|Story Title:||Miles To Go Before I Sleep|
Dawn’s send-off party draws to a close but the moondance is far from over.
Music Referenced: Moondance, Van Morrison http://youtu.be/6lFxGBB4UGU
Some photographs courtesy of FreeFoto.com
|Thanks:||Thanks to YOU for reading! Without you none of this would mean anything! Giant thanks also to Anona for betaing this chapter, including her grammatical and punctuation corrections, wonderful commentary, and final review. Also thanks to Capella42 for her insightful suggestions that made the whole story better. All mistakes are mine because I simply cannot stop fiddling right up to the very last moment.|
|Rating / Warnings:||
NC17. Content is only suitable for mature adults. Contains explicit language, sex, adult themes, and other adult situations that some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY.
Small hours of the morning, Sunday, September 11th, 2011:
And so, Buffy and Spike danced.
They danced with each other, with their children, and with their friends.
They danced until their children, one by one, succumbed to exhaustion. Then they carried them up to their beds, ignoring half-hearted protests of ‘I’m not tired’ or ‘Just one more dance’, kissed them goodnight, and tucked them in.
They danced until their friends, by ones and twos, drunk with more than just liquor, peeled away. They were all intoxicated with the joy of having spent a magical night under the glowing moon: dancing, laughing, eating, and, yes, a bit of drinking. But mostly they spent the night connecting; soaking up the happiness that comes with knowing that you belong, you are part of something larger than yourself. You are not alone. You have a family – perhaps a weird and dysfunctional family whose theme music sounds strangely like the theme to ‘The Twilight Zone’, but a family, nonetheless.
And now, with only the luminous, full moon to light the garden, the Slayer and the vampire still danced. The music from Spike’s iPod still played softly in the background, but, after the revelry of the party, there seemed to be no other sound. No voices, no laughter, no feet dancing on the wooden floor. Spike sat on one end of the bench swing that hung from one of the large oak limbs, swaying the swing with his feet to the slow beat of the music. Buffy lay next to him, her head in his lap, her shoes discarded in the grass at the base of the tree, her bare feet dangling over the arm of the swing. Spike’s right arm lay across her stomach, his larger hand covering hers, their fingers intertwined. His left hand absently twirled a lock of her hair that had fallen from her up-do.
They stayed like that, swaying gently under the stars, neither talking, for a long while. It was like neither one wanted to break the spell by speaking or even really moving. There are few perfect moments in life, but Buffy knew she’d remember this as one of them. After the nightmare of the Gift-less universe, after trying soooo hard to fix things and then dying, yet again, she could think of little that could equal the perfection of a night spent laughing and dancing with her friends and family. And then to have the night end like this, just the two of them under the moon: serene, quiet, at peace. Yes, it was a perfect moment.
She wanted to capture it, to put it in a jar like sand from her favorite beach and have it with her forever. She wanted to hold it in her heart so she could bring it out and breathe in the joy of it anytime things were bad – because moments like this didn’t last, and things would get bad again. It was their life. It was inevitable.
A small sigh escaped her throat and Spike’s eyes met hers. “Happy, pet?”
Buffy smiled and nodded her head against his thigh. “Too happy.”
He nodded. He knew what she meant. It was always a little scary when things were too good. Too happy. Too perfect. There was only one direction you go if you were at the top of the mountain: down. Their life was like a rollercoaster ride. The moment things became even and level, with no bumps, dips, or rises, that would be the day the devil would need snow shoes and God melted down those streets of gold and high-tailed it for greener pastures.
But that wasn’t this moment. This moment they were at the top … or, if one were optimistic, they might even still be climbing. Yeah … maybe they were still climbing, still clicking up the rollercoaster towards the pinnacle. Maybe there were still higher heights left to reach.
Spike leaned down towards her and Buffy lifted her head off his leg as if being pulled by an invisible force. Their lips met somewhere in the middle, soft and gentle under the midnight sky and winking stars. It was a slow, sensuous thing; swaying in the cool night air, tasting each other, making the moment even more perfect. Could perfect become ‘more’, linguistically speaking? Apparently it could, because it just did.
When the kiss broke, just as gently as it had begun, the beads on Buffy’s dress seemed to sing, tinkling against each other as she slid her legs off the swing. The moonbeams that trickled through the oak canopy caressed the shiny sequins and glass baubles of Buffy’s dress and made her body glimmer as she stood up. Their hands were still tangled together, slightly awkwardly now, Spike’s palm against the back of her hand, their fingers still entwined. She turned and wrapped his arm around her middle as he stood up behind her and their hands were perfect again. His hand over hers, protective, nurturing; his arm around her slim waist, pulling her back against his front, their bodies melding, adding to the perfection of the night.
Spike’s cheek was against hers, both of his arms wrapped around her now. She could feel his breath, cool against her skin. For being undead, how could he feel so very alive – always? For being so cool to the touch, how could he always burn her so completely? She remembered William – from the hallucination and from when she actually went back in time. He had been warm; he’d had a heartbeat, a pulse. Spike had none of that now, but she had enough for both of them. Her heartbeat was his. Her warmth was his. Her pulse, her blood pounding in her veins, it was his. It was only fair: he was the one that made her heart race, made her body flush with heat. He was the one that had given her his passion and let her make it her own all those many years ago. Just be.
