|Story Title:||Come Fly With Me|
Fly the friendly skies …
Post NFA one chapter quickie fic.
Come Fly With Me, Frank Sinatra
ScreenCaps courtesy of ScreenCap Paradise:
Thanks to 'epd4' and PaganBaby for betaing this!!
|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.
Spike, Buffy, and Giles settled into their seats for the ten hour flight from London to L.A. Giles took the window, Buffy the middle and Spike the aisle. With the time difference, they’d arrive at 11:30pm L.A. time Saturday night. They were 'chasing the dark', the best way to ensure Spike didn't have to spend the whole trip in the lav, away from the windows.
The Coven in Westbury had alerted the rebuilt Council, headed by Giles, of a newly Chosen Slayer in L.A. But this wasn't just a typical retrieval mission. This Slayer was in a mental institution, much like Dana, whom Buffy had sent Andrew to retrieve several years ago. That hadn't really gone well. In fact, Andrew finally came clean about the whole thing a few weeks after he'd gotten back with the deranged Slayer. That was when Buffy learned for the first time that Spike was alive – or still undead, or undead again. Andrew, of course, begged her not to tell Spike that he was the one that blabbed. He really didn't want to know what Spike would do to him if he found out. There had been some threat of a 'wedgie to end all wedgies'; Andrew tried not to think about it.
To say that she was hurt and confused about that revelation would've been a gross understatement. Yes, she'd tried to move on, forget Spike. But, no matter how many dates she went on or how she tried to keep her mind busy by throwing herself into helping train the new Slayers or helping Giles rebuild the Council, Spike always found her when she closed her eyes at night. He filled her dreams and nightmares, his words cut her anew with every breaking dawn, 'No you don't, but thanks for saying it.' They were like her alarm clock, no matter how she tried to replace them with something else, anything else, they were always there, ringing in her ears every morning.
The regret of not saying those three little words to him sooner, before it was too late to really show him that it was true, weighed heavily on her heart. After she was brought back from the dead, Spike was the only one that could make her feel anything, and she'd used him and abused him and humiliated him and it finally drove him to the very edge of insanity. And Spike had jumped off. He’d done things that she didn't think she could ever forgive him for. But ... she had. Slowly, she had.
He'd faced heaven knows what, fought to have his soul restored – for her. He’d fought to be the kind of man that would never do those kinds of things that required such forgiveness again. But still she'd kept him at arm's length, never acknowledging his sacrifice or how hard he tried to be the kind of man she deserved. Angel had his soul forced upon him; Spike had sought it out, battled for it – that should've meant something, but she wouldn't let it. In the nights just before the final battle with The First he'd held her ... just held her, and gave her strength to face another day. She should've told him then what that meant to her, what he meant to her, but she hedged. She withdrew like a frightened child. ‘Does it have to mean something?’ And then it was too late.
After Andrew came clean about Spike, it took months of inner turmoil before Buffy, spurred on by an insistent Dawn, summoned the courage to go to L.A. herself and confront the reanimated vamp. Spike had told her he loved her time and time again over the years. He'd said he always would. 'Always' seemed to have gotten quite a lot shorter in her estimation. But what did she really expect, she argued with herself, she'd pushed him aside over and over again, scoffed at his heartfelt words and tossed sharpened barbs back at him. How long did she really expect someone to keep hanging on waiting for a crumb? Apparently, even Spike had a limit.
By the time she finally got to L.A., in May of 2004, the heart of the city was in shambles. It looked like a war had been waged there and she realized that it had, but not a human war. A large section in the heart of the City of Angels was a wasteland. Seemingly overnight, the government cordoned off the whole area with a fence and security that would've rivaled the Berlin Wall back at the height of the Cold War – and there was no ‘Checkpoint Charlie’. But walls and security didn't deter Buffy as she made her way onto the bloody battlefield; she knew Spike and Angel had to be in there – somewhere. She didn't understand Angel and Spike working for Wolfram & Hart. Giles insisted that company was 'evil incorporated', but Andrew said Spike wasn't evil, well not evil-evil ... he was, well, Spike-evil. It was a whole different vibe – and, frighteningly, Buffy knew what Andrew meant. The blond vamp tried to help Dana, in the end it cost him his hands, lopped off by the deranged Slayer at the wrists, Andrew had told her. That was Spike, alright – 'Fools Rush In' should've been his theme song ... the Bow-Wow-Wow version, not Doris Day.
Buffy searched for up to eighteen hours a day for the two vamps. It was slow and arduous, having to avoid the constant patrols of army personnel and people in white lab coats that looked suspiciously like they might be working for the purportedly defunct Initiative. It took her nearly a week of searching through the debris to finally find the blond vampire. She thought she could physically feel her heart breaking when she pulled him from under a pile of heavy beams and rubble. It looked almost like someone had stacked the debris over and around him as protection, but she wasn't sure. Buffy didn't dwell on it; she was just relieved to find him in one piece, not a bunch of little dusty pieces. Spike's body was broken, many bones were crushed, and he was covered in blood, his own blood. She couldn't imagine how he could ever heal, ever come back from it, but he had, eventually.
