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Written for Kelly who was tired of me writing Spike/Xander and wanted some of her OTP (One True Pairing), Spike/Buffy.

Shortly after “Wrecked.”

Spike/Buffy

Rated R

Blue Silk Show

Now Buffy had something to think about other than heaven and hell. She could now think about Spike. Naked Spike. Beautiful, naked Spike. Beautiful, naked, hard Spike doing all kinds of new things to her, and she doing them right back.

It horrified and disgusted her that she had had sex, (repeatedly) with Spike last week. Yet at the same time, she remembered the calm she felt while she was feeling what he did. As orgasms shook her, she would be taken from herself and the pain would fall away for the briefest of moments.

So it was she found herself by his crypt again. Buffy looked around wondering if someone was warping space to keep returning her here. She stared at the sun-dappled door and shrugged. Why fight it?

She pushed the door open and slipped inside. Not too much had changed in Spike’s crypt. It seemed there were fewer cobwebs, but that was about it. The television was off, and the vampire no where in sight. A part of her wanted to leave, to give up, another part, a louder part, needed.

“Spike?” she called, knowing he was not there. Then she caught sight of the opening in the floor. Last year the opening had lead to a crudely carved cave, which served as nothing more than access to the sewers. Dimly, she remembered Spike mentioning fixing up the place. She peered down to see a flicker of candlelight.

Hesitantly, she climbed down the ladder and turned to look around. The rough floors where covered with carpets, candles gleamed here and there, and a few pieces of furniture were tastefully arranged. Her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the large bed. Silky peach sheets covered the mattress. Spike smiled at her from where he lay across the bed, propped on one elbow, a book open before him. Instead of his usual black, he was dressed in blue silk pajamas, like Hugh Hefner. His narrow bare feet stuck off the side of the bed.

“Hello, Love. What brings you to my hole in the ground?”

Buffy shrugged, looking anywhere but at Spike’s blue silk clad body. “I like what you’ve done here. It’s less… gravey.” 

“I like a bit of warmth now and again.” Spike sat up, and Buffy’s eyes were drawn to the pale wedge of chest which was offset so nicely by the blue. Spike chuckled as Buffy abruptly turned her head away. “Like my lounge ware, Love? I like how silk feels against my skin.” Spike moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Would you like to feel?”

“No!” Buffy shouted too loud and abrupt. “No.” she said softer, regaining some composure. “It’s wrong… just wrong for me to touch you.”

“If you’re so torn up about touching me, Pet, why not watch?”

“Watch? Watch what?”

“Let me show you how you make me feel,” he purred. 

Liquidly, Spike stood up. The candle light caught the jewel blue of his pajamas and made his blue eyes flash. Slowly, he unbuttoned the silk. Poised to fly, Buffy gasped as marble flesh was revealed. Teasingly, Spike ran a hand over his own chest, pausing to pinch a nipple as he looked only to Buffy. He was the Sexual Predator of Buffy’s long lonely dreams. Without realizing it, she sunk down on the bottom step to watch. The vamp let the top fall to the floor and turned in a slow circle. He wrapped his arms about himself and Buffy watched long fingers play over rippling back muscles. His back still turned, Spike looked over his shoulder, and grinned a wolf’s grin. He hooked his fingers into the bottoms and slowly drew one side of the elastic down. He could hear the Slayer’s heart speed up as he revealed first one leanly muscled cheek, then the other. He turned around, and Buffy couldn’t help but grin a bit at the obvious obstacle, which kept the pants from going further. Biting his lip, Spike slowly slid a hand into the bottoms and wrapped a hand around himself.

“I want to see…” Buffy breathed.

Smiling, Spike pulled out the elastic, worked the bottoms lower and let them drop. He slid a hand across and down his chest, and Buffy was suddenly struck with memories of seeing the cocky Big Bad make this same gesture so many times in the past. Only this time, the hand didn’t stop with thumb caught on a denim loop. It slid on down over arched ribs, past belly button, and followed the trail of hair over rippled abs to comb into the nest of dark pubes. Spike breathed in sharply, his eyes still on Buffy as he drew his fingers up to circle the base of his hard cock and cup his balls. “You like the show?” he purred.

She could only nod.

Slowly, then ever faster, Spike worked his cock. She watched, mesmerized, as the foreskin winked over the tip. He smiled, seeing Buffy’s hand make it’s way to her crotch. Occasionally, he would lick his palm or moan aloud. His restless right hand tweaked his nipples, cupped his balls, and ran over his ass. Suddenly, his movements grew jerky, and he brought crystal blue eyes to fully bear on his audience. She had slipped her hand down into her pants and was feverishly working her fingers on her clit. Her mouth open and closed as if she were tasting the air. He could smell her arousal as her slim form started to quiver. He could hold back no more and moaned Buffy’s name, dedicating his orgasm to her, as he shot ropes of cum across the floor. He stood magnificent, covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and panting as he coaxed the last drops from his cock, quivering in the aftershocks.

“That was sweet, pet.” He tilted his head to one side. “Let’s go again.”

Suddenly, Buffy’s eyes opened wide and she realized where she was, what she had just watched, and what she was doing. With a whimper, Buffy pulled her hand out of her pants and scurried up the ladder.

Spike chuckled, picked up the discarded pajamas, and put them back on. Then he settled back with his book to wait. She’d be back.

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