Buffy began to sway her hips gently from side to side as she pressed back against him. The strands of glass beads moved with her, lyrical in the silence. Silence. She just realized the music had stopped playing. The only sounds were the low roar of distant cars on the freeway and crickets chirping.
“♫We get it on most every night,
“when that moon gets big and bright.
“It’s a supernatural delight,
“everybody’s dancing in the moonlight.
“Do-do-do-do-do…♫” she began to sing softly.
She smiled, remembering that night she and Spike had escaped into William and Avengelyne and danced under the moon. The night that Spike had recreated for her: this perfect night.
here is outta sight,
“They don't bark and they don't bite,
“They keep things loose, they keep things light
“Everybody's dancing in the moonlight, ♫” Spike picked up, his deep basso voice vibrating the air around her.
That was the verse she’d forgotten before! Of course Spike would know all the words … all the right words even, and not fill in with ‘do-do-dos’.
Buffy closed her eyes, moaned, and swayed with him as Spike’s voice continued crooning the song, soft and low, against her ear. She took pleasure in the sound of his voice, the feel of his body against hers, his arms holding her tight, the hard bulge that pressed against the soft flesh of her hip. That passion he’d allowed her to take from him, to nurture as her own, during those first heady days of their life together, never lessened his own. He’d had passion to spare, a deep, unending well of it – he still did, it seemed. Passion for her. Passion for their family. Passion for the life they’d built atop the rockiness that was their beginning.
She smiled to herself and turned in his arms as their hips continued to sway gently to and fro. They’d been through so much over the years, but the one constant that transcended everything was the passion. Even when they were fighting, crying, screaming, or threatening to kill one another it was there: passion. They did everything passionately; right or wrong, it didn’t matter, they would give their all. But the thing that set their passion ablaze faster than anything else were moments like this. Intimate. Romantic. Sexy. Hungry. Need for one another was the flintrock that ignited the coals of desire and fanned the flames of their passion.
When Spike stopped singing, Buffy lifted up onto her bare tiptoes in the grass and touched her lips to his. Their bodies still swayed to unheard music as their tongues and lips joined the dance. Spike pulled her closer, lifting her up until she could barely feel the grass tickling her toes, and deepened the kiss. Her body tingled and throbbed for him. Her lace panties dampened in anticipation as she pressed her hips against his growing erection and wrapped her arms around his neck. His tongue delved into her mouth, tasting, teasing … promising more.
“So beautiful, you are, in the moonlight, Buffy,” he whispered against her lips. “Want to love you under the stars … see your rapture explode like a comet. Outshine the moon, you will.”
Buffy’s eyes darted around to the dark windows above them. The only neighbors that could see into their backyard were, of course, the Katzes. Annie, Dani, and Billy’s rooms all overlooked the backyard too. It was late, though – very late – everyone would be fast asleep. Spike kissed her again, more urgent this time. His hands began lifting the hem of her dress, sliding under, up her thighs, up …up …. Oh God.
Buffy’s body arched into him as he caressed her through her panties; his fingers danced across the damp lace, teasing her, tempting her. Her pulse quickened and her blood raced away from the part of her brain where caution lived. All she could think about was how his body would look in the moonlight, all dark shadows and hard angles; how the night air would raise goose-bumps on her skin as he made love to her; how the soft, damp grass would feel, cool and refreshing against her back as he pressed into her – igniting her.
She took a step back, reluctantly breaking the contact of his fingers against her throbbing womanhood. She took another step, and another, grabbing his hand in hers as she went, pulling him out into the shower of silver moonbeams in the center of the yard and away from the cover of the oak tree.
His eyes were locked on hers as they walked – danced really, a slow, sauntering dance – out into the open. As they moved out from under the shaded canopy, the color of his eyes shifted from the deep blue of a bottomless ocean to the cerulean blue of cloudless sky on a bright, winter’s day. Flecks of gold danced in them, making Buffy’s heart skip a beat and her breath catch in her throat. Danger! Her Slayer senses were crackling bolts of warning down her spine. She let the warnings spike her adrenaline, heighten her senses, ready her for what was next: a battle or … something just as intense as a battle, but much more enjoyable.
She dropped his hand and Spike stopped walking, even though she took another step or two back. When she slid one thin strap of her dress off her shoulder, however, Spike couldn’t stop himself from moving forward. He kissed the shoulder where the strap had been with pillow-soft lips and Buffy shivered. Spike slipped around her, behind her, and pushed the other strap off. His fingers trailed over her shoulder and down her arm as gently as a feather, and his tongue followed, cool and damp against her hot skin.
“God, Spike…” Buffy moaned, her eyes closing, her knees nearly buckling from just that simple touch.
“So beautiful you are, pet … here under the stars,” he murmured against her golden skin.
