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Naked
By NautiBitz

Title: Naked

Author: NautiBitz (nautibitz.com/contact.html)

Show | Pairing | Rating: Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Spike/Buffy | NC-17/M (not for kids)

Summary: Buffy and Spike share a motel room while investigating a vampire slave ring. My contribution to a multi-author series.

Timeline: I don't think we ever established a definite timeline, but it's probably mid-Season 5, before Buffy and Spike became an item on the show.

Originally Published/Completed: September 2001

Genres: Smut, Romance, Comedy

Length: 3,911 words

Author's Note: This is my contribution to a round robin series called "Ring Around the Buffy", started by Annamarie of OGD, that died in the water a few chapters after mine. I put it here because I think it can stand on its own. Check it out from the beginning here, and read the unofficial (but complete!) continuation via the links at the end of this chapter.

The Story So Far: In an effort to save an abducted Tara, Buffy and Spike have road-tripped to Las Vegas to infiltrate a vampire-run human slavery ring. They've checked in to the hotel where the slave auctions will be held; slept in the same bed once (no nookie); Buffy reluctantly acted the part of Spike's slave; a worried Willow showed up uninvited, decked out in Evil!Willow gear and a vampiric glamour; Spike was taken with Will's new look and the newly-brunette Buffy got SO NOT jealous; she then found a towel-clad Spike in their shared hotel room, and in mid-argument/flirtation, ripped off his towel and shoved him outside the door. Whew! What happens now?

Distribution: Links only, please. Do not reprint. Do not post translations. Thanks!

Disclaimer: You know the drill. 20th Century Fox Corp owns everyone but me.

Rights: I do not own these characters or the worlds they inhabit. However, the text I have written is not YOURS to paste into your own fic in any way, shape or form. That is called plagiarism, and it is not cool. Not that YOU would ever do that, because YOU are awesome. Obviously. :)

Feedback: Always welcome.

Buffy laughed blithely, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the hotel room door.

"Buffy," she heard Spike reason calmly from the hallway. "Let me in."

"Sorry," she replied breezily. "I don't allow naked men in my room."

"Come on now," he ground out. "Appearances, remember? What'll I tell the vampire guest who'll inevitably walk by any bleedin' minute now?" His last words turned harsh, angry.

"You can tell them that you just 'appear' to be naked."

"Dammit, Slay -- ve!"

She burst into laughter, punctuated by an 'aaah'. "Good cover."

He banged at the door. "Let me in!"

"Na-ah. This is way too much fun."

"Fun." Spike exhaled, and tried a different tack. "Tell me something, Buffy."

She was silent for a moment. "What?"

"Did you know you always wanted me this much, or is it your seething jealousy that brought it out?"

The door flew open. "I am NOT jeal--!"

He jumped through the entryway and overtook her against the closet. "Gotcha."

She shoved him off. "Get your naked parts away from me."

"My 'parts' wouldn't be naked if you hadn't undressed me," he pointed out, leaning against the opposite closet. Cocking a brow, he asked, "So what's this about you wanting me?"

"I only said that to trick you," she huffed.

"Into ogling my naughty bits?"

"I didn't... 'ogle'." She walked towards the bed. "And I don't want you."

"Yeah, whatever. Look," he said as he picked up his towel and rewrapped it around his waist, "much as I love a good mindfuck every now and then, you and I have work to do."

"When will you get it through your head that there IS no 'you and'--" Buffy spun around. "Huh?"

"Work. Preparation? We have no real plan to speak of and a damsel in distress we have to save."

She straightened indignantly. "I have a plan."

"Yeah? Wanna let me in on it?"

"Okay." She tilted her chin. "We find Tara, then we dust them all."

"All three hundred of them."

"Uh-huh," she said, facade crumbling.

He scoffed. "Great plan."

"Okay, so what's your brilliant plan?"

"First things first. We have to prepare you."

"Prepare me?"

