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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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