Buffy turned her face to his and kissed him over her shoulder. His hands wandered up and down her bare arms, igniting lines of goose bumps in their wake. Then his hands roamed up to her shoulders and to the middle of her back. He found the top of the zipper of her dress and lowered it slowly … inch by inch, never breaking the kiss.
Buffy shivered again. She wasn’t sure if it was from the cool air tickling her skin as Spike slid the zipper down, or just the fact that he was sliding her zipper down that brought on the reaction. When he broke the kiss and his lips and tongue followed the zipper down her bare back, she was pretty sure she didn’t care the cause, as long as it didn’t stop anytime soon.
She moaned her approval as her dress slid off her body and puddled in a heap at her feet. It looked like someone had dumped out a pirate’s treasure chest there on the grass as all the beads and sequins glinted like shiny gold coins in the moonlight. As much as that dress cost, the metaphor seemed apt. Buffy stepped out of the pile of gold and turned to face Spike. There was nothing but a tiny thong of white lace between her and the rays of moonlight now.
Spike moved forward, reaching out to remove that last barrier, when she stopped him by tugging on his bowtie. The knot came loose in her hand and she pulled it off his neck. His jacket had been shed some time ago and laid across a chair somewhere, so she began to unbutton his blood-red vest.
Spike watched her as she worked. She was concentrating very hard, so as to not actually rip any of the buttons off, but simply unbutton them. She didn’t look up from her task, so intent was she.
Unable to gaze into the bottomless depths of her green eyes, he found something else to occupy his attention. Her hair was still up, piled atop her head, and that simply wouldn’t do. While she worked on his vest and shirt, Spike reached both hands up and began plucking hairpins and combs out of her tresses. Golden locks fell down in waves with each movement of his hands – first one on the right, then on the left … a wide section at the back came next. One by one, he dropped gleaming slices of her hair down, making the moon more and more jealous of the shining beauty before him.
By the time Buffy got to his trousers, her hair was loose and free, dancing around her face, over her shoulders, and down her bare back. Spike gasped when she slid his zipper down, brushing her hand deliberately against his hard-on. His eyes glowed more golden for a moment, and in that moment he wanted to throw her down and drive her into the turf with his need. And he knew the chances were good she would have welcomed that, but the night had been romantic, and the full moon and twinkling stars called to his more tender nature … William’s nature. This night was tailor-made for making love.
Spike’s dress pants dropped onto the grass as Buffy’s hands slid down his slim hips. All of Spike’s skin was soft – a century plus of avoiding sunlight apparently had some advantages – but the skin along the sides of his hips was the softest and smoothest of all. Ok, that’s not quite true; there was one lovely bit that was even silkier – she’d get to that in a second. Her hands lingered on his hips as she lowered herself down to her knees to seek the silkiest, and, as chance would have it, most sensitive, part of his body.
She dropped a warm kiss on the tip of his cock then trailed her lips down the satiny-hardness slowly and gently, savoring every ridge and valley.
Spike’s hips jerked slightly and her name came out as a deep, trembling moan from his lips. She swirled her tongue under the deep ridge that separated the glans from the shaft, and his moan deepened.
Her hands dawdled on the side of his hips, still caressing the soft skin there, while her tongue flicked down his erection to his balls. She dropped soft kisses over his tightening sac, licked a slow circle around each testicle in turn, paying due homage to each, and then started up his cock again.
“Bloody hell, Buffy,” Spike whispered, his voice deep and husky with desire. “Always make me feel so good, you do.”
Buffy took him in with an appreciative moan, swallowing his length slowly. Spike’s legs trembled from the strain. She was his Kryptonite: Super-vampire to puddle of mush in three seconds flat. He balanced himself against her shoulders lest he tumble to the grass and her mouth leave his body. He tangled his fingers in her long mane of spun gold, as her hands danced over his hips, his ass, and then down the back of his thighs to his ever-weakening knees.
Between deep moans, hisses, growls, and purrs of pleasure, he couldn’t stop the words from rolling off his tongue like warm honey, even though his ability for conscious thought had abandoned him. “Buffy … mmmm … God, Buffy … oooh … so fucking good … Oh, God, woman … ahhhh … you undo me … burns soooo bloody good, luv.”
The words tumbled down and wrapped Buffy in a blanket of warmth, despite the cool air. She loved giving him pleasure, making his knees quake, his hands tremble, his body quiver with desire. The way he moaned her name filled her with the indubitable knowledge that he was hers, and would forever be hers. Of course he showed her that in so many other ways, but somehow, in moments like this, it seemed to come from somewhere much deeper than his mind, or even his heart. The words seemed to flow directly from his soul, and that made all the difference.
She stood up slowly, her heart filled to overflowing with the fire of his soul, leaving a trail of damp kisses over his hard abs and chest. Her hands skimmed up the hard lines of his body as she rose until she could see into his eyes. His eyes were glassy, but they met hers across the short distance between them. His hands still rested on her shoulders, still steadying himself, as he fought off the dizzying power of her touch.
“I love you, Spike. I … I know I say that a lot … and it might sound … I don’t know … like it’s just habit or something, but I really do.”
