The sound of steel on cement echoed through the empty crypt, followed by the feral noises of raw lust as two entangled bodies stumbled recklessly inside.
Mouths fused, hands everywhere. His back hit a wall.
Finally there, she thought, then yanked off his jacket and got to work on his next layer, practically shredding the fabric from his chest.
Without losing contact with the Slayer's tenacious tongue, Spike wormed a hand up her top to grope a supple lace-covered breast.
Finally, he rhapsodized, intending to take her right then and there.
But Buffy had other ideas. She tore away from his embrace, pirouetting to the center of the crypt.
"Gonna burst into song, baby?" Panting, he eyed her lustily. "I was expecting that during, not before."
A sly grin curling her lips, she twirled.
And then she pulled her blouse over her head and tossed it in the air.
Spike caught it and rubbed the soft material against his cheek as he took one predatory step closer.
Eyes on him, Buffy unzipped her boots.
Shedding his t-shirt, Spike stalked towards her.
When he reached arm's length, however, she jump-kicked him in the gut, propelling him onto the floor. One boot fell with him. The other whizzed past his head.
Spike resigned to the hint that he could only watch as she continued her maddening striptease.
Back to him, hips churning to an internal rhythm, she gracefully unclasped her bra. He gulped as the straps slid down her honeyed shoulders. Holding the lace and satin loosely over her breasts, she twisted at the waist and let her hands fall.
God, she was beautiful.
The bra hit his chest with a snap. She'd aimed it at his heart.
"You want me?" she challenged with a quirk of her brow. "Gotta catch me first." She backflipped down the rabbit hole, into the bedroom below.
Little tease! Attempting to follow her and get his boots and jeans off simultaneously, he tripped onto his face.
* * *
Spike saw a pair of blue denims splayed across his bed, the owner of said denims nowhere to be found.
So she was playing hide and seek, was she?
"Slayer..." he singsonged, and spotted her panties hanging from an embedded coffin.
He plucked them from their perch and found them soaked with her arousal. Rubbing the slippery material between his fingertips, he searched the room. "Heeere, kitty, kitt--"
Suddenly, bare feet came hurdling towards him, sending him onto his back on the bed.
Buffy spiraled from the railing she'd been hanging from and straddled Spike to kiss him hungrily, her glorious, nude body in full contact with his.
Before he could react, she traveled down his body, took his shaft in her warm little hand and began to pump. Then, she licked up and down its length as if he were a lollipop, her red, swollen mouth seconds away from taking him in.
Spike couldn't believe what he was seeing, feeling... but there was no way in hell he was coming anywhere but inside her sweet depths.
The first time, at least.
He threw her off balance and overtook her, biting her lips with each bruising kiss.
Swiftly, she rolled them over again, fighting to be on top. In control.
Well, if that's what she wants...
Spike grabbed her by the hips, hoisted her up and dropped her over his face.
Embarrassed at first, she struggled. But he held fast, sliding his tongue along her silken folds, making her shake in pleasure.
Giving up the fight, she groaned his name.
With that prompting, he spread her thighs and explored more deeply the mystery of her; the one place he thought he'd never be allowed.
She began to agitate herself against his mouth, holding on to the wall, the headboard, anything in front of her for support.
As he feasted on her with abandon, as she sought more friction and release, a string of come oozed out of her and into his mouth.
He pushed her off of his face. As much as he relished being flooded by her delectable essence, she wasn't coming that way either the first time.
She whimpered, trying to return to the position that felt so good. "Why stopping? Stopping -- Why?"
He sat up, toppling her onto her back and poising himself above her. "Not stopping," he promised, smearing her mouth with her own juices. "Never stopping."
As the tip of his cock sought its target, she gasped, eyes wide. "Wait." She shoved him upwards. "You think I'm gonna let you do that?"
Spike paused, stunned. "You... you don't--?"
She laughed and wriggled away from him, turning onto her stomach and crawling towards the headboard.
He smirked and gave chase.
"I'm not gonna have sex with you! You're a big bad evil -- Aah!" Buffy's teasing sentiment was cut short by a hand grasping her hip, another pulling her by the waist.
He had her in his clutches, her back against his front. "Got you." He caressed her swollen clitoris.
