Prompt: Slick

Title: Tell-tale Heart
Summary: Set almost directly after the curtain closes on Forbidden Fruit. Something Blue happened as per cannon, then Willow caused an inadvertent boo boo, thanks to a spelled apple - pRon ensued - but it wasn't who the witch figured.

He snuggled into the warm body and let out a rumbling purr at the contented sigh the action produced. Still half asleep, his arms tightened about the slight form held in his arms.  

Surely he was dreaming; the heat given off by his partner was something he knew instinctively he’d not felt since… forever. Much like the sunlight he’d given up the right to ever feel on his face once he’d been turned.  

His hand slipped from stomach to thigh and lifted it back over his own. His fingers found the soft thatch of hair by memory alone, traced and rubbed at tender flesh until they were coated with his imaginary partner’s response. Only to be scalded by the inferno of hot, slick muscles having given up teasing both himself and her and finally sought the opening just begging to be filled.  

Two fingers became three. His dick ground against the tender curve of ass desperate to be where his fingers were. If the quiet moans he heard were any indication, his partner was equally craving more.  

He shifted a bit, removed his fingers to grip his cock and hastily coat himself with her wetness. Her plaintive mewls were silenced when he lined himself up and pushed his way home.  

He penetrated her slowly. Felt each bit of muscle clamp down on him before relaxing slightly to his invasion. His low growl of pleasure mingled with her own whimpers as he filled her, until he was in as far as he could go.  

Could happily stay here for the rest of my unlife, he thought as he basked in the feel of his dick being squeezed so perfectly, how the goddess in front of him wiggled slightly with the need for him to move. He wanted to, badly, but knew that it would be the beginning of the end after that first initial in and out movement. That the demands of their bodies would take over and send them rushing headlong towards completion. 

Then she whispered his name.  

A plea.  

An acknowledgment of his partner’s desire, if not actual awareness.  

It pulled him from his dreams and into wakefulness.  

He froze as recognition suddenly dawned. Looked around frantically to determine, yes, he was with the slayer – was in the slayer – and they were sprawled on the floor in front of the couch. The watcher’s couch… where he’d been minding his own bloody business before the slayer had stalked him, body completely devoid of clothing, and complained of being horny. 

He was dust. 

Or was going to be as soon as she woke up and realized where she was, and what she’d done. And with whom. Was doing it again, in fact. 

Strong muscles clamped down on his cock and dragged Spike from his silent musings.  

The lady was getting impatient, and far be it for him to deny the slayer her request. If he was lucky, he’d bring them both off and beat a hasty retreat before she had her wits about her again. The sun had set, enabling him to make good his escape, leave the hellmouth behind once and for all.  

Plan set firmly in his mind, Spike bent to his task, nuzzling into her neck – something he couldn’t help but notice that she really liked – while his fingers went to work on any piece of flesh they happened to encounter. His hips rocked against hers, and he moaned against her neck as she pushed back into him.  

It was perfect… and so bloody wrong. Who knew that he’d one day be making love with his mortal enemy.  

An image of his sire crystallized in his mind.  

I can still see her floating all around you… Why won't you push her away? 

Oh god. Drusilla. She’d known. Known that it would come to this between him and the slayer. Known that no matter how hard he tried to resist otherwise, he’d been snared. Entranced from the first moment he’d laid eyes on the girl. 

The slayer’s body grew taut as she neared orgasm. Her sleep-induced ramblings became more coherent as the pleasure she was experiencing lulled her towards wakefulness. He was staring death in the face and was helpless to turn away, unable to find the wherewithal to flee in the face of his impending doom.  

Instead, his thrusts became stronger, more forceful, striving for that place deep inside her. He fingered her clit, gliding over the distended bit of flesh until she was mindless with need.  

Spike knew the second the slayer was with him. Her body stiffened in his arms as he held her before him. He didn’t stop, however. Couldn’t stop.  

No more than the slayer could stop from throwing her head back as her body was gripped with climax. His eyes were drawn to the marks he’d left earlier. He licked his lips and winced as he sliced his tongue open with his fangs.  