Spike looked at her quizzically, tilting his head to the side. “I know ya do, Slayer. I love you too.”
Buffy shook her head slightly and blew a soft, snorting breath out through her nose. “What I’m trying to say is … it just seems too simple. I feel like ‘love’ should be more than a four letter word. It deserves to be … I don’t know – the longest word in the English language. Four letters just doesn’t do it justice – at least it doesn’t convey what I feel. I just want you to know how much I love you … from the bottom of William’s gentle, romantic soul to the top of Spike’s randy, Big Bad, fanged smirk. I love you more than two vowels and two consonants can possibly say.
“I supercalifragilisticexpialidocious you,” she said, sing-songing the ‘Mary Poppins’ word, which is the only way she could actually say it all the way through. “That’s what ‘love’ should be, ya know? More than four little letters.”
Spike’s eyes twinkled with joy and he gave her that heart-swelling, boyish grin he had, the one that always melted her into a pile of goo. “That the longest word ya know, Slayer?” he teased, idly wrapping a lock of her hair around a finger.
Buffy shrugged one bare shoulder. “Pretty much … but extra points for concise and proper lyrical pronunciation.” She grinned back at him.
Spike laughed that deep, rolling laugh that carried you away with its resonance, like a feather being lifted on a warm, summer breeze. “I supercali-whatnot you too, Buffy. Always and forever, pet.”
“Always and forever,” she affirmed as she leaned in and kissed him gently.
He stepped out of his dropped trousers, toeing off his dress shoes in the process. When he’d shed the last of his finery, he hooked his thumbs in the lace of her panties at her hips and slid them down for her to step out of. Spike stood back up slowly, his fingers dancing lightly against her bare skin all the way, and then kissed her swollen lips again, more deeply.
“Dance with me … starkers in the moonlight,” Spike whispered against her lips when she finally had to pull back to breathe.
“There’s no music,” she pointed out, even though she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“There’s music … can’t ya hear it?” he asked tilting his head as if he were listening to something. He wrapped his arms around her back, pulled her warm, soft body against his, began to hum, and then sing.
“♫Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance. With the stars up above in your eyes, a fantabulous night to make romance, 'neath the cover of October skies♫,” he crooned softly.
“It’s actually September,” she corrected, her voice teasing.
“Called poetic license, pet. Ya don’t got a poetic bone in your body, do ya, Slayer?”
Buffy shrugged against him, then trailed one hand down from his neck all the way to his hip. She slipped it between their bodies and wrapped her hot fingers around his hard, erect shaft. “Maybe not … but I love your big, long, sexy, poetic bone.”
Spike sucked in a gulp of air and pulled her hips against him tighter, his fingers splayed against the globes of her ass. He trapped her hand between them, as if she had any desire to move it, and he kept them swaying to the music that continued in his head.
“♫Well, I wanna make love to you tonight,” he picked up again, his voice a low timbre in the still, night air. “♫I can't wait 'til the morning has come. And I know that the time is just right, and straight into my arms you will run. And when you come, my heart will be waiting, to make sure that you're never alone. There and then all my dreams will come true, dear; there and then I will make you my own…♫”
Buffy smiled, letting the rich sound of his voice wash over her as she rested her head against his chest. The grass was soft and damp under their bare feet, the air felt chilly against their skin, and the only light came from the moon and stars, which shone down on them like they were the only lovers in the world at that moment.
As he sang, Spike inched them closer to one of the fire-pits. Inside it, the edges of the embers still glowed orange and warm. A small measure of warmth touched them as they moved together, like they’d done a million times before. Buffy loved the feeling of the cool air on one side and the warmth of the dying fire on the other. She loved the naughtiness of dancing naked outside under the moon, and the almost giddy feeling of freedom that accompanied it. Above all of it, of course, she loved seeing the moonbeams flowing over the contours of Spike’s body. Shadows and lines morphed and changed as he moved, as if the moonbeams were the hands of a sculptor, chiseling stone into just the perfect shape. And, as if all that wasn’t enough, he was singing about making love to her, about never leaving her alone … about a moondance.
“♫Can I just have one a-more moondance with you, my love? Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love?♫”
She rose up onto her toes, pressing her bare breasts hard against his chest, and stopped his lips with a kiss. “Yes … Make love to me, baby,” she whispered against his mouth when the kiss broke.
“Do better than that,” he replied, a teasing tone to his voice. “I’ll make supercali-what’s-it to ya, luv.”
Buffy giggled and he dipped his head to capture her sweet, soft lips again. As they kissed, his arms still around her, he pressed her gently down onto the grass. They melted onto the ground as if they were one being, slowly, gracefully, the kiss never breaking. The only concession to the movement was Buffy releasing the hold she had on his … poetic bone.
Buffy felt the dew-damp, soft grass against her back and Spike’s cool, hard body above her, and could think of nothing more perfect. The silver light of the moon danced off his sharp lines and hard muscles, making him look even more marble-esque than normal. But for the fact that he was moving and kissing her, he might’ve been a Romanesque statue, created out of thin air by the light of the harvest moon, right there in their garden.