She never found Angel or any of the other people from AI that she knew. Just Spike. She'd taken him back on the Council's private plane to Italy where she was living near Dawn. That was back in the good ole days when they could still afford a private plane. The pilot was able to avoid the public airstrips and instead landed at one out in the countryside that had been used for the Council's more 'covert' missions, bypassing customs and immigration. She took Spike home to her apartment in Rome and cleaned his wounds, set his broken bones and waited. And waited. She’d gotten one of the Coven witches, who was also a nurse, to give him a transfusion of blood – Slayer blood. And still she waited. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of waiting and wishing, he woke up. Wishes, for once, turned into horses.
A lot had happened in the last five years since she'd rescued Spike from the battlefield, a lot of healing had to take place, both physically and emotionally. It didn't happen overnight, but it happened, nonetheless. But during that time her life had turned around so completely that Buffy was almost afraid to look behind her lest she see the gaping maw of hell chasing her, trying to pull her back into it. So she didn't look back, she just looked forward, and she vowed to not put off anything for tomorrow; tomorrow, she knew all too well, may never come. Tomorrow may be too late.
She and Spike had eventually gotten married, Giles gave her away and Xander, of all people, was Spike's best man. During the ceremony, which could only be described as 'not traditional', she'd let Spike claim her and make her not only his wife, but his mate. It didn't make her a vampire, she was still a Slayer, but now she was part of the Clan of Aurelius, part of the Master's line. The idea of it was creepy to her at first, but the claim had opened a bond between her and Spike that Buffy had a hard time comprehending at times – a strong bond, a blood bond. It allowed them into the other's mind when they both opened it; it allowed them to share dreams, dreams that seemed completely real to both of them. They could go anywhere in their dreams, do anything. If they wanted to make love in a hot air balloon over the Alps, then that's what they did; if they wanted to swim to the bottom of the ocean and make love on a bed of coral, they did; if they just wanted to walk in the mid-day sun on a white sand beach and listen to the waves crash against the shore, they did. They could do anything anywhere - hey, they were dreams. It was pretty cool, actually.
So now, five years since she found him mangled and broken in L.A. and six years after he'd burned closing the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, they were on their way back there, back to the scene of the heartbreak. It was true, she could've sent someone else to retrieve this Slayer, but there was more news. A developer had purchased the whole area that used to be Sunnydale from the State of California. The state had ‘repossessed’ the area after bailing out all the insurance companies that had nearly gone broke paying claims to all the former residents. The developer was planning on filling in the crater and building an earthquake-proof 'city of the future' there.
Just like Sunnydale had been built upon the ruins of untold cities that came before it, the Hellmouth would be home to families once again. It made Buffy shudder to think about it. She wanted to see it one last time before a new city was built atop their old lives; Spike had never seen the crater at all. This would be his last chance to see what his champion's soul had wrought.
After they got their carry-ons stowed and were buckled in, Giles pulled something out of the bag under his seat and handed to Buffy. “Willow sent this for you, it’s a ‘smart phone’,” he told her. “When we have the young woman secure, you can take a photograph of her with it and email it to Willow and she’ll have a passport delivered to our hotel for her. I’ve got a certified birth certificate in my bag for her, as well. Since we don't know her actual age, or really anything other than her name, Willow listed her birth year as 1991, so she’ll be listed as eighteen … as an adult, as you suggested.”
Unfortunately, the money it took to rebuild the Council, locate and train so many new Slayers, and hire additional Watchers made things like private jets a luxury they could no longer afford. So this trip to retrieve the newly Called Slayer was on a commercial airliner and would require papers, passports, and tickets. They hoped with medication and tranquilizers the new Slayer would be docile enough to transport back in the same manner; if not, they would charter a plane back.
Buffy knew Willow had found a way to forge a birth certificate, but she didn’t know about the passport. She assumed they would have to figure that out on the fly.
“Willow hacked into the American Passport Department?” she asked Giles with surprise. Willow had long ago gotten papers for Spike, a forged U.K. passport and birth certificate; she didn't know the witch/computer genius had also tapped into the American government's computer systems.
“I believe it’s the Department of State, actually … and yes, apparently so,” Giles replied, still holding out the phone.
“She’s scary,” Buffy muttered, taking the phone from his hand.
“Quite,” Giles agreed.
Buffy looked down at the ‘smart phone’. “Where are the buttons, the numbers? How do you dial it?” she asked, turning it over in her hands.
“They come up on the screen,” Giles told her. “Here,” he continued, handing her a manual for the phone that was half an inch thick and written in a font so small that she needed a magnifying glass to read it. It also appeared to be in some language other than English, but she wasn’t 100% certain.
Buffy fanned the pages on the manual quickly with her fingers and shook her head. “You know, I’m not really that good with technology. Why don’t you keep it?” she suggested to Giles, trying to hand it back to him.
“I afraid you’re much more skilled at technology than I am!” he insisted, pushing the phone back towards her.
“But you’re so much better with books than I am,” Buffy argued, pushing it back at him.
“You’re younger – your adaptation skills are much more flexible than mine,” Giles shot back.
“You’re smarter. I really hate it when my phone is smarter than I am,” Buffy countered as they pushed the phone back and forth between them like a hot potato.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Buffy, you’re much brighter than you realize,” Giles insisted.
