Spike reached for his pack of smokes, a big smile on his face. She'll be mine soon enough, he thought dreamily. Soon as she realizes it isn't just me who wants this...
Spike's smile faded. But she'll never realize that, will she?
He knew he had to accept that Buffy would never stop thinking of him as a mistake, as a truckstop on the highway to happiness, as a--
High, electronic blip tweeting The Flight of the Bumblebee?
"What the hell?" Spike sat up and scanned his crypt suspiciously.
"So the chip's rigged to torture me with Rimsky-Korsakov 'fore it blows my brains out," he surmised defeatedly. "Always wondered how they planned to do me in."
Then he realized it was coming from somewhere in the bed.
Fuck. Of course. The phone.
He picked it up and hesitated, wondering whether the owner was trying to track it down. "Your fault for leavin' it at the bloody theater," he mumbled.
Touching the talk button he'd spent an hour trying to find earlier, Spike tentatively brought the device to his ear. "Hello?"
"Um," a familiar voice began. "About that thing... you know. With my tongue?"
It was Buffy.
It was Buffy?
It was Buffy!
"Right," Spike said, amazed into near-speechlessness. He cleared his throat. "About that..."
"Which thing are we talking about, exactly?"
He sat back against his pillow and tossed his unlit cigarette aside. "I think you know which thing, love."
He could hear her smile. "The thing you really, really liked?"
"That's the one."
"The thing you made me do more than once."
His cock jumped, and he took hold of it. It was still slick with baby oil and come. "That thing."
"Okay... First, I want you to lick your fingers for me."
Spike grinned. "Well, I never."
"Oh yes you have."
"Yeah. I have." He licked his fingers.
"Now take two fingers, and run them around the head of your cock... Are you doing it?"
"Are you kidding?" Of course he was doing it.
Buffy chuckled, and added in a soft, slow lilt, "Imagine it's my tongue... circling the tip..."
Suddenly, Spike was at her mercy. "Fuck, Buffy..."
"But we're not even there yet..."
"Oh, I know..."
"I slide down, I take you all the way in..."
"Buffy, I need to see you," he blurted.
"That's not how the game goes, Spike..."
"Please," he choked.
"No."
"Just for a little while."
"This is my call, and I'm calling the shots."
"You can call any shot you want when I see--"
"I suck my cheeks in as I rolllllll back up..."
"Oh, Christ..."
"And my tongue flicks against the skin right beneath the head..."
He growled in frustration. "See, I can't do this with my hands--"
"Quiet, Spike. Or I hang up."
"Right then. Go on."
"My hands are working now, over all the spit and come that's covering you... two hands at once... remember?"
"Fuck yeah."
"But I think I'll stop."
He almost panicked. "Why?"
"Because I want to go down..."
"Oh..."
"Yeah. I lick your balls..."
"Now that's a word I thought I'd never hear you say--"
"I suck one into my mouth."
"God, Buffy..."
"And the other... mmm... and down..."
"Bloody fucking hell, Buffy, come over."
"Down to that spot in between..."
"You're killing me."
"You asked for it."
"I did," he admitted.
"So take it."
"You want me to shoot off right now?"
"Not yet..."
"Then don't talk to me like that."
"I'll talk to you however I want. If you can't hold it, that's not my problem."
"Oh, I can hold it," he tried to convince himself.
"Good. 'Cause I'm wiggling my tongue there..."
"Mm... Your ass is wiggling too."
She gasped. "You ARE watching me!"
"What? No! I'm in my crypt, I swear it! Can't you hear the--" He squinted. "Your ass is wiggling?"
A pause. "No."
His curiosity piqued again, he asked, "What are you doing?"
"I'm licking the skin beneath your balls while I jack you off," she answered plainly.
He smirked. Playing his game to the letter. His tongue pressed against his teeth as he replied, "How are you licking it?"
"First with a pointy tongue, gliiiiding up and down... Oh, will I put it there? Mm, I don't think so..."
He laughed.
"Not tonight, at least."
A rumble emanated from his throat.
"Then I flatten my tongue against you, and do that thing..."
He whispered, "What, what is the thing...?"
"That thing you like..."
"But -- but what..."
"I move up now, because I wanna suck your cock, I wanna catch it, I wanna drink you up..."
Spike's eyes rolled back. "Bloody hell, Buffy... You're the perfect woman, you know that? Bloody fucking... perfect!"
A gasp, and then dead silence on the other end.
Fuck! Good going, mate. Love talk was the Slayer's saltpeter. He slowed his hand movements as he waited for her to speak.
Eventually, he heard her breath return in uneven puffs. When she finally spoke, she tripped over her words. "My, my tongue... it rolls."
"What?"
"Rolls... you know... I can roll my tongue. That's what you like."
"Buffy--"
"I -- I should go."
"Don't go, Buffy. I didn't mean to--" He stopped himself before pushing her even farther away. "Can't let you off unsatisfied."
"I um... I'm not. I'm satisfied."
Already? "When?"
"Just... just now."
"But I didn't hear--"
"Yeah. 'Cause I covered the phone."
"Why?"
While she tried to settle on an answer, Spike figured it out.
Buffy climaxed when he said she was perfect.
Oh.
Oh!
"Buffy?"
"I have to--"
"Let me come over." He grabbed his cigarettes and reached for his jeans.
"Spike, no."
"Buffy, yes."
"Spike..."
"I need to be close to you again."
"I... No..."
"I need to feel you in my arms."
"Wha... I..."
"I want to make love to you, Buffy."
She seemed stunned by this.
"Nice and slow, whispering in your ear..."
"We can't."
"We can."
"But, Dawn..."
"I'll be quiet," he insisted. "And I won't stay."
"You 'won't stay'?" was her indignant response.
"I mean I... will if you want me to, 'course I will... just not if you don't."
"I don't!" she cried. "I don't even want you to come over!"
"But you wouldn't slay me if I did."
After a lengthy pause, Buffy stammered, "I-I don't know."
"You don't know?"
She sighed, exasperated. "Just get over here before I change my mind."
Spike smiled, already fully dressed and out the door. "I'll be there in a heartbeat."
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