Bite her, his demon roared. Take her. Make her yours.  

His fangs bit into flesh barely healed from before, but not because of his demon’s urging. Her blood spilled onto his tongue and he sucked greedily for a moment, caught by his own orgasm as the potent brew sent him over the edge. His possessive growls were muted against her throat as he spilled his seed, conscious of the watcher who slumbered upstairs – wouldn’t do to wake the man before he made good his escape.  

Mindful of the slayer’s body that was growing increasingly lethargic, in addition to the warning zap from the chip that told him that he was moving from pleasure to pain with his bloodletting, Spike reluctantly withdrew and licked lovingly at the crescent-shaped marks in an attempt to stem the flow. Thankfully, the slayer had drifted off, body sated from their lovemaking and drained a pint or two of blood.  

It was with something akin to regret that Spike pulled away and resettled the quilt around the slayer’s bare shoulders. He dressed slowly, some small part of him hoping that she’d wake and confront him. Make him stay. 

Ten minutes passed, and nothing happened. The slayer and watcher both slumbered on, oblivious to his moving about.  

Spike started to don his duster, but at the last second draped it softly over the slumbering slayer, needing to leave a part of him touching her naked skin. The quilt that had initially covered her, he bundled into a small ball and tucked under his arm as he let himself out of the watcher’s home.  

He was driving out of Sunnydale within the hour, his destination unknown.

Prompt: Phone Encounter

Title: The Power of Words
Summary: Spike has left Sunnydale behind after succumbing to the slayer's lure. But is he gone for good? And what about the slayer? A sequel to Tell-tale Heart.
 

A week went by. Then two. Before Buffy knew it, a full month had passed. She’d lost her voice – all of Sunnydale had, in fact – but had managed to defeat the Gentlemen. Barely. 

Imagine her surprise when she’d found out Riley was part of the Initiative.  

“Good thing nothing ever came of that relationship, huh?” 

She snorted and blew her hair out of her face. Tightened her grip on the stake she carried as she wandered through the cemetery looking for fresh graves and newly-turned vampires. 

“He’s not here. You should just go home already.” 

“Shut up,” she muttered to herself. “Great! Now I’m talking to myself.” 

The rest of her patrol was much of the same. Boredom city. Nothing to hone her skills on, allow her to expel some of the restless energy that seemed to be her constant companion. Nothing to take her mind off the blond vampire that haunted her dreams… and her every waking hour.  

Her steps slowed as a memory rushed over. Cool hands ghosting over her heated flesh. A hard, lean body shimmying down hers until his face hovered over her pussy.  

“Oh god,” she croaked, as a wave of lust and need washed through her body. Her hand shot out and gripped a nearby tombstone as her legs threatened to crumble. 

She hated him. Hated what they’d done. Or so she kept telling herself. Maybe if she said it often enough, thought it often enough, it would become true.  

Deep down, it was Willow she was most upset with. Things were bad enough when it was just kissing and the occasional grope-age. That spell had at least been short-lived. The Spike taste in her mouth, easier to write off. The cookies had helped, or so she’d thought. 

But this last one? 

Five hours. Five hours of nakedness with Spike. They’d done things. So many things that she’d not even thought were possible. And it was good. Damn good. He’d made sure of that. 

But even with as talented as Spike had been, she’d started to get sore after the first two hours had gone by. Marathon sex fiend she was not. But then the spell would take hold just moments after she climaxed, and she could only rub herself up against Spike, desperate to get off again. Damn near begging him to make the feeling go away.  

There was something to be said for vampire stamina; he’d not once told her no.  

After that last time, she’d collapsed beside him, knowing there was no way she could handle another go – and thankfully the spell had ended. She’d been completely lacking in strength to even cover herself. Was already three quarters of the way towards unconsciousness when a quilt was draped over her and cool arms wrapped around her middle and held her close.  

When she felt certain her legs would carry her, Buffy pushed off from the headstone and started for home.  

It was New Year’s Eve and the gang was rallying at her place to count down the time until midnight and the start of a new year. All she really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep.  

“And dream about your vampire. You gonna curl up with his duster too?” 