She moaned and writhed against him. "P-please..."
Into her ear, he asked, "You wanna come?"
She nodded compulsively. "Yeah-huh."
"You'll have to let me in first."
"Unh," she agreed, still nodding.
"Unless you don't want--"
"I want," she said, hand on his neck, voice crackling with desire. "I want you so, so, so much..."
Spike's eyes rolled up and back, a shiver coursing through him. Hearing her say those words, to him...
"Turn 'round," he said. "I want to look at you."
She dutifully spun in his lap as he helped her get one leg past his chest. Buffy lay back against the pillow, pulling him down with her.
He angled himself against her. "Ready?"
Dazed eyes locked with his, she nodded.
With one powerful thrust, he was in.
Together, they cried out. Awash in their own ecstasy, they slowly came back to one another.
Buffy shuddered against him. "So so so good..."
The demon was gone, the 'musical' over -- so why was there an orchestra swelling in his head? Compelled to declare his love all over again, Spike kissed her and thrust a little harder, a little faster instead.
"More," she gasped, digging her fingers into his back.
He eagerly complied.
Buffy encouraged him by meeting every slam of his pelvis with equal ferocity, even matching his snarls with her own.
Spike's backup band began a crescendo.
But then one of her hands drifted down her front.
Spike grabbed it. "What you plannin' to do with this?"
"Wanna come," she whimpered.
"No need to do it yourself when I'm here."
"But you stopped -- with the mouth -- and I--"
He tsked her and sat up to spin her around, pressing her back against his chest once more. "There are a million other ways, Buffy." He threw her down, momentarily sidetracked by the delight of fucking her doggy style, and tugged her up by her hair.
Hands sliding across her sweat-soaked belly, he rolled one nipple in his fingertips, then heaved her down just so his bulbous tip struck her g-spot. She squealed.
"There's that," he whispered, then flipped her onto her back and brought her knees over his shoulders. Sucking greedily at her breast, he penetrated her, hitting her engorged clit with his abdomen. She held her breath.
"That's a personal favorite," he said, then took her with him as he lay on his back and sat her on his cock.
"But I think you might like this one best."
She said defiantly, "You think I haven't--?"
He straightened her legs until they passed his head, then tipped her backward until she was bowed completely, her hands steadied at his ankles.
"Oh," was all she could say.
After guiding her hips into the right series of movements, he let her take over.
"That's right baby," he encouraged. "That's the way."
Soon she was rocking against him in frenetic syncopation, and Spike could do nothing but sputter and gaze at the gorgeous expanse of her naked torso thrashing about on top of him.
Buffy yelled out with each delicious sensation, each one bringing her closer to the precipice she so desperately wanted to soar from. Before long, she found it. The "Oh GOD YES!" that accompanied her flight was music to his ears.
He knew he wouldn't be able to take the milking contraction of her slick walls around him for much longer.
"My turn," he said gruffly, maneuvering their positions again, penetrating her inviting sheath once more.
She quickly hooked her feet around his neck and slid her heels downward.
"Your favorite," she reminded him with a sated smile.
He shook his head. The girl was perfection, plain and simple.
Perfect, wet, soft, sweet, incredible, hot, tight, made for him, all his own--
Spike lost the little self-control he had left. Ramming into her wildly, tension escalating to a fever pitch, he roared out his release at last.
Buffy giggled underneath him.
"What's so funny?"
"You got bumpy for a second."
He blinked. "I did?"
"Last second. It was, 'not bumpy, not bumpy, oh god here I come -- bumpy, yes, yes, yes! -- not bumpy.'"
He chuckled. "Sorry. Can't much help it, I guess."
"I like it," she assured him, touching his forehead.
There was that orchestra again...
"Good to know," he said, attempting nonchalance. He fell onto his back beside her so she wouldn't see his elation.
She curled up to him like a contented kitten. "Well," she said, exhaling heartily. "That was..."
"Something to sing about?"
"OH yeah," Buffy said with great conviction. "Never thought I could hit those notes."
"I always knew you could." He squeezed her shoulder.
After a moment, she looked up at him hopefully. "So. Return to coda?"
He grinned and jumped on top of her. "Thought you'd never ask."