“I’m gonna be on Slayer duty, it might get broken. It looks kind of fragile. It’s really a Watcher phone, not a Slayer phone,” Buffy pointed out.
Giles sighed – he couldn’t really argue with that, it did look rather fragile. When he hesitated, Buffy dropped the phone and the instruction manual into his lap in victory as they taxied for take-off.
With that decided, Buffy laced her right hand in Spike’s left. She looked past Giles and out the window as the plane began racing down the runway, building speed for take-off. She hadn’t been in a plane in a long while … well, five years to be exact. It was exciting to see the runway lights flashing by like blurs as the g-force built. She always loved this part.
It was exhilarating to Buffy when the plane lifted off and started climbing. It was one of those feelings that never got old for her. It always made her think of the first time her mom and dad had taken her on a plane when they’d gone to visit her Aunt Arleen in Downers Grove, Illinois when she was five. It’s one of those nearly indescribable feelings: excitement mixed with a little fear with some elation sprinkled on top, and it felt just the same now as it did all those years ago. It made her a little tingly all over and she squeezed Spike’s hand tightly in hers as they left the ground.
When she turned away from the window and her eyes met Spike’s, the tingling feeling seemed to settle into one specific area of her body. Was that from the takeoff or was it her husband’s eyes delving into hers that did that? She wished the reason for the trip was different. If it had been a vacation she knew she’d be giddy right about now. As it was, she felt hopeful that they would be able to retrieve the new Slayer quickly without any bloodshed or causalities, and definitely no chopped off hands, along the way.
Spike watched Buffy as she looked out the window at the lights speeding past and smiled to himself. At times she was so much like a child. So easily pleased and excited by what some people would consider mundane or even scary. He folded his larger hand around hers like a glove. He could feel her pulse quicken as the plane accelerated down the runway for take-off and he was suddenly glad that she’d talked him into this mission. Retrieving a deranged Slayer wasn’t high on the Zagat’s list of things to do in L.A. It was even lower on Spike’s list, but Buffy wanted to go and he never could quite tell her ‘no’.
The last time he’d been on a commercial airliner had been when he and Dru came over to the states from Europe after she’d been attacked and nearly killed in Prague. They normally didn’t take airplanes – you could never predict when you might have sunlight beaming in on you. But she’d insisted that Miss Edith told her the cure was to be found in Sunnydale and he wanted to get his dark princess there as quickly as possible. Back then tickets were transferable and, other than asking if you packed your own bag, there was little in the way of security, especially at the smaller airports. He’d killed a couple of travelers and taken their tickets, traveling first class all the way from Munich, where he’d taken Dru after they’d fled Prague, to London, New York, then on to L.A.
He had no idea at the time the new destiny that awaited him. It had been a long and bloody road getting from there to here – but it was a journey he would do again in a heartbeat. To be by Buffy's side like this, holding her hand, knowing that what he did mattered to her, that he mattered to her and that he was the man she deserved made every bump in that road, every drop of blood that had been spilled, worth it.
When Buffy turned away from the window and looked into his eyes just as the plane took off and the g-forces really kicked in, he thought her eyes had never looked more beautiful. He loved to see her happy, smiling, see that sparkle in her eyes and the rosy glow to her cheeks. It's what he'd sacrificed himself for in the Hellmouth, it was part of the reason he hadn't contacted her when he was brought back from the ashes. When he first got back, yeah, he was going to go to her, but the magic that brought him back had him tethered to W&H. Then, after he had time to really think about it he got ... well ... terrified.
His last words to her were hurtful, beyond hurtful – heartbreaking. He'd done it to make her leave, make her get to safety, but the pain he saw in her eyes at that moment cut him worse than any of her words or punches ever had because he knew he'd caused it ... intentionally. He'd hurt her before, he knew, before the soul, but it had never been intentional, not like that was, not premeditated and cold like that. If he went to her after he'd been released from the amulet and seen hatred or revulsion in her eyes or worse yet, that same hurt, his heart wouldn't've been able to stand it. So he didn't go.
He never expected to survive the battle with the Blackthorn and the armies of hell in L.A. Afterwards, when he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Buffy. As he blinked against the too bright light that shone down on him and finally got his vision to focus, he saw tears welling in her eyes. He was in hell. That was the only explanation there could be. He'd been sent to his own personal hell where he'd see those tears in her eyes for all eternity, just like that day in the Hellmouth. Then she hugged him and pain radiated out from all parts of his body from the broken bones that had yet to heal and that made perfect sense. He deserved that for the pain he'd caused her.
Then she spoke. "I love you," she whispered bravely against his ear, her breath warm and damp against his cool skin. Spike clinched his eyes closed tightly to stem a tide of tears as his own words ricocheted around painfully in his mind. 'No you don't, but thanks for saying it.'
"Spike ... can you hear me? I'm not just saying it ... I really do. I should've said it before ... before it was too late. Spike?"
Spike's brow furrowed and he opened his eyes – that wasn't part of the hell-script. He pushed her back to look into her eyes. Pain shot up and down his arms from his muscles being forced to move for the first time in weeks, but he barely noticed. He needed to see the hurt in her eyes that he knew would be there; he deserved this, and so much more. Her tears were flowing freely, running down her cheeks like rivers. Confusion washed over him in that moment. It wasn't hurt he saw in her eyes but ... worry? Fear? Perhaps even a little relief?