This time Buffy didn’t even bother rising to the bait. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike began to suspect when he hit Santa Fe a week after he’d left the Hellmouth behind. It wasn’t until he wound up in New Orleans two weeks into his self-imposed exile that he found out the truth.  

The chip had a limited radius. Apparently the thing worked on a signal and the metal gizmo just wasn’t designed to receive transmissions so far away from Sunnydale. Either that, or the thing had shorted out.  

He spent the next two weeks testing his theory. Got all the way back to the Hellmouth before he realized that, yes, the chip did still work, but only as far as the city limits were concerned. 

So what did he do? 

Kiss Sunnydale – and with it, the slayer – goodbye and go back to his old ways? Be the Big Bad he was born to be? Or did he cut off his bollocks and play the slayer’s lapdog? 

Perched on the slayer’s rooftop, staring wistfully as she slumbered on, oblivious to his presence, he could do nothing but shake his head ruefully. 

He was such Love’s Bitch. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Can I speak to the sla— I mean, Buffy?” 

Spike banged his head against the clear, hardened plastic that framed the payphone and cursed himself for being a git.  

“Just a minute,” Joyce sing-songed into the phone. Thankfully, she’d not recognized his voice. 

He smiled, imagining the look on the older woman’s face. Heard her halfway cover the receiver and shout for her daughter.

“Hello?” 

The second line disconnected as the slayer picked up and spoke. 

“Slayer? I mean, Buffy?” Spike stammered out. Oh yeah, I’ll just be handing my bollocks over now… 

“Spike,” she hissed into the phone.  

“Uh… yeah…” 

“What are you doing calling me? And how did you even get this number?” 

“You’re listed in the phone book,” he replied before he thought better of it. Winced when she immediately accused him of being back in town.  

“Yes and no.” 

“What do you mean, ‘yes and no’? Either you are, or you aren’t,” she snapped. 

“I am right now. Up to you as to whether or not I stay.” 

“That’s easy. Go.” 

“Not so easy, luv. Leastways, not for me.” 

“Why—” 

“I keep thinking about us,” he interrupted. “How you felt when I was inside you. The way you dug your nails in my back when you came.” Silence greeted his announcement, but Spike forced himself to continue. “Tell me you don’t think about it. About us. We were good together, you can’t tell me we weren’t.” 

“No…” Buffy whispered into the phone, nearly snapping the receiver in two as her hand tightened around the plastic held to her ear. 

“Yes. Don’t lie, Slayer.” 

Then Spike dropped his bombshell. 

“You let me bite you. Twice.” 

“No…” she whispered again. 

“I’m staying at Chuck and Sally’s. It’s a bed and breakfast just outside of the city. You want me gone, you’re gonna have to come tell me face to face.” 

“I’ll be there… with Mr. Pointy,” Buffy growled, but she was talking to a dial tone. 

Prompt: Orgy

Title: Premature Goodbye
Summary: Final part in the Forbidden Fruit!verse. Spike has laid down the gauntlet. Will Buffy accept the challenge?

She wasn’t sure why she went. Yes, she was the Slayer, the Chosen One, blah blibbity blah blah, and it was her sacred duty to do away with the evil creatures that went bump in the night. But Sunnydale was her gig, her turf.  

Technically, Spike was outside that realm.  

And good riddance, or so she tried to tell herself.  

She attempted to rationalize her actions as she walked out the door, Mr. Pointy tucked away in her coat pocket – she was just doing like she said she would do – but to no avail. Telling herself that the vampire could come back into her hometown at any given moment, thus necessitating a trip to Chuck and Sally’s to tell Spike to scram, didn’t actually sound too convincing to her own ears.  

Even less so to her subconscious.  

Which was right on time telling her the true reason she was braving the surprisingly chilly night – and an extremely long walk – to go see Spike. 

“You want to know why he left, don’t you? One-time-girl Summers, that’s what they’re calling you behind your back. Just can’t seem to keep a man… or a vampire.” 