"Slave custom, appearance, etiquette, all that. Should've done it before but we didn't get the chance."

"You're enjoying this entirely too much."

"Maybe I am. But that's not the point." He approached her. "This is serious business here. Those vampires aren't playing around. If we screw up, we're in deep trouble. You, me, and your pretty witch pals."

'Pretty'? He'd never used that word before to describe... Not jealous. "I know."

"Good. So let's put everything aside and concentrate on the work at hand."

Buffy sighed. "Fine. What do we have to do?"

"Well first, I have to bite you. Then I have to teach you the right way to walk, talk, sit--"

"Whoa. Whoa, whoa whoa whoa whoa!" She put her hands up. "You have to bite me?"

He nodded soberly. "Yeah."

"And why exactly, other than the fact that this is probably the premise of your wettest dream?"

He smiled. "Actually..." He shook his head. "Hear me out, Slayer. There are two types of slaves here. The kind you feed on, and the kind you fuck. Which one would you rather be?"

She blinked at him, eyes lowering to his towel and quickly returning to his face. "Neither?"

"We're putting you on display tomorrow, and you have to prove your worth. Either you let me bite you in front of them, or you get down on your knees and--"

A speeding fist connected with his nose.

"Ow," Spike said, gingerly touching her target.

"Sorry, reflex," she explained curtly.

"Yeah, well, you get the point? Obviously you don't want--" He stepped back. "The other thing."

"I get it. But I still don't see why you have to bite me tonight."

"The only reason we made it through the night is you've got those scars," he pointed at her neck.

She covered her throat, suddenly shamed by her three vampire-inflicted scars. While every other mark on her body healed and disappeared, those stayed, like badges of dishonor.

"You need fresh ones, or they'll wonder what I've been doing with you all night."

"You can say you're creative," she offered. "You bit me somewhere else."

He smiled, the idea of biting her elsewhere distracting him momentarily. "Love to, but it has to be the neck. It's a mark of ownership."

She scrutinized him suspiciously. "How do you know so much about slaves anyway?"

"Let's not get off the subject, pet." He stepped closer to her.

"Well this is an absurd subject! You can't bite me, even if I let you."

"Can't I?" he asked, eyes fixed on her neck.

He was too close. She was getting nervous. "Not unless there's something important you haven't told me that'll make me have to stake you."

"Oh, the chip. If I don't intend to hurt you--"

"Newsflash, Einstein. Biting hurts."

His hand trailed down her shoulder, feather light. "Hurts bad?" He trailed it back up. "Or hurts good?"

She shivered unintentionally, remembering Dracula. And... Angel. Okay, so she wasn't really thinking about the pain when they... "Bad?"

He chuckled, looping her hair behind her ear and whispering into it, "Once more, with conviction."

This wasn't good. "Spike," she began, much more breathlessly than she'd intended it.

"Yeah?" he asked huskily, running a finger down her neck.

She pushed him back, hand on his chest. "One bite. And not too deep or too long, or I beat you to a bloody pulp. Got it?"

He nodded, stuck on the words 'deep' and 'long.' "Where do you want to do it?"

Buffy looked around awkwardly. "Um, right here, I guess."

"You sure? Maybe we should be--"

"Spike."

"Alright, have it your way. Now," he instructed, feeling a change come over his features. "Clear your mind. Don't think about the pain."

"Uh-huh." She shut her eyes tightly.

He pulled back. "Relax, Buffy."

"I am relaxed!"

"Love, your heartbeat could outrun the buggery Grand Prix."

She exhaled a laugh.

"That's better."

"Will you just do it before I change my mind? Your demon face is way ugly."

Spike pulled her close and tight against his body. "S'that mean you like my human face?"

Before she could retort, he'd pierced her throat with his teeth.

She cried out, mostly in surprise. No pain, no pain, no pain, she told herself. And amazingly, there was none.

