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 it while Spike and Slayer Buffy go out on patrol . . .
Chapter 6 Patrol
Three vamps at the Bronze. Two more near the Espresso Pump,
thanks to their new extended hours. Four more on the college campus. Now it was
almost one in the morning and they were headed back to Revello Drive, sweeping
the four cemeteries between the school and home on the way.
They didn’t talk much, which was just as well from his perspective. If she
didn’t speak, he could almost pretend things were normal. If he didn’t look in
her eyes. The vicious satisfaction he saw there was so different from the hint
of compassion Buffy wore after a kill. But they fought well together. His demon
and hers, synchronized, flowing. But she fought silently, the ultimate predator.
He missed the quips.
He tried not to think about the other Buffy sitting at home, the one whose soft
kisses and softer words had made him hope where he knew he had none. The
illusion of a second chance had been destroyed the instant he realized that the
Buffy who had kissed him wasn’t his Buffy. Not all of her. He knew he didn’t
deserve another chance, didn’t deserve her. But for an hour he had been allowed
to hope. He should have known better. Neither one of them seemed destined for
the happy ending. Things hadn’t changed so much that that would be any
different.
“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
Her voice in the silence startled him. He glanced at her, then went back to
scanning the graveyard. “Usually.”
“Because you love her.”
He shrugged. “Love’s bitch.”
“But you’re man enough to admit it.”
So she remembered that conversation. “Look, pet, I don’t really want to talk
about this.”
“Fine.” She stepped in front of him. “No more talking.” And she crushed her
mouth to his hungrily.
The jolt of desire that shot through him was all the more powerful for the
surprise of the attack. He moaned into her mouth and could feel her smile as her
fingers tangled in his hair. He clutched at her shoulders, tried to lever her
away and stop the assault, but she tightened her grip in his hair, holding his
head still while her lips and tongue caressed his mouth feverishly, sliding her
body against his.
He couldn’t hold out against the oh-so familiar onslaught and slowly he gave
himself over to that kiss, exploring all the remembered curves of her mouth, his
hands relaxing their grip on her shoulders to slide down her back and up again
under the flannel shirt she wore over the tank top beneath, skin tight and
warmed with her body heat. She felt his surrender and allowed one hand to drift
down his neck, along his collarbone and over the planes of his chest. It wasn’t
until the night air caressed his suddenly bare arms that he regained his senses.
He pushed her away, backing up a step and nearly tripping over his jacket, now
laying on the ground behind him. “We can’t do this.”
She smiled wickedly. “We seemed to be doing pretty well a minute ago.” She
opened the collar of the flannel shirt and slowly dragged it down her arms,
revealing tanned shoulder and cleavage to his still-hungry gaze.
“Slayer, it’s wrong . . .”
“Oh, come on, Spike, the fluttering innocent routine doesn’t suit you.” She
grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head, leaving her bare
breasts glowing in the night air. She rolled her head back as a passing breeze
brushed her, tightening her nipples into hard pebbles. “What is right and wrong
compared to want and need?” She began advancing on him slowly, the roll of her
hips causing her breasts to sway enticingly. He closed his eyes against her as
he backed away. Her hand snaked out to seize his wrist, trapping him, drawing
his hand to her to cup her breast, the rock hard nipple searing through his
palm.
“She wouldn’t want this,” he argued, but he couldn’t move his gaze from the
point where hand and breast met, his wrist rotating to allow him to fondle the
fullness of her, his thumb stroking tenderly over the puckered nub.
“She doesn’t know what she wants,” she replied with a soft gasp, leaning into
his touch. “You said it yourself. Seventy-six trombones. But I know what I
want.” She allowed her free hand to trail down his chest and over the tight
muscles of his stomach. “And more importantly, I know what you want.” And her
hand slid demandingly over the length of his rock-hard cock, the heat of her
hand burning him even through the denim of his jeans.
He had to make this stop. He had to be strong. For her. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t take the step backward that would break this and allow him to run home like a scared child.
“I won’t take advantage of her . . .”
She laughed knowingly. “Exactly what advantage do you think you have here,
Spike?” She began running her lips along his jawline, never taking her eyes off
his. “I have the strength, I have you right where I want you,” she surged
against him, hips and chests meeting, “and I have the will. I want this to
happen. And so do you. You couldn’t walk away from this for all the blood and
money in the world. You’re just afraid to admit it. But I’ll give you a chance.”
She backed away, releasing him to stand before him, legs astride, hands
caressing her hips and belly and breasts. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me
you don’t still dream about it, every night knowing I’m just two flights of
stairs away. Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll stop.”
His body quivered from the battle raging within him. Lie to her, tell her and
this is done and she’s safe. His hands flexed convulsively, his mouth opened,
but no sound came out.
She stepped closer and laid her hand on his belt buckle. “Say it.”
He grabbed her arms to push her away, but it became a caress. “Slayer,” he
moaned, and even he could hear the desperate need in his voice.
