Previously in "Sum": A freak accident has split Buffy into two not-so-equal pieces. The Scoobies are trying to find a way to fix things, but Slayer seems to be coming apart at the seams. Intimate contact with Buffy seems to be the answer. Things are calm, for the moment . . .
Chapter 14 Yin
Somehow Buffy had gotten pulled down to nestle between her
two lovers. Spike curled up against her back, the borrowed warmth of his skin
comforting and stimulating at once. Slayer pressed up to her front, arm curled
possessively around her hip, the heavy weight of their matched breasts nestling
into each other.
They both seemed replete, but Buffy was almost trembling with desire. She had
never realized that she could be so stimulated visually. But watching them had
been like watching herself. She thought of all the times she and Spike had been
together, how they must have looked like this, beauty and power and need
striving against and toward each other. The aggression wasn’t angry or abusive.
She could see that it was just the natural expression of their bodies’ abilities
and drives. It was beautiful, and she wanted to be a part of it.
And she was. She felt totally decadent jumbled together in this pile of limbs
and skin and scent. No one’s hands were still, each of them gently exploring the
other bodies in the bed, tracing patterns on skin and curves with light touches
and smooth strokes. Spike smoothed back Buffy’s tumbled curls, reached across to
tuck back strands of Slayer’s hair that had escaped her braid. She shivered as
Slayer’s fingers trailed over the outside curve of her breast. Spike’s
open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder made her cry out softly.
She leaned forward and kissed Slayer, slowly exploring the soft flesh of her
mouth. Slayer responded eagerly, each caress tender, curious, decadent. Buffy
gave herself over to the demands of her body. Their kisses became hungrier as
their hands began exploring each other.
She tangled her fingers into Slayer’s hair, finishing the job of taking out her
braid to comb her fingers through the loose mass. She gasped as Slayer’s hand
coursed roughly down her back to clutch at her ass, then using her grip to push
it back against Spike’s cock, following with her hips as she ground their
pelvises together.
Buffy wanted to pay equal attention to Spike. She could feel his arousal on
every inch of her skin. But her focus had narrowed to what she could see and
touch, and that was Slayer.
He seemed to understand that. He moved away, and she thought he was going to
give them space until she felt his mouth at her ankle, tongue teasing along her
Achilles tendon. Slayer gasped against her throat, and she glanced down to see
he was repeating the actions of his mouth on Slayer’s leg with his hand. He
winked encouragingly at her and focused on his play.
It was like electricity surging through her from top and bottom. The delicious
contact of hot and cool against her skin fired across her nerves, making it hard
to remember to act, or think, or do anything but feel.
Feel.
She dropped her hand to gather up one of Slayer’s breasts, cupping her palm to
explore the heavy curves of it. She stroked her thumb across the nipple and was
rewarded with a grunt of pleasure and the feel of flesh crinkling under the pad
of her thumb. She tried it again, rolling it hard, and the grunt became a groan
as Slayer broke their kiss to roll her head back. Buffy’s mouth free, she
dropped her head and allowed her tongue to copy the path of her hand. Slayer’s
breathing became rougher with each caress, and stopped altogether when Buffy
sucked the nipple between her teeth. She opened her eyes to find Spike watching
her, his eyes hooded and dark. She smirked and made a show of sucking and
licking the tight aureole, never taking her eyes off his.
“Minx,” he mouthed silently, grinding his velvet erection against the small of
her back.
She hummed eagerly, rubbing her foot against his chest.
She cried out as Slayer’s fingers slipped between her legs.
She lost all ability for rational thought as Slayer slowly explored her,
separating lips from mound, sliding up her slit to smear her juices around her
clit. Buffy arched into it eagerly, and Slayer responded just as
enthusiastically, pinching and flicking as she probed.
Buffy felt a cool touch at her wrist and lifted her heavy lids to see Spike
moving her hand to Slayer’s thigh. She smiled at his encouragement and began
exploring on her own, starting with what he had taught her before and
experimenting from there.