He maneuvered her roughly against the wall, convulsing and shaking her body along with his.

Her blood was exquisite. Pure. Hot. Powerful.

Delicious.

With a heady moan, she kneaded his shoulder blades, nails biting into his skin. Feeling something very hard and very large push against her thigh, Buffy found herself moving to accomodate it, to accomodate him, between her legs.

Rumbling like a jungle cat, he ground into her clothed heat as she bucked forward to meet him.

In the back of his mind, Spike recognized that this was the premise of his wettest dreams, but the demon in him was focused on the slayer blood coating his esophagus. He held her tighter and sucked harder as he pressed his body fiercely against hers.

She whimpered, sliding her fingers down his back and resting them on the hem of his towel, which unceremoniously fell to the floor. When she wrapped her legs around him, he knew. He knew she wanted it too.

The man in Spike overpowered the monster and his fangs retracted. "Buffy," he gasped, overcome with lust.

Buffy tried to think clearly. He'd stopped sucking, they were still there against the wall, he was naked -- and she was about thirty seconds away from tearing off all of her clothes. Now he was sneaking a hand under her shirt to cup her breast while raining kisses all over her face.

When he went for her mouth, she shot her head back.

He tried to read her expression.

"No," she said emphatically, and pushed him hard enough to propel him backwards onto the bed.

Spike propped himself up on his elbows and blinked at her.

Breathing heavily, Buffy touched her wounded neck. Her lower lip trembling, she stared with wide eyes at her blood-stained fingers, then at Spike. She straightened her shirt. "This isn't gonna happen."

"Buffy--"

"No," she said again, rushing over to her suitcase to grab her toiletry bag.

"I didn't mean to--"

"Stop. Just -- don't." She didn't look at him. "We'll talk shop tomorrow," she called in an unsteady voice before heading to the bathroom and locking the door behind her.

Spike flopped his head back onto the bed. "Great. Bloody just great."

* * *

"And now, the next item for your viewing pleasure," the emcee barked jovially, "Master Spike's latest conquest."

A burst of applause rang through the hall.

Buffy peered out from her place in the wings, and looked at Spike standing beside her. He'd put on his vamp face, but she could tell he was scared. This wasn't good. If he was scared...

Before she could finish that thought, he'd tugged her by her collar out to center stage.

An interested murmur rippled through the crowd, and Buffy squinted into the lights to scan the audience. Vampires seated at tables, drinking blood martinis, leering at her.

"Spin around for the nice people, pet," Spike said. "Let 'em get a good look."

She obeyed and turned slowly, feeling naked and exposed.

"She's too skinny!" a man called out.

"Not nearly enough to snack on!" an amused woman added.

"Master Spike?" the emcee asked. "Why don't you give us a sample of what she's good for?"

"She's only good for one thing," Spike said smugly, and pushed Buffy onto her knees. His voice dropped to a lower register. "But she's very good at it."

Before her eyes, he unzipped his leather pants and bared his thick cock.

She gulped. This wasn't the plan...

"Spike?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Go on," Spike ordered. "Don't keep your audience waiting, girl."

In what felt like slow motion, she took it into her hands, and pressed her lips against its velvety tip. Opening her mouth, she dutifully brought him in.

"That's a good girl," he encouraged.

Spike wrapped his hand behind her head, prodding her on as she expertly bobbed against his pelvis.

"As you can see," she heard the emcee say, "she may not be suckable, but she really knows how to suck!"

The audience laughed and applauded wildly.

"And now for the best part," Spike said, and jumped on top of her.

Suddenly, they were naked and in their hotel room, fucking feverishly as he sucked on her neck.

I'm dreaming, Buffy realized, and woke up with a start.

No, dream good. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself back into the dream.

No luck.

As she realized where she was, Buffy suddenly felt very guilty for wanting to continue a sex dream with Spike. Speaking of Spike...