But he was moving – oh God was he moving. It seemed like every appendage he had was caressing her: his hands and fingers and tongue. Even his rock-solid cock was touching her, teasing her, pressing against her soft curves – so fucking hard. Buffy’s heart skipped and skittered in anticipation of him pressing into her – stretching her, filling her, touching her very core.
Spike pulled back to look at her, sitting back slowly between her legs to take her in. He couldn’t help but be awed by the vision before him. His beautiful wife, his Slayer, lay under the moon and stars, looking like the goddess she was. Her hair was splayed over the grass like a haphazard halo. It shone in the light of the heavens, as if the stars had taken up residence in her silky tresses. Her body, all vestiges of her subconscious’ guilt-driven flagellation now faded, was a vision of womanly hills and valleys. She was thinner than she had been before her bout of anorexia – also brought on by her guilt over that time that only she could remember – but she’d put some of the weight back on over the last months. Since he’d wandered around in her mind and helped her fight her ghosties back in July, she’d been able to let the guilt go. Food was her friend again; chocolate was, once again, her BFF. Her curves were back and they looked good. Better than good: bloody, fucking gorgeous.
Spike kissed and nibbled his way up one golden thigh as Buffy moaned and squirmed slightly beneath him. He quickly decided that he couldn’t make proper supercali-what’s-it to her without tasting the sweet, pheromone-laced nectar that lured him like a bee to a field of clover.
His mouth and tongue never left her burning skin as he moved slowly up her thigh, across her hip and then began back down, following her bikini line to her chalice. Her hands reached down, touching his strong shoulders, fumbling and curling in his soft hair, as he spread her pussy lips with two long, lithe fingers. His gentle touch belied the demon’s strength that lay within him, and sent tremors of desire up Buffy’s spine.
Buffy’s hips bucked up when the cool night air invaded her wet folds, straining to remain quiet under the bright moon that was (hopefully) their only witness. They both moaned in a low, husky chorus when Spike’s tongue touched down on her clit. Fireworks danced across her vision when he circled her hard, aching nub with the tip of that talented appendage.
How she’d managed to keep the better part of her sanity all these years was a mystery. He could drive her so completely crazy … in so many ways, but this was her favorite way, by far. Perhaps that had been his intention all those years ago: drive the Slayer insane, make a pet of her or tally another notch in his Slain-Slayer belt. Humph, if that had been his plan, she’d outmaneuvered him by making him just as crazy.
Spike’s tongue pressed into her slick hole while a finger took over duty teasing her clit. Buffy had to pull her hand from his now-disheveled tresses and stuff her fist into her mouth to stifle a cry of bliss. Oh, Spike! God … yes! she managed to funnel through the bond instead of through her vocal cords as her hips bucked up against that inscrutable mouth of his.
Pour your cum over me, Buffy. God, I love to feel you cum…need to taste your ecstasy, he replied just as silently as he began fucking her hard and fast with his tongue. His fingers alternated between gentle teasing and almost violent pounding against her clit as he thrust into her. He curled his long, enigmatic tongue just enough to find her g-spot with the hard tip, raking over it with each stroke.
Buffy felt the edge flying towards her – or maybe she was flying towards it. It didn’t matter, either way worked. With her fist still stuffed solidly in her mouth, she let her mind take that plunge into the blood-red blindness of rapture. Nothing else existed in that moment – nothing but the feeling of falling off the cliff into a river of crimson passion. The stream of ecstasy licked at her skin, burning her with so much pleasure that it was on the verge of pain. It was that fine line that made it so exciting, so alluring, so absolutely, mind-blowingly blissful.
She was vaguely aware of her body convulsing in the soft grass, of air whooshing from her lungs in a torrent of a scream, of Spike’s hands and mouth lifting her higher and higher still – but none of it mattered in that moment. All that mattered was the feeling – a feeling of being absolutely free.
When her eyes opened again, she was gasping for air. Spike was above her, gazing down into her eyes. He was holding her wrist in a strong grip, licking the knuckles of the hand she’d had stuffed into her mouth. She realized she’d bitten herself – drawn blood in her attempt to not announce her bliss to the entire neighborhood. His eyes were a dark midnight-blue again, sheltered from the bright moonlight, as he licked and kissed her shallow wound. But still the flecks of gold shone in their depths, lit by an inner fire; she shivered under his enigmatic gaze.
“Taste like heaven, you do … sweet ambrosia,” Spike whispered to her as he healed the gash on her knuckles with his vampiric saliva. “You drive me bloody wild, Slayer. Can’t get enough o’ you … never get enough.”
Certain that she was no longer in danger of passing out from lack of oxygen or dripping any of her sweet blood onto the ground, Spike dropped his lips to hers. She tasted her juices on him, slick and salty, and her blood added a coppery tinge to the mix. She never thought her blood tasted sweet like he always claimed, but she was no expert; he, of course, was.
She loved tasting herself on his lips, and her channel began to throb again in need. His body covered hers, forcing her down further into the thick grass. Hard, sharp, masculine lines pressed against supple, silken womanly curves – perfect complements. Buffy wrapped her legs around his slim hips, beckoning him into her velvety warmth.