"Did you hear me? I said I love you, you boneheaded vampire," she repeated as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Duh! Who else would put up with you scaring them half to death like that? What do you think, being some kind of hero and saving the world gives you the right to..."
"Buffy?" he asked again in disbelief, cutting her off.
"Yeah, Spike, it's me. Welcome back."
And with that the hell that Spike thought he was in had morphed into heaven. It was really Buffy and she really did love him.
As the plane leveled out and the seatbelt sign was turned off, Buffy put her tinglies out of her mind as she watched the flight attendant explain where the exits were and how to use your seat cushion as a floatation device. She wondered who would remember to take their seat cushion with them if they managed to survive a crash landing. She also wondered if there was some part of the seat that could be used to fight the sharks off and keep hypothermia from setting in while you floated on your cushion in the freezing waters of the north Atlantic. Not surprisingly, that was never mentioned. When the speech was over, she pulled out some magazines that she’d borrowed from Dawn and began flipping through them. Buffy bit her lip to keep from giggling when she saw Giles open the instruction manual for the new phone and start studying it. She wished all her battles were that easy to win.
“What exactly is a ‘Lady Gaga’?” Buffy asked Spike, holding up one of the magazines for him to see.
Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fancies ‘erself a singer, I reckon,” Spike explained.
Buffy pursed her lips in thought as she thumbed through more pictures and skimmed the article. “But … what is she a ‘Lady’ of?”
Spike shook his head and shrugged. “Pre-teen girls and hormone-charged, sex-deprived boys?” he guessed.
Buffy pursed her lips together in thought. “When I was a girl, the only ‘Lady’ we knew was Lady Di.”
“I reckon Gaga’s a totally different kinda ‘lady’, pet.”
“No doubt,” Buffy agreed, nodding. “I guess it was the whole fairy-tale mentality. Young, sweet, pretty kindergarten teacher falls in love and marries a prince … a real prince and becomes an actual princess living in an actual castle,” Buffy reflected wistfully.
“Until he fools around on ‘er, she fools around on him, they divorce and she dies in a mysterious car crash less than twenty years after she married the tosser,” Spike finished.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fairy tales suck.”
“Not all of ‘em,” Spike disagreed, lifting the armrest that was between them and sliding over against her. Buffy leaned into him and Spike tucked her under his arm as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Once upon a time, there was a vampire. He was the baddest, meanest, most cunning vamp the world had ever known … oh, and bloody handsome.”
“And brimming with modesty,” Giles interjected dryly from the other side of Buffy.
“Angelus?” Buffy questioned with a smirk. Spike growled at both of them, a low and deep rumble that seemed to come from his very soul. Buffy giggled, patting a hand soothingly on his thigh, urging him to continue.
“He won battle after battle,” Spike continued. “Defeating all comers, even two of his mortal enemies … Slayers. His skill and reputation as the slayer of Slayers grew and he was known far and wide. His reputation for mayhem, destruction, and bloodshed preceded him wherever he went.”
“Except in Sunnydale, where they’d never heard of him,” Buffy interjected.
“Who’s tellin’ this bloody story? You or me?” Spike questioned in mock agitation.
“Despite all his accomplishments over his long life, the vampire still felt unfulfilled,” Spike continued.
“The poor dear,” Giles intoned, never taking his eyes off the instruction manual for the phone that he was studying intently.
Spike reached over and shoved him in the shoulder. “Don’t need no help from the bloody peanut gallery.
“Then he came to Sunnydale. His dark princess was ill and they hoped to find a cure on the Hellmouth. What he hadn’t expected to find was …” Spike hesitated a moment and looked down at Buffy just as she looked up at him. When their eyes met and locked, Spike continued, “…a shirty Slayer with stupid hair and pimples on ‘er chin, with an over-the-hill librarian for a Watcher,” he finished with a smirk.
Buffy huffed and smacked him on the stomach as she sat up and glared at him and he laughed. “I did not have any pimples on my chin!” she objected and Spike laughed harder, leaning forward in his seat and resting his head on the back of the seat in front of him trying to get his mirth under control.
“You’re mean,” Buffy moaned, crossing her arms and sticking her bottom lip out in a dangerous Summers pout. “I told you fairy tales sucked.”
Spike sat back and reached his arm back around her, but she pulled back stubbornly, not letting him pull her against him. “Sorry, luv … ‘ere now, c’mon and I’ll fix it.”
Buffy snorted softly but leaned back against him and Spike wrapped his arm back around her. “What the vamp didn’t know was, behind that pimply exterior was a tender heart and a soul that fit his like a key in a lock. He didn’t understand what was happening to him … why did he always fail against this girl and her band of misfits?”
“Perhaps because he was impulsive, lacked discipline, and had no ability to make or follow a proper plan,” Giles interjected dryly, never looking up from his book, and Spike nudged him in the shoulder again.
“Or maybe it was ‘cos he had fallen in love with this girl – like a stake, she’d embedded herself in his heart the moment he laid eyes on ‘er. The demon fought the man, protesting the intrusion with all its might, but the demon was no match for this Slayer. He knew his only course o' action was t' help the girl, no matter the cost. She was the half that made him whole … she was the one that made his heart soar, who gave him wings.”