Thankfully not beside her, but close, and most likely awake. The television was on, providing the only light and sound in the room. Except for that little gasp...

She turned quietly in bed to see him slouched in the armchair beside the bed, eyes shut tight. His hand jerked in staccato rhythm under the sheet that just barely covered his hips.

He isn't. Her eyes grew huge. He is!

She knew she shouldn't be watching. But it was so intriguing: the ecstasy on his face, the wild abandon in his movement...

He accelerated his pace, faster, faster, faster, until the sheet fell away. "Buffy," he choked, and opened his eyes.

She detected surprise and a hint of embarrassment in his eyes before a more familiar expression took over. Now, she couldn't pretend she hadn't been watching, that she wasn't still watching as he continued to pump, as his come shot recklessly into the air and settled on his chest and abdomen.

He kept his eyes on hers until the last drop was expelled.

Buffy was mesmerized.

"Like what you see?" he finally asked in the raspy, predatory voice she'd only heard once before, in her dream.

"No," she croaked hoarsely, then cleared her throat. "I was just..."

"Fascinated? Turned on?" He sat up. "Wet?"

As well as she could, Buffy restored her trademark indignance. "Hardly."

"Nice try," he said with a smug smile. "I can smell you from here."

She tried to think of a good retort, but all she could come up with was, "Well, good for you."

"No argument there," he said with a satisfied sigh, folding his arms behind his head. "Now, then. Are you gonna sit there with your mouth open all night or are you gonna make yourself useful?"

Buffy scoffed. "Excuse me? Could you be any more presumptuous?"

"Actually, I was gonna ask you to throw me the tissues and my smokes."

"Oh."

"But I like your idea better."

"No, no..." Buffy reached over to the bedside table for his requests, then flung them his way.

He popped a cigarette into his mouth while he cleaned himself. Buffy wrinkled her nose at the display, but didn't turn away.

"So, Buffy," he said, flipping his lighter open and tossing the wadded tissues into the trashcan. "Now that we're on such intimate terms, why don't you tell me about the dream you just had."

She felt her cheeks redden. "Huh?"

"Your dream. You were moaning my name," he said with unabashed pride. "Again."

She hadn't called his name... had she? "You're lying."

"I'm not. Why do you think this happened?" He motioned to his crotch.

"Uh, because you're a pig?"

He chuckled, undeterred. "The dream," he reminded her.

She shrugged. "I don't remember it."

"A likely story."

"I don't!" She sat up. "Something about a Grail, and oh -- killer bunnies," she prattled, grabbing inspiration from her previous dream.

Exhaling a stream of smoke, he looked her in the eye. "Yeah, Monty Python always gets me hot, too."

She shook her head and rolled over. "Goodnight, Spike."

"Well," he said, wrapping the sheet around his hips as he rose and moved towards the bed. "Scooch over then."

"No way!"

"This is my bed too, you know."

"Not while I'm in it."

"Look," he pleaded, "I'm--"

"Naked?"

"No..."

"Spent?"

He couldn't disagree with that. "Right. And now I need my beauty sleep."

She snorted, rolling to the opposite side of the bed. "If you think it'll help."

As he stretched out beside her he said, "Now, no more moaning my name or I'll be forced to make your dream come true."

"You'll die trying," she warned with a yawn.

"Be worth it," he said simply.

Drifting off to sleep, she said, "Yeah."

Spike lifted his brow, and smiled wide.

* * *

Buffy's eyes fluttered open. Must be morning, she thought regretfully. So comfy.

Sighing, she nuzzled against the firm pillow she was cuddling. The one that was also... cuddling her?

Not a pillow. Spike.

She assessed her position. One hand grasping his shoulder, one bare thigh draped possessively over his loins. His very naked loins.

His strong, muscled arms held her tight.

Buffy closed her eyes. A very persuasive part of her didn't want to move. Ever.

As long as he didn't wake up for a while, she could stay...

