by Snakecharmer (email@example.com)
Song lyrics are from Joni Mitchell's song "A Case Of You."
Summary: Response to NautiBitz's fill in the blanks between "Smashed" and "Wrecked" Challenge.
Spoilers: Season 6, "Wrecked"
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Twentieth Century Fox Corp., Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Just before our love got lost you said
I am as constant as a northern star
and I said constantly in the darkness?
Where is that at? If you want me I'll be in the bar
Through the haze of dust and passion in the abandoned house they came together, finally, in a blaze of pain and lust and anger and heat. She stayed on top of him once they landed on the floor below amidst the rubble. She clenched herself tight around his hard shaft. Jesus, he'd stayed in her as they fell. He grabbed a handful of her hair to bring her face down to kiss him again but she sat up and looked down at him.
"Kiss me," he whispered, leaning up. He needed to taste her mouth, warm lips against his cool ones.
"Shut up," she hissed, pushing herself down on his hard erection. Neither were aware of the walls that continued to crumble around them. The foundation was shaken to the core. Her eyes were closed tight. Sweat glistened on her forehead. He wanted her to look at him.
"Take your shirt off then," he whispered instead. That she complied with. Easier than kissing him, he thought, feeling drunk on her. He watched her pull her top off. She was wearing a pale blue lace bra. She took that off too, without looking at him, and he cupped her breasts in her hands. For a minute their bodies stilled, and her mouth was open in a wide O of pleasure, head thrown back, eyes shut tight. He put his hands on her hips and she shivered as he lifted his hips up so he was as far into her as he could go. His eyes drank in the site of her. Finally their eyes met and held, blue crashing with green.
"Stop looking at me like that," she finally said angrily, her voice a raw whisper, and she closed her eyes and began to ride him again. Spike watched her face, flushed and alive, and he thought she had never looked more beautiful. He gazed at her, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumb caressing her nipple. Cor, she was perfect. Her lips were full and wet and he needed to taste them. He sat up, keeping himself deep in her as he held her to him, and he captured her lips softly with his own. With an oath she jerked her face away from his.
"Stop it! Don't be nice to me," Buffy said harshly, pulling her mouth away. "Just fuck me." Tears sprang up in her eyes and she blinked them away. "You fucking... monster. Bite me if you want. But don't look at me with love. Don't kiss me with tenderness. It makes me sick." Her eyes were cold and bright. Angry, Spike yanked her head back with his hair.
"That all you need from me, Slayer? A good shag? A cold hard fuck? Like a fucking animal? Right, you got it then." In one fluid, effortless motion, he pulled himself away from her and spun her around so she was on her hands and knees in front of him. A jagged nail cut her knee. Then he was in her from behind, rough and angry. He shoved her black leather skirt up around her waist, pushed her panties aside, and thrusted into her, hard, and she was groaning, so tight and hot and wet around his cock that he almost came.
"This what you wanted, Slayer?" he whispered, feeling her tight ass against his pelvis.
"Fuck you," she hissed, and rammed up against him hard. Jesus, he thought dimly. The pleasure was too much. He leaned down and breathed into her ear, "I'm fucking you, Slayer. You love it. Who's the monster now?" He wanted to make her come again, he wanted to hurt her, he wanted her so goddamn much.
"Grab my hair," she moaned, riding back against him. Shocked, stunned, loving every bleeding second of this dance, he bit his lip, trying to hold back his orgasm as he grabbed her long blond hair and yanked her head back, pulling hard as he drove into her, grunting. She screamed then, found her release yet again, and then he was coming in her, his Slayer, his love, brutally and angrily coming in her, shattering in her.
Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you, darling
And I would still be on my feet
Oh I would still be on my feet
When he came to he became aware of the warmth curled into him. The pain from lying on broken wood and cement will come later, he realized. Now he only knew how good it felt to lie with her in silence. She lay spooned against him, her back against his chest, and she was sleeping. He was hard again, he realized, as she stirred against him in her sleep. He kissed her bare shoulder, let his lips linger there. She tasted like rain. He kissed the side of her neck, gently, knowing if she woke she would reject any hint of gentleness, so he did it now while she slept.