“Shut up—and it wasn’t just the one time with Spike. It was two… technically,” she muttered into the darkness. Her mouth snapped shut; she was doing it again. Arguing with herself out loud. If she kept it up, she’d wind up committed… again. 

Anger had her eating up the ground, and before long she was there. Staring at the shabby two-story house that tried to pass itself off as a bed and breakfast.

“Just like Spike to pick a dump like this to hole up in,” she grumbled as she marched up the walk.  

The door was unlocked, surprisingly, and shaking her head at the foolishness of the people running the place, she let herself inside and walked up to the vacant counter. A light was on, but no one was about. Buffy rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to call out, but caught sight of a ledger perched near the edge of the counter. Her jaw dropped, spying Spike’s named scrawled in – again with no small amount of surprise on her part – very legible, almost elegant handwriting.  

Bloody, William. 

Following in tradition, she picked up the quill that was actually a ballpoint pen and scrawled her own name… of sorts. 

One, Chosen. 

No one stopped her as she climbed the stairs and sought out the vampire that had issued his challenge earlier on the phone. Once she reached the top, she pulled Mr. Pointy out of her pocket, stretched her senses to determine which room belonged to him. 

Wasn’t really needed since there was only one door closed on the second landing. Chuck and Sally’s business didn’t appear to be thriving. But then, as she’d walked through the neighboring city of Sunnydale, she hadn’t really noticed a lot of activity there either.  

One horse town, she thought they were called on the westerns her mother liked to watch sometimes. With determination in her step, she strode down the hallway and banged on the door. 

It opened abruptly, and Buffy gasped when Spike was suddenly there. Devoid of the duster that had been his trademark look. Devoid of a lot of things, she noticed, eyes going wide as they swept over him from head to toe.  

Oh. My. God.  

Toes. Naked toes were peeking out from beneath pale denim that was slung low on his hips. She concentrated on that, rather than the pale – and once again with the naked – chest staring her smack dab in the face.  

Mr. Pointy clattered to the floor, forgotten.  

Her brain shut down, much like it had when she’d been under the spell. She moved forward, as if in a trance. Vaguely noted that Spike was backing up to let her into the room. Her mouth watered and she wanted nothing more than to reach out, to touch again the body that had been so much a part of her dreams.  

~*~*~*~*~ 

The slayer had still yet to look him in the face after that first time, Spike noticed.  

If she had bothered to look, she would have seen eyes that flicked from deep blue to yellow, watching her with predatory intent, waiting for her to come all the way inside so that he could close the door behind her.  

For little did the slayer know that Chuck and Sally were, in truth, Ghreshlov demons. The establishment they ran was pretty well-known among the demon underground. Though it looked deserted just then, Spike knew that as night gave way to day, the place would start filling up. Demons looking for somewhere to lay their heads, or wanting to get their freak on, could do so without being disturbed.  

The Ghreshlovs had each room soundproofed and made it so the bedroom doors could only be opened from within, and only with a specially made key handed out upon registration. The entire place had also been magicked – powerful stuff, enough to make his demon sit up and take notice – protecting those nestled safely within the boundaries of their property from human and demon alike – an added bonus given the arrival of the Initiative to the Hellmouth.  

Just a few more steps and the slayer would be his… 

Then she’d passed beyond the wide arc of the bedroom door and Spike slammed it shut. Grinned as the slayer jumped in surprise at the sudden, loud noise. 

“So good of you to come, pet,” he growled as he morphed into his demon. One hand latched onto her throat and easily lifted her up into the air.  

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy went from dazed and horny to panicked and angry in the blink of an eye. Her first thought was “oh no, the chip is out… Spike can hurt me,” which led to thoughts of Angel and the loss of his soul and “can I actually kill him?” Then her mind shut down and the slayer in her took over. Her fingers closed around the single hand steadily choking the life out of her— 

“He’s not though.” 

Buffy blinked. 

And sure enough, while the grip was a bit painful, she could breathe easily. The second that dawned on her, she relaxed; the adrenaline seeped out of muscles gone rigid with fight or flight tendencies, and she found herself standing on her own two feet in front of Spike, staring into eyes that appeared hopeful, yet very wary.  