A hand ran tenderly through her hair. Damn, Buffy thought.

Lifting her head, she noticed the small pool of saliva she'd left on his chest. She wiped the corner of her mouth and looked up, redfaced.

"Morning, Sunshine." He smiled at her. "Cozy?"

Without warning, she shoved him out of bed and onto the floor.

"What?!"

"You did this!"

"I did not! I woke up just now, same as you, with you all wrapped around me like a bleedin' Hot Pocket!"

"I--" she started, flustered. "Well it's the way I slept with Riley every night. Obviously I forgot who you were."

Quietly, he asked, "Then why didn't you move the second you realized it was me?"

She stared at him and his perfect, chiseled body. He had a point there.

"Because," she said, wracking her brain for a good explanation.

The phone rang. Right. The wake up call. Buffy exhaled in relief.

"Saved by the bell," he said as he stood and brought the receiver to his ear. "For now."

* * *

"This feels kinda weird," a frowning Willow said as she held up the studded dog collar intended for Buffy's neck. "Dressing you up to put you on sale?"

"Tell me about it," Buffy said.

"Feels fine to me," Spike offered, nibbling on a cracker from the room service food cart.

Buffy snapped, "Who asked you?"

He sent her a cocky grin. "Who asked you, what?"

"Who asked you... Asshole?"

He approached her and said with seductive menace, "Better watch your mouth, missy."

"Or what? You'll scold me?"

He idly rubbed his chest. "I'll tell Red here about the Drool Incident."

In the stunned silence that followed, Willow's curiosity got the best of her. "The... 'Drool Incident'?"

Glaring at Spike, Buffy punched him, hard.

"Goddamn it!" he shouted, wiping away noseblood. "The auction's in a sodding hour! Slayer bruises aren't exactly the height of fashion at these things!"

"You can say I gave them to you, Lover," Willow drawled sexily. "Sometimes I just can't control myself."

Spike brightened and commended, "Good thinking Will."

Buffy crossed her arms and repeated, "'Lover?'"

"Sorry," Willow deferred. "Just... gettin' into character."

"Could you not be that character until we've got an audience, please?"

Spike leaned in to Willow conspiratorially. "Makes her jealous." Willow nodded, smiling.

"I am NOT jealous!" Buffy stomped her foot.

She was met with two skeptical expressions.

"I'm not! God, do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me? I've been practicing being Little Slave Girl all afternoon. To Spike!" Buffy explained, pointing at the offending vampire, then at Willow. "And you. I am not accustomed to this! I've never spent so much time on my knees in my life!"

Spike grinned. "But--"

"DON'T even go there," Buffy interrupted quickly.

He shrugged and walked back to the food tray.

"Asshole," Buffy said under her breath before pulling her hair back to let Willow attach the collar.

"I heard that," Spike said, stabbing a cube of cheese with a toothpick.

"Buffy, just remember that we're doing this for -- What's that?" Willow asked, staring her friend's neck.

"What's what?" Buffy touched her neck. "Oh, that. It's nothing. Spike had to bite me. For, you know, authentic slave appearance." She added, "Or so he says."

"He bit you?" She turned to Spike. "You bit her?"

"Necessary evil," Spike explained coolly.

"But -- you can't -- the, the chip -- he can't!"

"He can. Under certain uh, controlled types of circumstances," Buffy stammered.

Spike shot her a devious grin.

"But -- ouch?" Willow pointed out.

"Who, me or her?" Spike asked casually.

"Her! You! Both of you!"

"Actually," Spike said, "it was fun for everyone."

"Spike!"

"Buffy?" Willow asked searchingly. "Fun?"

"Let's just drop it, okay?" Buffy begged.

Willow looked back and forth between the two, then shook it off. "Okay." She clasped the collar shut.

"So, am I slavey?"

Willow took in Buffy's new ensemble -- tight red leather and chains, revealing in just the right places, but enough cover for a few strategically placed stakes. "Definitely slavey."

