, mouth... God, his lips, his tongue... Without realizing it she'd coiled her legs and arms around him, python-tight.
She was not going to let him go. E-ver.
But then he whispered, "I need to taste you," and she was somehow compelled to set him free.
Tongue teasing her nipples, working her into a frenzy, he hiked up her dress, then slid down her body, licking and nipping at her along the way.
He nuzzled his face between her legs. She squealed and tremored, bucking up and clamping her thighs at his ears.
He loved that she could be bashful and bold all at once.
Spike tried a slow seduction: bit at one string of her bikini thong, easing it down her leg with his teeth, but then his impatience won out. Lifting her legs in the air, he got the thong off in two yanks, spread her thighs -- gymnast split -- and descended. Tongue flat. Head wiggling.
"Ohhh! God!" Her back arched off the bed.
Fucking hell. She tasted like warm, tart honey, and he wished he could turn the music down -- wanted to hear everything, every moan, every shudder and sigh...
Encouraged, he pushed a finger into her, licked and sucked on her clit.
Buffy knew, just knew he'd be good at this... but she wasn't prepared for earthquaking good. At this rate he'd make her come in seconds, and it was too soon... she wanted him inside her first.
An' I'm never gonna care 'bout my bad reputation
He felt her feet under his arms, her hands on his ears, beckoning him toward her.
Well fine, he could do that too.
Spike rose to mount her, looked into her eyes, kissed her breath away. She tasted herself on his lips.
Palms on his flexing pectoral muscles, she pushed him up.
Panting, they held each others' gaze until her eyes slid down his chest to the outline of his hard-on, straining at his jeans. She bit her smiling lip and reached down to release him.
She couldn't undo the belt fast enough, so he swatted her hand away and did it himself.
Determined to help somehow, she looped her toes into his waistband and pushed his jeans down his thighs. Did he always go commando, or was he just prepared?
His naked cock bobbed in the air, and she took hold, feeling it pulse in her hands, thinking, it's like a work of art.
"Fuck," he breathed, and their eyes met.
She reeled him in, and he quivered -- he quivered! -- as his sensitive tip made first contact; so wet, so hot, so... Now.
He thrashed a hand at the bed, grabbed a plastic square, put it in his teeth, pulled.
She fished it out before he could. Put it in place and rolled it down like a pro, kittenish eyes on his.
Amazing, he thought. The girl can make even safe sex look sexy.
He captured her lips again, and nudged against her entrance as she urged him forward.
Their eyes rolled back, breath catching in unison.
She had to relax to take him all the way in -- big, but not ouch big.
Ooh... perfect big.
"Bloody... hell," he marveled as he was fully sheathed in the softest, tightest place he'd ever been. "Buffy..."
"Yeah," she whispered, curling her pelvis up to meet his exploratory thrusts.
"Shit, Buffy..." Faster. Deeper.
Eyes riveted on one another, she caressed his cheekbone. He shook his head, awestruck. Gulped. "Made for me."
Shy smile turning to saucy grin, she unclasped her ankles at his lower back and fastened them around his neck.
"Oh yeah," he affirmed, running his hands up her thighs and driving into her rhythmically. "No fucking question."
She giggled and gasped.
His breath heavy, hot in her face, he kissed her wherever he could, muttering incoherent words of desire, holding her ankles.
Teeth grit, he slowed his thrusts to make this last...
Through her lust-fog, Buffy was sure of one thing: Dru was a big fat liar. Or maybe Dru just wasn't woman enough for him -- for her Spike.
My Spike. Buffy liked the sound of that.
So why should I care bout a bad reputation - anyway
She pushed him up, and he looked down at her in question. Her answer: "On your back."
One corner of his mouth curled, and he did as she said. She sat up to a kneel, pulled her dress over her head, hair spilling sensually over her shoulders as she mounted him.
Naked. Glistening. A wet dream come true.
And speaking of wet... Jesus.
She guided his hands to her waist and dipped down to suck his tongue into her mouth as she ground her hips, wrung his cock expertly.
He held her fast, manipulating her movements. She straightened again, threw her head back, arching, buzzing at the high.
Spike fixated on her perfect tits, shining with sweat, bouncing in time with her hips.
Hot, secret whispers: "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Buffy--!"
Eyes shut tight, she dug her fingers into his chest. "Yes, yes yes yes yes! Spike!"
He pulled her close. "Look at me."
Flying, sailing, hurdling over a precarious edge, he watched her ecstatic eyes as she crashed and burned with him, louder than fire, hotter than a sonic roar.
END PART ONE