"Buffy," he whispered, pressing his face into her hair, breathing in the scent of her. "God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I hurt you."
"Don't be sorry," she whispered back, and he pulled away, shocked. She was awake.
"Kiss my neck again," she said softly. He hesitated for about a half a second, and then gently kissed the graceful curve of her neck. He felt the blood pulsing under his mouth. He sucked on her neck, nipping gently as the bloodlust rose in him, and he heard her moan.
"Harder," she insisted urgently, and he stopped. Somehow he stopped himself. He shook his head as he turned her to face him. Her hands were under his shirt, feeling his flat stomach. Her nails raked him and he sucked in his breath.
"Why did you stop?" she said sadly. He just looked at her, touched her face, wanting her to understand that it was so much more for him than that.. She withdrew, he saw it, saw the closing off. Then her hands were pushing his pants down, off him completely, and then she was pulling his shirt off over his head. The shock that Buffy was undressing him was nothing compared to a few seconds later when she took him in her mouth. He lay there, naked, exposed, while she sucked him. He didn't give a bloody shite that he'd never make it to heaven because this here, this was bliss on earth.
"Jesus, Slayer," he moaned.
"Tell me what to do," she said, pulling away to look up at him. Her eyes were large, full of shadows.
"Keep doin' what you were doin, then." It was another kind of heaven, almost as good as being inside her.
"I'm not very... experienced with this."
Aw, love, he thought silently. "Just not too hard... slower, Pet... oh, Christ, Buffy...." he gasped as she cupped his balls gently with her hand while she sucked. She may not have a lot of experience, but her instincts guided her, and it was delicious, to look down and see her down there, it pushed him near madness. She licked, and sucked, and he wanted to cry from how good it felt. He tried to pull her head away.
"I'm gonna come, luv... please stop for a second... fucking stop.... I can't wait..."
She smiled up at him, a strange little smile, and then closed her mouth on his throbbing cock again, brought him so deep in her mouth that he hit the back of her throat. She would not let him go. When she moaned and pulled him in again, as far as he'd ever been inside a woman's mouth, he yelled her name and came. Felt like he fucking died right there. Hard, frenzied, mad, beautiful... a glorious death.
She moved up and lay against his naked form. She held on to him. She was smiling... actually smiling, against him, he could feel it.
"I'm sorry, luv... I couldn't hold it." His voice shook slightly.
"I didn't want you to," she whispered into his neck. "I wanted to taste you." She kissed his neck where his vein would be pulsing with life if he wasn't already dead. She bit him there, she bit and sucked, and the dance began again. He needed no time to recover, he was already growing hard. She bit him as he unzipped her leather skirt and pushed it off her.
He pulled her panties down.
"These are mine now, love," he said, tossing them near his pants, and she laughed. Her laughter turned to a moan of pleasure when he touched her between her legs where she was soaking, throbbing wet.
"Do you like that, pet?" he said, gently pressing against her swollen clit. She lay naked beside him, and he watched her move beneath his fingers. Her nipples were taut, hard. He lowered his head and bathed them with his tongue while he touched her.
"Don't come yet," he said to her. He bit her nipple, softly. She bucked against him a little.
"Stay still, my sweet. Stay still." He moved on top of her. He kissed her everywhere. His lips led a trail of fire from her breasts to her navel. But his mouth did not move below that. He tortured her with teasing kisses, reveling in the power he had over her. She tasted like honey, like light, sweeter than any blood, any wine, any thing his mouth had ever known.
"Spike..." she sighed, her voice hoarse, her hands now in his curly hair, pushing him into her. "Please...." Buffy raised her hips in invitation, pleading with him to taste her down there.