“Think this is the moment where one of us says ‘we need to talk’,” Spike tried to joke, but it came off sounding flat. He sighed then and backed further into the room, careful not to turn his back on the slayer; though her stake was on the other side of the door, there was no small amount of things cluttering up the room for her to brandish as a weapon. 

She followed after him looking more confused than physically hurt… or mad. He counted that as a good thing. Maybe she would be up to listening to his story, rather than skip to the fighting. She still wasn’t looking at him, however, instead choosing to gaze about the room. Probably a good thing in the long run, given that he wasn’t quite sure he could actually say what he needed if he had to look her in the eye. 

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but the slayer beat him to it, barking out the two words as more of an invitation to continue rather than a question. 

“The chip?” 

“Still in here, Slayer,” he replied, waving with one hand towards his head.  

“Yeah, but does it work?” she demanded, hands on hips and gifting him with an evil glare she seemed to reserve specially for him.  

“If I’m inside the city limits it does.” 

“Oh.” 

That seemed to shut her up quickly, Spike noted. He waited a minute to see if she had more to say – she did. 

“Then what did you come back for? I mean, evil, grrr… right? Get to have your Happy Meals on Legs now, don’t you?” 

“Haven’t eaten anyone since I found out, Slayer,” he told her quietly, his voice oddly resigned. “And before you ask, I guessed about a week after I’d gone. Spent the next few weeks figuring out if it was true. As long as I stay away from the Hellmouth…” 

“You get to be a real vampire,” Buffy finished. 

“Got it in one, luv.” 

“Then why—” 

“Why do you think, pet? Told you on the phone. Can’t bloody think but for the memory of you. Of what we’d done. We’re good together, Slayer. So bloody good together. Do you know how rare that is?” 

Buffy shook her head, denying his claim. “No…” 

“Don’t lie, pet. Doesn’t become you.” 

“You’re evil, Spike. I can’t… I just… It wouldn’t work. For one thing, Giles—” 

“Sod your bloody watcher!” Spike snapped as he jumped to his feet and began to pace. He stopped suddenly and pierced her with a look. “Do you think this is easy for me? Out here I’m a god. A bloody vampire. A master vampire at that. Top of the food chain. I go back with you and I even look crossways at a human and I’ve got a bloody migraine to end all migraines. But I’d do it… for you.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy fell back against the mattress and groaned. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep for the next twenty-four hours straight, but with the mattress situated as it was, half on and half off the box spring, she didn’t think she could pull it off. For one thing, it was damn uncomfortable. For another, she was moving, gravity pulling her down so that her feet were splayed out on the floor and she was practically sitting upright. 

“I’m tired,” she whined to the vampire in much the same predicament as her. Careful not to look over at him, or they’d be going at it like bunnies again. Like they’d been doing for the last – she squinted at the wall clock that appeared on the verge of falling from its perch – four hours. This time without the benefit of a spelled apple. 

She wasn’t quite sure who had made the first move after Spike’s declaration. Their mouths had fused together as their hands had sought the other’s clothes, practically ripping things to shreds in their haste to get naked. Frantic with the need to be joined together again. And now. To prove to themselves and each other how right they were together… no matter that they’d once been enemies. 

It had taken four hours. Four hours of the two of them making love to each other in any way imaginable – and some Buffy hadn’t imagined. Making a thorough mess of Spike’s rented room. Buffy doubted there was a surface left untouched before they’d finally made their way back to the bed, intent on sleeping. At least until Buffy had turned the aggressor and shoved Spike back against the mattress and quickly straddled his lap before she’d lost her nerve. It had been a first, her taking control like that, and she’d nearly ridden Spike into the ground, much to the vampire’s delight, before she’d stiffened above him and screamed out her release, her cries mingled with Spike’s own. She’d collapsed on top of him after her orgasm, sated and happy, muscles like limp noodles. So much so, that it had taken her three tries before she could roll off him and settle beside him on the lopsided mattress. 

“’m all shagged out myself, luv,” Spike replied, too worn out to bother opening his eyes to look her way. 

“Spike… I want to go to sleep. Do something.” 