“Perhaps he should’ve simply nicked some Red Bull from the grocery,” Giles interjected and Spike punched him in the arm harder.
Giles finally looked up from the instruction manual and rubbed his arm where Spike had hit him. “I do hope this story will be over soon,” he told Spike. “I believe if it gets any more saccharine I will require an air-sickness bag.”
“No wonder you don’t ‘ave a bloody girlfriend, Watcher,” Spike sneered at him. “Try a little humor and romance once in a while! You might actually get some nookie. Poor Watcher … I can see the epitaph on your headstone now, ‘Cuppa tea, cuppa tea, almost got shagged, cuppa tea.’”
Giles smiled ruefully at Spike. “There are other pursuits which are quite fulfilling, and I’ve been told I have a marvelous sense of humor. Does everything have to be about shagging with you?”
Buffy and Spike both shrugged. “Not everything,” Buffy agreed. “But … ninety-five percent, wouldn’t you say?” she questioned in a serious tone, looking at Spike.
“Ninety-eight … I’d say ninety-eight percent,” Spike corrected her and Buffy shrugged again, looking back at Giles and nodding her agreement.
“Dear Lord … please give me strength,” Giles mumbled, rolling his eyes as he turned his attention back to his studies.
After about an hour of flipping through magazines, talking about the celebrities on the pages, and trying to guess who told Giles he had a ‘marvelous sense of humor,’ Spike and Buffy both dozed off …
Spike looked down the aisle of the crowded plane and watched the stewardess … uhhhh, flight attendant, offering the passengers snacks and drinks. She was smiling and friendly as she passed out the little packs of peanuts and poured sodas and other, stiffer drinks for the weary travelers. As she got to their row, she looked down at Spike and gave him a saucy smile. Her green eyes smoldered as she raked them over his body.
“See anything you like?” she asked, her voice low and sexy as she leaned down near him and rested one hand on his upper thigh. Her breasts were inches from his face and Spike licked his lips, unable to tear his eyes away from the darker skin of her nipples that were playing peek-a-boo with the black lace of her low-cut uniform.
Spike gulped and looked over at Buffy, who was sound asleep, her head resting on his shoulder, then looked back and met the eyes of the blonde who was leaning over him.
“Well?” Buffy asked as she leaned over him, rubbing her hand up and down his thigh from his crotch to his knee and back again.
“Coffee, tea, or me?” she questioned coyly, brushing her mouth against his, just barely touching his soft lips with hers.
Spike moaned deeply as she ran her tongue across his lips, sparking bolts of searing lust that shot straight to his groin. Spike reached out a hand and slid it slowly up the fishnet stockings that covered her legs to the soft skin of her upper thigh and around to her firm, bare ass. He squeezed her butt hard as she teased his lips and tongue with hers. His cock jumped, threatening the zipper on his jeans. He’d purposely not worn button-fly jeans this day, thinking the zipper would be stronger, but was suddenly glad he’d packed an extra pair in his carry-on, ‘cos he wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Baby likes t’ play, does she?” Spike questioned with a smirk as he yanked her down on top of him. Suddenly, they weren’t crammed in like sardines back in coach any longer. All the other passengers faded from view – it was just them, in their own private plane, in their own private shared dream.
Buffy squealed as he pulled her down and turned her around on his lap so she was sitting sideways, looking up at him, her legs dangling out into the aisle.
“I bet you offer that sweet treat between your legs to all the blokes,” Spike speculated as he ran his hand up her inside thigh, past the stockings to her wet, hot pussy lips. Buffy squirmed and moaned when he pressed a finger between her labia and began teasing her, sliding his finger up and down her slick, sensitive skin.
“Unh-uh,” she assured him. “Only the biggest, baddest, meanest, hardest,” she began before he touched down lightly on her hard clit, sending electricity shooting out in all directions. Her body jerked as the shocks ricocheted through her, leaving a path of burning embers in their wake. “Oh God!”
Spike growled against her neck as he continued fingering her pussy. “You’ve never met anyone bigger, badder, meaner, or harder. You’re gonna be begging me for it before I’m done with you, pet.”
“Oh … you wouldn’t torture a poor, horny, defenseless girl, would you?” Buffy moaned, putting the back of her hand to her forehead and leaning her head back melodramatically like an actress in a silent movie.
“Within an inch of ‘er life,” Spike assured her. He licked a line down from her neck to the dark chasm between her cleavage. He followed the lace at the top of her dress with his tongue until he found one elusive pink areola, pressing the fabric away with his mouth. His lips latched onto her hard nipple and he sucked down, flicking his tongue against her hot flesh at the same time. Buffy’s back arched up against him as she moaned her approval of his torture.
“You’ll never want anyone else when I’m done with ya,” Spike warned the sultry blonde in his lap.
“No guy’s that good … I’m insatiable. I’ve got muscles you can’t even imagine. It’ll be you that’ll never want anyone else, mister. I ride ‘em hard and put ‘em up wet and wobbly,” Buffy warned back with a teasing smile. “I’ll be the only friendly skies you’ll ever want to fly,” she assured him, pressing a hand between them and squeezing his hard-on through his jeans.