"You're so wet, love. Shall I taste how wet you are?"
"Now," she moaned. Finally, he licked her between her perfect legs, his tongue parting the soft folds until it found her clit. He tasted it, tasted her, and she held his head close to him as she writhed and came. And came again. Still he licked, addicted to her taste, and when she came again she screamed his name and then was still. With the taste of her all over his face, on his lips, he rested his head on her belly and fought the sleep that threatened to take him. He had found her, he had found home here, and it was better than any dream. He would not fall asleep now, for fear she would be gone when he woke.
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid
Her hands toyed absently with his hair as they lay naked together. Time meant nothing. He may have been resting his head on her belly for a minute, or an hour, or a year. Finally she spoke.
"I'm afraid," she said. He raised his head up and stared up at her. He kissed her stomach, then moved up to look her in the eyes.
"Let me hold you," he whispered, almost a plea, and she let him wrap her in his embrace.
"I thought I needed to be punished. I came back wrong, you said, and you were right," she said against his chest. The sadness in her voice... he caused that, and he flinched. He felt bad. He felt... guilt.
"Buffy," he said, but she stopped his apology with a kiss.
"You are the only one who understands. The only one who will tell me the truth." She kissed him again. "You are the only one who makes me feel alive," she whispered against his mouth. "I think it was always you." He held her too him and this time when he kissed her softly with love she did not turn away. This time when he looked at her with tenderness she did not tell him to stop.
I remember that time you told me, you said,
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
'Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
"I don't want you to love me," she said later that night, after they had made love up standing up against the wall downstairs, so hard and crazed that most of the structure shook and fell. They couldn't stop doing things to each other. In this house of crumbling walls through the night they frantically beat back death, and pain, and they felt alive. And he hoped she felt, a little bit, loved.
Her words were muffled in his chest. He sighed and grinned. His body was sore. He loved it. "I know the feeling, pet. I don't want it much either, but... well, there you are."
"It's not love, Spike. You know that," she said drowsily.
"Probably not," he lied.
"I feel drugged," she whispered. "I feel like this is the only place on earth."
That's how it is for me whenever I see you, pet, he wanted to say, but he didn't. He just sighed and held her tighter. Spike wanted to say he was sorry, for so much. To apologize for his darkness, but he said nothing, because he did not know where to begin, or how to form the words. Besides, she had dozed off again. He stroked her back, ran his hands over her firm behind, felt the scratches there. Deep, painful scratches that he had given to her earlier (When? An hour ago? During which crazed bout of lovemaking? He could not remember.) after she told him to draw blood. He would not bite her, would not give in, knew she was asking out of despair and would regret it. And, he had his own bits of darkness left in him that he didn't want to explore tonight. Christ, what if he couldn't stop drinking from her once he started? What if the beast was stronger than the man he wanted to be? So she had taunted him, called him weak, and he turned her over and he scratched her ass hard, and he licked the trail of blood he had created. It had tasted so fucking good, so warm, so sweet, but not as sweet as her, the essence of her. That was his holy wine.
I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said,
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed"
Now, later, as she dozed, he kissed her forehead and stroked her bare back tenderly. And the last thing Spike thought he'd ever feel, he felt, right before she woke up. He lay with his eyes closed, knowing soon she would wake. And he just felt something so alien to him... he felt at peace. He didn't hate himself for his weakness, not now anyway. It just felt right. And with this strange, alien feeling of peace came hope. Maybe... just maybe... it was the beginning of something good. Something remarkable.
Oh but you are in my blood
You're my holy wine
You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet
Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
He prayed she would not wake and regret what had happened. It meant too much to him, and for her to turn back now would kill him... and he'd make a bloody mess of it all on top of that. So he lay, sore and sated, scratched and bruised, bitten even. He grinned to himself. She'd bitten him on the neck. His little vamp. His little love. He lay there, eyes closed, a smile on his lips, and he waited for her morning to come.
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