Spike’s hips shifted and she could feel his hardness slide along her wet, sensitive skin. He teased the head of his cock against her clit, grinding his hips against her in lazy circles. She moaned and he covered her mouth with his again, swallowing her moan of pleasure, consuming it just as he had her blood and her cum. Then the swollen head of his manhood was at her slick, throbbing entrance, pushing against her gently … still teasing and taunting her.
Her body tensed in anticipation and she tightened her legs around his hips, silently urging him on. Just when she thought she was going to have to beg or, more likely, flip him over and simply take what she wanted, he pressed harder. Buffy gasped against his lips as he pushed in, her sugar walls stretching around his hard, cool girth, engulfing him in their slick warmth.
“Buffy …” Spike moaned her name as he glided deeper into her.
The sound sent quivers of fire down her spine. It never ceased to amaze her how he could convey so much emotion, so much meaning, in one muttered word: undying love, devotion, loyalty, desire, passion, bliss. His voice was as rich and creamy as chocolate mousse, as deep as the deepest ocean, as smooth as silk, and as soft and warm as a cashmere sweater.
Her name on his lips spoke directly to her soul. It filled her heart with the serenity of forever. He would love her forever. He would never let her walk alone. He would be there for all eternity, at her side. He would desire her, yearn for her, with his entire being until their bodies were nothing more than dust – and then he would yearn for her with his spirit, his soul.
“Spike…” Buffy rasped back to him, hoping that he was also filled with that feeling of forever with that one simple word. She hoped that his name falling from her lips spoke to his soul, as well.
Spike’s mouth teased against her lips, not actually kissing but nibbling, licking, and tasting her as his hips began to move against hers.
“Love … you … so … much,” he moaned between nibbles of her honeyed lips.
Buffy smiled against his mouth, nibbling back. She caught his darting tongue between her teeth once and bit down enough to make him squirm before releasing him. “Show … me.”
And, with their bodies bathed the silvery light of the moon, he did.
They both moved together, bodies straining to go slowly and lift each other gently up on the rays of silver light to hover among the moon and stars. Spike kissed a line of heat across Buffy’s jaw and down her neck. He stopped at the scar there – his scar – and traced the slightly-raised skin with his tongue. He felt Buffy shudder beneath him, her pussy walls trembling in pleasure around his hard length. Her passion and desire never ceased to leave him awestruck. The feel of her under him, surrounding him, engulfing him, possessing him never ceased to enthrall him. Her moans and gasps of pleasure pierced his heart like cupid’s arrow. To know the joy he could bring her, the rapture, the bliss – it filled him with a fervent maelstrom of lust and love.
His hips jerked against her harder, driving into her deeply, and her moans and whispered exclamations increased. His name was coupled with the Almighty’s more than once, and that was how she made him feel: like a bloody god. And she was his goddess. His perfect, golden, strong and sexy, horny, sometimes bitchy, sometimes cute as a bug, Slayer of a goddess. Too right.
It occurred to him that in his own litany of whispered endearments and curses, he should tell her that. Not the bitchy part, though – she might not take that the right way. “You’re a bloody goddess, Buffy. Should be a constellation o’ stars named for ya … Buffy, Goddess of Love.”
“I think Aphrodite … took that … already,” Buffy gasped between breaths as her back arched up, pressing her breasts against him.
“Oh … right,” Spike stammered, distracted by her hot, hard nipples pressing against his chest. “Goddess o’ …” he began before leaning down and sucking one pebbled nipple between his lips and laving it gently with his tongue.
“… Wild Backyard Monkey Sex,” Buffy supplied, bowing her back into an even more acute arch and digging her fingernails into the globes of Spike’s ass.
Spike had to stop … he just stopped and looked up to her face. She absolutely glowed in the moonlight. The stars that had been in the sky a moment ago had apparently fallen and were now sparkling in her eyes. She had the most innocent smile on her lips. Innocent and deadly, he thought.
He bit his bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth, and shook his head slowly. “You have no bloody idea how much I … supercalifragilisticexpialidocious you, oh Goddess o’ Wild Backyard Monkey Sex.”
He can say it! Buffy’s smile widened and she squeezed her inner muscles around his shaft, making them dance around his length a few times, before stopping and holding him prisoner inside her. “Then you better get to it, oh lowly, immortal subject, or you’ll feel your goddess’ wrath. And it won’t feel as good at this…” she warned, squeezing one more time, even harder.
Spike winced, but nodded eagerly. “Right away, your royal godliness … your wish is my bloody command.”
Spike tried to move, but couldn’t. He tried again – nope.
“What’s the matter?” she asked coyly, trying to keep a straight face.
“Uhhh … if ya squash m’ poetic bone, you’ll be the one sufferin’ the most, pet.”
“Ya wanna make a little bet on that?” she asked, biting her bottom lip as an evil grin spread across her face and she squeezed even harder.
Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Gah!”