Spike sucked in a sharp breath of air when she groped him, her hot hand painfully strong – he couldn’t wait to test out the rest of the muscles of which she spoke. “We’ll just have to see then, won’t we, missy?” Spike challenged as he pulled his hand from under her skirt and ripped her dress down the middle with both hands, exposing her full, round breasts to him.
Buffy shrieked in surprise then moaned deeply when his mouth came down on one tit and began sucking, hard and rough. To add to her pleasure, he pulled and twisted the other nipple between his long, slender fingers and Buffy’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Mmmmmm … baby likes it rough, does she?” Spike questioned, his words damp against her hot skin.
“Oh yeah … ride me rough,” Buffy moaned, pulling his face back against her breast. Spike accommodated her, sucking and licking, biting and pulling her sensitive nipples until she screamed out in bliss. Her body tensed and quivered in his lap and her ass pressed down hard against his own raging desire as her orgasm washed over her. Buffy flew through the dark skies, soaring around the stars and skimming over the clouds, no airplane required, as Spike continued his ministrations – keeping her flying as long and high as he could.
“More …” Buffy moaned as she came back down from the heavens. Spike smirked. This was gonna be easier than he imagined. She was already wanting more, she’d be begging him for it all soon enough.
Spike pushed her off his lap and dropped her unceremoniously down onto the floor at his feet. “Me first,” he demanded as he unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and carefully slid the zipper down.
Buffy turned around and glared at him as she began to stand up, but was stopped short by the vision before her. Spike stroked a hand slowly up and down his cock and met her eyes with his.
“Suck me off,” he ordered and Buffy’s eyes were drawn back down to the long, thick, hard weapon he was wielding. She licked her lips involuntarily at the sight. She thought of riding it to utter exhaustion, of how the engorged head would feel pressing into her, how his hard body could slam against her. She couldn’t stop the delicious moan that purred deep in her throat.
Buffy stayed on her knees and leaned forward between his legs. She ran her hands up from his knees to his thighs, feeling the hard muscles beneath the denim, and her certainty that he could deliver what she needed grew. Leaving her hands on his thighs, Buffy leaned forward and touched the tip of his cock with her tongue and Spike released his grip on his throbbing member, leaving it to her. The taste of his pre-cum was salty and spicy on her tongue. Someone’s been eating hot wings without me, she mused with a smirk as she dipped down for another taste.
Spike’s cock jumped and waved in the air for a few seconds until she caught it with her lips and swirled up the slick liquid from its head with her tongue. Spike moaned, his eyes closing involuntarily and his head leaning back against the seat, as she began moving her mouth slowly down his length. Her lips teased him, just barely touching the ultra-sensitive, soft skin covering his rock-hard erection. Buffy squeezed his thighs tightly in her hands, in sharp contrast to the delicate way she was skimming her lips and tongue over his cock, and the pain/pleasure quotient threatened to overwhelm him. When she got back up to the mushroom head, she flicked her tongue over his taut frenulum band, tickling it as if her tongue was a delicate feather. Spike tightened his grip on the armrests of his seat to keep from pulling her face down against him and ravaging her mouth with his burning need, determined to make her be the first one to beg for it.
Buffy continued her torture of him, never touching his shaft with her hands, only her lips and tongue, and only with soft, wispy licks, sucks, and strokes. She could feel his whole body tighten like a bow being pulled beyond its capacity; he on the verge of snapping, she knew. Spike may be the king of teasing torture, but she most certainly was the queen. He’d taught her well, perhaps too well.
Buffy suddenly pulled off him and stood up. When Spike opened his eyes, she leaned over, her mouth next to his ear, her round breasts bouncing freely in front of him. “If you want more, you’ll have to catch me,” she whispered before turning and running down the aisle towards the front of the plane.
“Bloody hell…” Spike muttered as he stood up and followed as quickly as he could, holding his jeans up with one hand. He never could figure out why kids these days wanted to wear pants down around their ass, sliding down off their hips, always having to hold onto the waist to keep them from puddling around their ankles. He hoped he didn’t have to go far like this, his hard-on raging and his pants undone and having to be held up … or dropped. Hmmm…
Spike entered the last room she could possibly be in in his full glory – boots, jeans and t-shirt shed along the way, and closed the door behind him. Buffy sat between the pilot and co-pilot’s chairs on the instrument console. She was facing the door, waiting for her special passenger to arrive for a personal tour of the cockpit. She bit her bottom lip and grinned devilishly when he came in. Oh yeah, that hard body would definitely be able to deliver absolutely everything she needed. It would be wilder than any eight-second ride and with those muscles – sculpted abs, firm thighs, tight ass, solid chest, it would last much, much longer.
“What took you so long?” Buffy questioned coyly as she leaned back, spreading her legs open as she propped one foot up on the pilot’s chair and the other on the co-pilot’s.
“You’re a hard bird to find,” Spike explained, stalking up to her slowly until he was standing between her legs. He pushed her short skirt up to reveal her wet, hot heaven and inhaled deeply. The sweet aroma of her arousal nearly sent him spiraling out of control and he fought his urge to just end this game. Spike pressed his hips near her and slid his cock down her wet slit, over her clit, until it pressed against her hot, throbbing hole.