“What do you want me to do?” 

“Fix the bed. I can’t sleep sitting up. And find the sheets. There were sheets, right? I distinctly remember there being sheets.” 

Spike cracked one eye and quirked his brow. 

“Why can’t you fix it?” 

“Because… because you’re the guy. All manly and guyish. And you’re the one that got the bed this way.” 

“May have got the sheets all askew, but, pet, you’re the one that got the mattress this way. Distinctly remember you riding me at a hard gallop just now—” 

“Spike!” Buffy shrieked, swatting at his arm. 

She blushed from head to foot, something Spike found particularly enticing. The blush and her flustering. He felt his cock start to swell and groaned – there was no way he’d be up for another go without a few hours’ kip. Vampire stamina only extended so far, no matter what his dick thought otherwise. 

“Right then… up you go,” he told the slayer as he scooched to the edge of the mattress and stood up. “Have us fixed up in a jiffy.” 

Spike helped the slayer to her feet and made short work of repairing some of the damage caused by their four-hour orgy. Afterwards, the two climbed wearily between the freshly made bed and snuggled together as they both drifted off to sleep. 

The two still had a few kinks to work out in their budding relationship, particularly her friends’ and watcher’s reaction, but there was no denying that Spike was going back to Sunnydale with Buffy. 

Prompt: Sweet Nothings

Title: Cold Shoulder
Summary: Post-Wrecked. Buffy contemplates her "relationship" with Spike.

Cool fingers glide up my leg, and I bite back a moan of anticipation. I know where they’re headed; it’s just a matter of how much Spike wants to tease me tonight. 

I force myself to lie unmoving beneath his touch, my face turned away as if I can’t stand the sight of him. Or what he’s doing. 

“Look at me, Slayer,” he whispers softly, cool breath skating across my skin causing goose bumps to rise and my body to shiver. 

His knowing chuckle grates, even as my cheeks flood with heat… with shame. 

Why am I here? Why am I allowing Spike to touch me? 

More importantly, why do I come back? 

The second his mouth is on me, I know. I gasp and my hands instinctively find his head; my fingers thread through his hair and grip it hard. Hard enough for him to growl in warning – but I don’t care. And truthfully, he probably doesn’t either. He gets off on a little pain. 

He fucks me with his tongue until I’m on the brink of orgasm — and then he stops. My wail of denial echoes around the crypt. I was so close! 

“Bastard,” I hiss, staring at him for the first time since I’ve stripped out of my clothes and climbed up on the sarcophagus. 

He nips the inside of my thigh in retaliation, but it’s his smug expression that has me seeing red. I sit up with every intention of kicking him onto the ground, grabbing my stake from my discarded jeans and shoving it into his chest. 

I don’t get the chance. 

I forget how strong Spike is, how much the chip has hampered him in the past. 

Until now. 

Now he flips me onto my stomach and draws me onto all fours before I’m able to put up a fight, or even realize that I need to. I feel his cock nudge my pussy and then he pushes in. Hard. Forcing my body to yield to his superior strength. 

I hate this position and he knows it. His next words growled in my ear confirm it. 

“Don’t want to look at me? Fine. Close your eyes and imagine it’s your precious Angel fucking you,” he snaps. “Or better yet, Soldier Boy.” He pauses for a minute then adds, “Nah, better stick with Angelus; even with a soul the wanker’s got enough demon in him to spice things up for you. So go on, Slayer, close your eyes and think of lover boy stickin’ it to you.” 

He shuts up then and the only sound I hear is the slap of flesh and his grunts of pleasure. I refuse to let him hear me cry, but I can do nothing to stem the tears streaming steadily down my face. 

Spike’s words ring in my ear, and as much as I want to do like he asked, it’s not Angel’s face I see. Ever since that first night, it’s been Spike who has occupied my mind, Spike who has haunted my dreams. Angel is nothing more than a distant memory. 

It’s Spike that makes my blood pound. Whether we’re fighting or fucking, just being around him makes me feel alive. And I need that. Need him. 

Only, it appears I’ve destroyed that now, much like everything else in my life.