She began mirroring Slayer’s touch stroke for stroke. Each gasp from her own
mouth was accompanied by a cry from Slayer. It began to feel as though they had
re-merged, and she was actually touching herself. But she had never touched
herself so deeply or with so much experience.
She marveled at how familiar Slayer was with their body. She seemed to know how
to coax and tease and drive them on. But it was all new to Buffy. The part of
the whole Buffy that she was hadn’t paid attention to her physicalness. But
obviously the Slayer part had. Which made sense. Her whole existence was
physical. Every movement, every action she encountered was analyzed for threat,
learned instantly, evaluated for value in slaying and then internalized or
rejected as valueless. Why would she respond any differently to sex? And with
all the experimentation and education whole Buffy and Spike had indulged in the
previous year, Slayer had had plenty of material to absorb.
As she continued to tease and caress and pleasure Slayer, as she responded in
kind, writhing and gasping and begging for more, a detached part of her brain
wondered what she had to offer. Spike had told the others that it was her, not
Slayer, that made whole Buffy such a good slayer. But she wasn’t very smart, not
quick nor strong, not funny nor brave at all.
And then she realized. She was the part that made Buffy more than just a killer.
She was the part that loved, wholly and unconditionally. She loved her family;
she loved her friends. She loved Spike, and Angel and Riley. And even Parker.
She loved her school and her town, her country and her world. She could love,
something Slayer could never do, and that gave the fight meaning. It made it
about saving, not just killing.
And now she was finally able to love herself. And it was more than just a
metaphor. She could see the parts of herself, almost feel the silvery threads
that connected hard and soft parts in different ways. She could learn from
Slayer and teach her in return, in a way Freud would have a field day with. But
it was real, and it felt right.
She gave herself up to it, pouring all the love she had, all the different kinds
and ways and meanings, into making love to the Slayer.
She shivered as Spike moved away from her back, shifting across the bed to
settle behind Slayer. She watched transfixed as he lifted his hand, offering her
his fingers. She dragged her tongue up and around one cool digit and then
another, sucking on them in time to the thrusts of her other hand. He slipped
them out of her mouth with a wet pop, then dropped his hand down along Slayer’s
hip and below the curve of her ass.
“Oh fuck!” Slayer screeched, her whole body tightening. Buffy was confused by
this reaction until she felt his fingers pressing against hers through the
membrane dividing Slayer’s front and rear passages. She met his wicked smirk
with an evil grin of her own, and they began caressing each other through the
thin layer of skin to the rhythm of Slayer’s curses. They dug deep and hard, and
she twisted against them, unable to move toward or away from the source of her
torment. Buffy noticed that the silent response of earlier was long gone as
Slayer cursed and screamed and cried out her pleasure as they made love to each
other through her. Each cry was a reward to Buffy, a signal of her growing
skill. The sounds made her arch and twist and rub harder, seeking her own
pleasure while creating it for her twin.
Finally Slayer gave up her attentions to Buffy altogether, clutching at Buffy’s
shoulders as her body started spasming. She required only one more thing to push
her over the edge.
Buffy laid the weight of her thumb against Slayer’s clit and ground down hard.
“Guh . . aaaaagh!” Slayer exploded, her whole body convulsing with the force of
the orgasm rippling through her. Her hips slammed back and forth between Buffy
and Spike, driving one deeper and then the other. Spike held her, kissing and
nipping on her throat as she came, keeping her from hurting Buffy.
Buffy throbbed watching her twin come. Her own pleasuring had been forgotten,
and now she was desperate and hungry. She pressed tight against Slayer,
indulging in the friction generated by the last of Slayer’s orgasm, and lifted
her head to lip and suck at the flesh on Slayer’s shoulder. She met Spike’s
tongue with her own, and within moments they were kissing desperately, grinding
a limp and sated Slayer between them.
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