He leaned forward, putting a hand on each side of her ass. “Are you ready to beg me for it yet?” he whispered against her ear.
“Are you?” Buffy countered as she reached between them and dragged a fingernail lightly over his balls.
Spike’s eyes closed and his hips jerked involuntarily, pressing his glans into her slightly. “Tell me you want it,” he demanded.
“Tell me you need it,” Buffy countered, trailing her finger along the length of his shaft and Spike couldn’t stop himself from pressing in further.
Buffy gasped and her eyes fluttered closed as the swollen head of his cock slipped in and her pussy walls closed around it, pulling him in, aching for more.
“Tell me,” they both moaned.
The lovers opened their eyes and looked into the depths of the other’s, their bodies thrumming with barely contained desire. Spike lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly; his lips touching hers lightly, like the gossamer wings of a passing angel. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth harder against hers as their passion ignited like a bolt of lightning striking a drought stricken forest.
They moved as one, Spike pressed in as Buffy wrapped her legs around his slim hips and pulled him against her. Then there was no holding back. They’d driven each other to the edge of ecstasy. Now they both needed it, both wanted it – both had to have the reward, both had to feel their lover cum, both had to fly.
Spike pounded into her, hard and fast, slamming down on her clit as his cock ravaged her pussy, just like they both needed. Buffy pushed back on something behind her to get more leverage, to fuck him harder, to take him deeper into her core.
“God, Buffy … fuck, so fucking hot … God, woman, what you do to me!” Spike gasped against her. “Drive me crazy … crazy as a bloody June bug in December!”
“Yes, Spike … fuck me, baby … Oh, God … yes, yes! Damn it … harder!” Buffy demanded. “So good! Yes! God, Spike … yes!” she screamed at him as they both completely lost control. All the games and teasing was forgotten as they turned their bodies loose and did what they did better than anything – take each other to heaven.
The lovers felt like they were soaring, their speed building, faster and faster, flying through the sky at warp speed. Then Buffy suddenly realized it wasn’t them soaring faster, but the plane. She turned her head and looked out the cockpit window and saw the ground approaching quickly. She realized the thing she’d pushed on for leverage was the stick that controls the altitude! They were in a nosedive and would crash any second!
Spike looked up out the window when he felt Buffy’s intensity change. “Oh fuck!” they both exclaimed at once, jerking awake in their seats next to Giles. Buffy’s heart was racing, her skin was flushed and her chest heaved with labored breaths as she tried to get her bearings. Spike wasn’t much better. His heart would’ve raced right out of his chest, if it actually needed to beat.
“Are you quite alright?” Giles asked, looking at them both with concern.
Buffy looked around. The plane was mostly dark, everyone around them seemed to be sleeping. The plane was fine, flying level with a low, the steady hum of the engines in the background. Buffy blew out a sigh of relief, reaching out a hand to Spike. When their fingers touched it felt like electricity jumping between them as their bodies thrummed and tingled with unfulfilled yearning and an overdose of adrenaline.
“Yeah … yeah, fine – just a … bad dream,” Buffy stammered in response to Giles’ question.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she announced suddenly, fumbling with her seatbelt.
“So do I,” Spike agreed, standing up and trying to adjust the hard-on in his pants without being too obvious.
As Buffy stepped out into the aisle in front of Spike, she heard Giles comment dryly, “Do be careful, won’t you? You don’t want to send the bloody plane into a nosedive.”
Spike smirked at him before quickly following Buffy to the lavatory, pushing her into the small room and closing the door behind them. He could hear some snickers from the flight attendants, but he was sure it wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before and he didn’t let it deter him from his urgent mission.
Spike spun Buffy around as they both fumbled with the snaps and buttons and zippers on their jeans. It had been much easier in the dream to shed his clothes, he just wished them away. In this cramped place it was frustratingly difficult, and the faster they each tried to go, the longer it seemed to take. Spike’s wasn’t so bad, he only had to unbutton and unzip and he was ready; Buffy’s was a little harder. She pulled her shirt and bra off easily, wanting to feel his hands on her skin, then they both tugged at her jeans and damp thong, sliding them down to her ankles. Buffy toed one shoe off and tried to pull that leg through, nearly kneeing Spike in the groin in her zeal to be free. Mumbled ‘ohs’ and ‘owws’ and ‘sorrys’ filled the small room until finally, thankfully she was also free from her apparently demonic-possessed clothing.
With her jeans still wrapped around one ankle, one shoe on, one off, Spike lifted Buffy up onto the small sink and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him against her. Spike guided his cock to her slick hole as she wrapped her arms around his neck and captured his lips with hers. Spike’s hands wandered over her golden skin, along the swell of her breasts, her ribcage, and down her back, burning her skin with his cool, delicate fingers.
They both gasped against the other’s mouth when he pushed into her, stopping with just the head of his cock buried in her heat. Spike pulled back slightly from the kiss, their lips barely touching.
“I need you,” he whispered to her.
“I want you,” Buffy moaned back.
Spike pressed into her, filling her supple, aching core with his hardness as he kissed her lips with that same light touch that he’d used in the dream.
“God, Spike … love you so much,” Buffy mumbled against his full lips as he began moving slowly in and out of her smoldering heat.