Buffy laughed and released the supernatural grip she had on him. Spike sighed in relief and sagged against her for a few moments to recover. He needed to add ‘evil’ and ‘wicked’ to his list of descriptors of his goddess, and perhaps ‘twisted sense o’ bloody humor’. It was all in the Buffy-goddess package – and he’d bow at her feet any day of the bloody week. As long as no one was looking, of course. He had a Big Bad rep to maintain, after all. No need to tell the whole bloody world he was love’s bitch.
“Been workin’ out, eh?” he asked after a few moments. Did Buffy hear a tone of smug satisfaction in his voice?
“Kegels are a girl’s best friend. No embarrassing leaking on the dance floor … you know, due to my advanced age and all,” Buffy replied, giving him an innocent smile.
“Ya do know you’re bloody evil t’ threaten a man’s naughty-bits,” he informed her as he began moving his hips against her again. “Don’t think it’ll be forgotten, Slayer … one day I’ll make ya pay dearly for that.”
“Mmmmm…” she moaned, her eyes fluttering closed. “Promises, promises,” she purred silkily.
“Don’t pretend you don’t love my tortures,” she continued, her voice drunken with lust. “It’s all part of the Goddess of Wild Backyard Monkey Sex’s sacred duty.”
He smirked at her and slammed his pubic bone sharply against her clit in reply. Of course, she was right: he did love it. A little pain just made the big finale all that much sweeter. He wasn’t even adverse to a good bit of pain, as evidenced by the way his lust and need had ratcheted up a few notches by his goddess’ sweet torture of his danglies.
“An’ what’s my sacred duty, then?” he rasped into her ear as their bodies found their rhythm again.
“Fuck me into the ground and rocket me through the stars, back to heaven,” she divulged without even a moment’s thought.
Spike growled loudly and slammed down on her with every ounce of demon lust he had. Buffy squeaked slightly in surprise, then dug her nails into his ass harder, urging him on. “God, woman, I love you … such a fucking animal, you are,” he ground out as he pounded down on her violently.
Buffy’s back arched up off the now-warm grass at her back as his pubic bone slammed hard against her clit. Fire danced down her legs and up through her body with each stroke. Her muscles jerked and jumped, as if getting electric-shock treatment, every time he ground down on her bundle of nerves. She could feel the burning wall of ecstasy building in her like a tidal wave and wanted to start screaming already, but some small part of her brain remembered that their children were sleeping not too far above them.
Yes, Spike! More! Yes! Yes! Fuck me! she screamed at him through the bond, instead. She couldn’t stop the high-pitched mewling squeals that came out of her throat with each ragged breath, though.
Spike stopped momentarily to reposition and get more leverage. He dragged her legs from around his waist and pressed them up and out, opening her up to him completely. God, she was beautiful laying there under him. She glowed as the moonbeams danced over her damp skin. Her half-lidded eyes blinked open when he stopped, and he could again see the stars glittering lustily in their green depths.
He began moving again, watching her face, her body, as he slid in and out of her silken channel. Her breasts swayed and bounced with every thrust he made into her hot, tight pussy and he couldn’t resist dipping his head and catching one jiggling nipple between his lips.
Buffy moaned and her back arched up, pressing her tit into his mouth harder. She released her grip on his ass to give him free rein and used one hand to tease and twist the nipple he’d ignored. He had her pretty well pinned down so she couldn’t really lift her hips up much to meet his thrusts, although she tried. She was opened up to him completely – her legs stretched high and wide. She was at the vampire’s mercy. It sent an instinctive shiver of fear down her spine at the same time that it turned her on.
Spike bit down hard on the soft flesh of her breast, and Buffy’s hips bucked despite being pinned under him. She moaned a deep throaty approval as Spike licked the droplets of blood that he’d drawn.
Take me, Spike … take all of me, she begged him through the bond.
“God, Buffy … so fucking hot, you are. I could fuck you for-bloody-ever,” Spike’s voice rumbled in her ear as she felt and heard his demon visage emerge from behind the mask of the man.
Buffy felt a surge of adrenaline join the wall of ecstasy that was building inside her. Every instinct she had was screaming at her: Danger! Fight! Run! Her whole body trembled in anticipation as she felt Spike’s gasping breath pulsing cool against her over-heated skin.
When Spike’s fangs sliced through the flesh of her neck and tapped into her jugular, her body went into wild bouts of blissful spasms. She tried to inhale, tried to exhale … but neither would work. Her body convulsed under him as the burning tidal wave crashed down on her, at once painful and idyllic.
She could feel her blood coursing from her body into Spike’s, feel and hear his lips sucking against her lustily. She could feel his cock pounding into her even harder, harder than he had any right to be able to. Deeper, and deeper still, he thrust – touching her core, touching her very soul. She heard some animal screaming and a lion roaring, and then she was flying over the face of the Man in the Moon.
She looked around as she soared, down into the valleys created by some long-ago asteroid and up over the hills of debris it left behind, and suddenly Spike was with her. They were bathed in the white-light of the lunar body as they danced and flew, unmindful of anything but the feeling of delightful weightlessness that surrounded them. The Man in the Moon laughed with them as they grazed over the barren landscape, wrapped in each other’s love.