Her tongue slid temptingly over her lips and teeth as she accepted his
surrender. She whipped his belt off with a crack, letting the leather length
fall from her hand. Then she met his gaze, knowing, seductive, still
challenging. “Go on then, Spike. Give it me good.”
He gave up restraint with a roar, crushing her to him, devouring her mouth as he
pushed her back, back to smash her against the marble crypt behind her. He
lifted her, pinning her body with his own against the cold stone. Her breasts
now in easy reach, he gave in to his desire and took one in his mouth, sliding
the length of his tongue over the crinkled nub before returning to spiral around
it, licking and sucking as she clutched at his shoulders. He dropped his right
hand to the button of her cargo pants, the loose fabric pooling at her feet as
his fingers moved beneath the elastic of her panties to caress deep into her wet
folds. She arched against his fingers with a faint cry, clutching at his t-shirt
to draw it up over his head, baring his chest and back to her heated touch. When
it caught at his wrist, he drew his hand away from her center to slide panties
and shirt down her muscled legs to join the pile of clothes building there. His
nails raked along the inside of her thigh as he returned to worship her other
breast. She wrapped her leg around him, rubbing herself desperately against his
denim-covered thigh. He wrapped his hand in her braid and yanked her head back,
exposing the length of her neck to his eager mouth. “What’s matter, pet,” he
whispered against her pounding jugular, “you don’t like what I’m doin’?”
“Love it. More,” she demanded, opening his pants to allow his cock free, heavy
and swollen. Her other leg lifted to circle his hips as she slid her sodden cunt
along his length.
Spike growled, thrusting his hips ineffectually. “I thought I was supposed to be
giving it to you.”
“You were too damn slow.” With that she arched backwards, knocking them off
balance to tumble into the grass.
She ended up on top, and he didn’t resist her, getting his own back by pulling
her head down to his hungry mouth. She devoured him with equal fervor,
supporting her weight with arms on either side of his head as she slid the rest
of her body up and down along his. He groaned and grabbed her hips, sliding her
up just enough to release his cock from between them, allowing it to spring to
its natural angle to prod against her soaked and swollen cleft. Her eyes rolled
up at the sensation and her hips rotated, stroking the head against her, opening
her up fully. Then she looked at him, eyes narrowly slit, dilated to pure
blackness, possession written large in her every feature as she thrust him deep
within her.
He cried out at the joining, and would have wept if she hadn’t started riding
him so hard. She arched back, sitting upright atop him, stroking him as deep as
she could get him, hands stroking and pulling at her own breasts, gasps of
pleasure escaping against her will. He grasped her hips and fell into her
rhythm, pulling harder, stroking deeper, desperate to give her release. But her
face contorted in frustration as she jerked erratically against him. “More!” she
demanded almost silently. “Harder!”
He knew what she needed, exactly how to give it to her. But if he took control,
he knew it would be the end for him. When she was normal again, she would take
back the small sliver of space she had given him in her life, kick him out of
her home and her heart. But only if he was unfortunate enough for her not to
stake him.
The Slayer whimpered again, the frustration building to cancel out her pleasure.
The pain of it was written large on her face.
He was damned. He would sacrifice his own version of heaven for her pleasure,
and he’d do it willingly.
He grabbed her arms and rolled, pinning her beneath him to thrust deep into her.
“Don’t worry, pet,” he murmured soothingly, “I know jus’ what you need.” He
hooked his left arm under her right knee, pressing back to lever her leg back
towards her chest. He did the same with his left arm, bracing both in the soft
grass beneath them to support himself, leaving her fully splayed before him with
her slit the lowest point of her body. “No where to go but up.” And he slammed
into her with all his might.
She gasped and arched, eyes showing only white, mouth opening in a silent cry.
And then he understood her increased quiet. This part of her was both predator
and prey. Silence meant survival. Her climax would not be expressed vocally, but
physically.
He hoped he still had a dick when she was done.
He quickly built up speed while maintaining force, and she clutched at his arms
with each thrust, her grip the only thing keeping her from being pushed across
the lawn. His balls slammed almost painfully against the curves of her ass with
each stroke, and he felt his own release building too quickly. He had to hold
back until she . . .
But she was there already. Her whole body began trembling,
her open mouth widening with each stroke. Suddenly she arched, thrusting against
him as her head snapped back, her whole body convulsing against him in her
release. He pushed through the iron bands of her inner muscles once and once
more before finding his own release, exploding deep within her to trigger a
fresh wave of tremors through her.
He released her legs, gathering her close as she began coming down, stroking his
hips in her gently, soothingly as she calmed. “You okay?” he whispered softly
against her ear.
She nodded, eyes closed, settling her breathing. After a moment, she pushed at
him lightly, moving away from him to roll to her feet and begin silently finding
her clothes.
He lay on his back in the cold grass, arm across his closed eyes as he fought
against the despair rising in him. It was just like it had been between them.
Nothing changed.
He was back in Hell . . .
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