“Love you too, pet,” he murmured as he began moving faster. There was no need for teasing now, no need for foreplay or tantalizing torture; they both just needed to soar.
“Come fly with me,” Buffy whispered to him and Spike growled his assent against her mouth. He grabbed her hips to keep her from sliding off the edge of the counter and into the small sink as he increased his pace on the short strokes and pushed deep into her on the long ones. Buffy pressed one hand against the mirror behind her to help steady herself as Spike slammed his hips against hers, burying his cock to the root in her trembling pussy.
“Yes … yes, Spike … God baby, so good!” Buffy breathed, trying to keep her voice low.
“Cum for me, Buffy … so tight, you are … God, woman … so fucking hot,” Spike murmured back to her as he held his own release, waiting for her to be there with him.
“Oh, God … oh yes … yes, yesssss!” Buffy began to scream and Spike covered her mouth with his as he felt her sugar walls tighten and convulse around him as her orgasm washed over her. He smothered her cries and she stifled his roar as he let go, knowing that he’d find her flying through the night sky on her way to heaven. His cum boiled up and erupted into her, his cock throbbing and surging within her, sending her soaring once again.
The lovers shot like rockets up towards the moon and stars and, when they’d gotten as high as the heavens, they both exploded into a fantastic fireworks display. Bright sparks of brilliant color lit up the dark sky as the lovers painted a breathtaking mural of love with their passion for each other. The colors danced and swirled and curled around each other – exploding with loud bangs and whistles before slowly drifting back down to earth, leaving nothing more than a smoky outline of the display lingering above them.
Buffy pulled her lips away from Spike's as she gasped for breath, clinging to his neck as her body heaved and trembled against him. Spike leaned on her and the small counter around the sink, trying to keep his knees from buckling, trying to stay buried in her sweet pussy just a little while longer.
“God, Spike … that was so good,” Buffy finally gasped out between breaths.
“Bloody brilliant. Can’t ever get enough o’ you, luv,” Spike agreed, finally trusting his legs enough to back up so she could get down off the cold, hard counter.
They both cleaned up and readjusted their clothes; Buffy pulled her bra, shirt, jeans, and shoe back on and tried to fix her hair as best she could without a hairbrush. It’s hard to look nonchalant and innocent coming out of airplane lav after mind blowing sex, so they didn’t even try. Buffy winked at one of the flight attendants who looked up when they exited the small bathroom. Spike gave her a smirk and the woman smiled at them.
“You know, you really should slide the lock next time so it shows ‘occupied’,” she advised with a knowing smile.
“Ooops!” Buffy’s hand went to her open mouth as she looked wide-eyed at Spike, but he just shrugged. No harm done, but he did make a mental note for later. It was a long flight, after all.
When Spike and Buffy got settled back into their seats, the same attendant brought them each a bottle of water. “Thought you might need to re-hydrate,” she explained with knowing grin, which faded when she saw Giles looking up from his reading. “The air on planes is really dry,” she added quickly.
Spike and Buffy took the water and thanked her. When she walked away, Giles turned his attention back to the smart phone, which he’d nearly mastered by now, pulling up menus and settings and taking some dark, blurry pictures of the inside of the plane. He couldn’t actually make calls or send messages or anything on the plane, but he was getting the hang of it.
Buffy giggled when she realized that the water bottles each had a pair of pilot’s wings taped to them with the words “Mile High” in the center. She discreetly removed the pin from the bottle and slipped it in her pocket; Spike started to pin his on his shirt, though.
Don’t you dare! Buffy chastised him silently through the bond, looking over at Giles to make sure he hadn’t seen. Spike sighed and rolled his eyes before tucking the memento into his pocket, as well.
“So … I see you’ve earned your wings,” Giles observed dryly, not lifting his eyes from the phone.
“Huh? What wings?” Buffy asked innocently. “Oh, those? They’re ... uhhh ... just little souvenirs to take back from the trip,” Buffy explained.
Giles looked up from his new toy, which he was actually beginning to like, and met her eyes. “It may surprise you to learn that I have known for some years about the birds and the bees and I do realize that you are not a child, Buffy,” Giles informed her. “I do appreciate your attempts at discretion, although, frankly, saying that neither you nor Spike are masters of stealth or subtlety, would be a gross understatement.
“May I give you some advice?” Giles asked her and Buffy shrugged, not really sure what to say to all that. She thought they had been plenty stealthy and subtle, except for the not locking the door part.
“Next time, wait for the movie, it will cover the god-awful racket that you two make when you’re trying to be quiet, and be sure to turn your shirt right side out before you put it back on,” her Watcher advised, cocking a brow at the seam on her shoulder.
Buffy looked down at her shirt and turned ten shades of red as she realized that she had it on inside-out. Shit!
Buffy stood up to go back to the lav to fix her shirt. “Welcome to the club, by the way,” Giles offered, as he looked back down at the phone and began browsing through the menus once again.
Buffy furrowed her brow and looked at him. “You’re in the Mile High Club?” she asked Giles in a shocked whisper, leaning down so her voice wouldn’t carry.
“In the club? My dear, Buffy … I was a founding member.”
Come Fly With Me, Frank Sinatra
fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away
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