Spike strode around her. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "As long as it pleases you, Master."

He stopped, arousal evident on his face. "Oh, it does."

"Stop leering at me," Buffy said, shifting uncomfortably. "What?"

"Just thinkin' about how much I can get for you."

Laughing, he ducked a swift right jab.

* * *

Buffy obediently followed Spike through the convention hall. Of course, she had no choice, as her collar was attached to the leash he pulled with great zeal.

Identification was now pinned to her front. She was #46, and the slaves around her numbered up to the three hundred mark. She shuddered to think of how many innocent people had been captured, how many had died at the hands of these psychopaths.

"Bored now," Willow announced, running a finger down Buffy's cheek, the one they'd darkened with bruise-colored makeup. "Think I'll go find someone to drink."

Which meant she was going to scan the room for Tara.

"Alright, love," Spike said distractedly. "Just be back in time for the show."

Buffy followed Spike's steely gaze to a dark, oversized vampire surrounded by several cronies and slaves. His commanding presence made it clear that he was a highly regarded Master.

Spike bristled. When he tugged on Buffy's leash twice -- the code for Trouble with a capital T -- she mentally checked off the placement of each one of her hidden stakes.

"Come," he said to Buffy. "I want you to meet someone."

He sauntered towards the vampire with Buffy in tow. The crowd parted. "Anton," he said.

Anton eyed Spike warily. "William the Bloody."

"Been a while," Spike said.

"Sixty, seventy years?"

Spike nodded once. "Give or take."

Anton's lips curled into an ugly grin. "I trust you've all heard of Spike," he said to his entourage. They nodded and murmured in salutation, some in obeisance. "Last I heard, you were in Sunnydale, aligned with... the Slayer."

Spike laughed and replied confidently, "Yeah. That's what she thought, too. Got the little chit right where I wanted her."

"Is that so?" Anton asked, voicing Buffy's first distrustful reaction.

He's just acting, Buffy reminded herself. This was not the time to start questioning Spike's motives. Surreptitiously, she studied Anton. Expensive suit. Butt-ugly face. When she caught his eye, she immediately looked down.

"She's a pretty one," Anton said, nodding at Buffy. "A little thin..."

"Tasty, though," Spike said. "And compliant. She was a real bitch to capture, resistant as hell."

"Ah, but that makes the conquest so much sweeter." Anton accosted Buffy and held her chin to roll her head from side to side. She avoided his eyes, but her anger was difficult to contain. "Yes, she has a fire, I can tell. You haven't broken her completely."

Oh, I'll break you completely, Buffy thought bitterly.

Anton said, "Not the rarest of creatures, but I like her."

"Well, she's on the block next hour," Spike said. Buffy bared her neck at his prompting.

"And you're willing to give her up?" Anton asked, trailing a finger down Buffy's new bitemarks.

Spike shrugged. "Time for new blood."

"Yes, I also like to keep my stable... fresh. Perhaps we could arrange a trade. Have you seen my latest aquisition? Nice and plump." He snapped his fingers, and a young, rubinesque girl appeared at his side. Buffy saw her outfit first. Black latex strips that left nothing to the imagination, full breasts entirely exposed. She looked up to attach a face to that scandalous ensemble.

Buffy's eyes widened, and the name fell out before she could stop it. "Tara?"

The corner of Tara's mouth lifted in a lazy smile as she affectionately rubbed her cheek against Anton's arm. "Buffy," she said haughtily, then frowned. "What happened to your hair?"

"Buffy?" Anton repeated loudly, a sneer on his face. "Buffy?!"

The entire hall went deadly quiet.

"The Slayer!" someone shouted, pointing an accusing finger.

Buffy and Spike froze in place.

Time for Plan B... Or is it C?

 

 

 

 

 

THE END



This story was continued by Rabid here,
and concluded by Anaunthe here.

 

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