As their soaring slowed and they began simply floating on gossamer wings, it suddenly began to rain. Cool droplets of water danced over them and sent up puffs of dust from the barren, powder-dry surface below. Somewhere in Buffy’s orgasm-clouded mind she thought, Huh … that’s weird.
“Fuck!” she heard Spike growl. The spell was broken; she suddenly fell back to earth, a harsh return to reality, and blinked her eyes open.
“Let’s go! The whole bloody neighborhood’s awake and the sodding sprinklers are on!”
“Huh?” Buffy replied, wittily. But, even in a half-stupor, she took his hand and he hauled her to her feet. Cold water from the automatic sprinklers drenched the lovers. They both ducked instinctively, trying to avoid the water, but that just got them sprayed directly in the face. The coals in the fire-pit were hissing and steaming next to them and all the lights in the surrounding houses, including their own, had clicked on.
“Shit! My shoes! My dress!” Buffy exclaimed, turning in frantic circles as she tried to find her clothes in the dark.
“Sod that, Slayer! The bloody bits are up! C’mon!” Spike admonished her, dragging her by the hand towards the house.
“But … it cost a small fortune and it’s dry clean only! And those shoes are Louis …” she began, but he was hauling her through the spraying water towards the back door at a dead run.
They slammed into the house, naked and drenched. Leaving a trail of cold water on the floor, Spike got them to the downstairs bathroom before the lights in the great room came on. He pushed her inside and slammed the door behind them. They both stood there, breathing hard, hands on their thighs, staring at each other for a long moment. And then they both began to laugh hysterically, sounding like maniacs out on a three-day pass.
“Mom? … Dad?” Annie’s voice called tentatively from somewhere outside the closed door, barely audible over the gales of laughter that echoed within the bathroom. “Is that you? Are you … ok?”
Buffy tried to get her giggles under control, but didn’t completely succeed. “Yeah … we’re … It’s ok, just go back to bed, honey.”
“What’s going on? I heard … something weird and …”
“No worries, Niblett,” Spike tried, a laugh rumbling out at the end of the word. “Do as your mum says: go back t’ bed.”
Annie didn’t say anything. They could hear her footsteps walking away from the bathroom.
Buffy sat down on the edge of the tub as another fit of giggles consumed her. She was shivering and laughing and still buzzed from the sex. Spike turned the shower on and, as soon as the water was hot, he lifted his adrenaline-addled Slayer to her feet and guided her under the warm spray.
He had to kiss her as they stood there under the warm, running water. She was a sight to behold. Her body was flushed with the heat of their love-making, giggles still burbled from her throat, her teeth chattered from the cold they’d been showered in outside, and she was bouncing up and down on her toes, trying to get warm.
“I bloody well love you, goddess-mine,” he murmured against her lips.
Buffy’s teeth clattered together in a shivering reply.
Spike laughed as he wrapped his arms around her and held her against him. For once he was actually warmer than she was. He’d been thoroughly heated from the inside-out from the blood he’d taken from her. Not even the bloody freezing-ass sprinkler water could chill him right now.
“Ok, you guys – gross,” Annie called through the door after a few minutes. “Us kids have to play in that yard, ya know.”
“Busted,” Buffy whispered to Spike, giggling. She could not stop giggling. Maybe she’d had too much champagne … or maybe it was just too much Spike. Oh, never mind, that’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing as too much Spike.
“Thought your mum told ya to go back t’ bed, Niblett,” Spike called back to her, trying to sound annoyed but not really succeeding.
“You left the back door standing wide open and a trail of water a mile wide on the floor. I know what you were doing out there. You’d think a Master Vampire and a Slayer would be more … stealthy.”
“Yeah, well …you’d be bloody wrong, then wouldn’t ya?” Spike replied cleverly.
“Sometimes I think I was adopted,” Annie called back to him. Spike could feel her eyes roll through the closed door.
“If ya don’t do as your mum says and go back t’ bed, it can still be arranged, pet,” Spike warned, making Buffy giggle again.
“Too late, Dani and Billy are up now too…” Annie informed him. “Oh … and here comes Dawn … and Bess. You can’t give us all away,” she asserted.
“What’s goin’ on?” Dani called as footsteps descended the stairs.
“Mom and Dad said, since we're up early, we could have ice cream sundaes with all the toppings for breakfast,” Annie replied, a tone of victory in her voice.
“That cheeky little minx!” Spike growled.
“Oh! Awesome!” Dani and Billy chorused as one, their footsteps coming faster now.
Buffy giggled again. “I want an ice cream sundae for breakfast too.”
“Bloody hell, I’m living in a soddin’ nuthouse.”
“It should really tell you something about yourself if you just figured that out, Spike,” Buffy teased as she turned the water off and reached for a towel.
Spike shrugged and sighed. There was no denying that. “So, what kinda ice cream ‘ave we got?”
Next: We say goodbye to Dawn.
Moondance, Van Morrison
Well, it's a marvelous
night for a Moondance
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