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Spike/Buffy

Shortly after "Doublemeat Palace"

Rated NC-17

Note: This story can go three different directions. Light, Kinky, and Dark. Choose your ending at the end of this page. 

Marble (Beginning) 

Spike stopped in the Doublemeat Palace, hoping for a fumble with Buffy. Unfortunately, he found the place full of high school students returning from some field trip.

Back in the day I would have gladly killed the whole, loud, yammering lot of them. There's a happy meal for ya.

When he finally got to the front of the line Buffy met his eyes. “May I take your order, sir?”

“Order of Slayer?” he smirked and waggled his eyebrows.

Buffy sighed and pushed her hair out of her face. “Order or go, Spike. I’m too busy for a ‘visit’ tonight.” Spike’s happy mood melted to a pout.

“Gimme a small Mountain Dew, then,” Spike mumbled.

Buffy took his order, drew his soda and slipped a note into his palm as she passed him his change. “Enjoy your drink, sir.”

Spike stayed all cool as he left her with a tongue to the straw, but threw down the drink and opened the note as soon as he reached the shadows outside. He unfolded the fast food order form to find her scrawl across the choices for milkshakes and burgers.

Tomorrow night - after my shift
Be lying on your crypt, naked
with a sheet completely over you.
Don't look
Don't speak
Don't move
Don't breathe

A thrill of anticipation ran through him. Spike never expected the Slayer to want to play necrophiliac. He had human lovers in the past who dug his chill frame, but he had no idea Buffy harbored such ideas.

The following day he can not even concentrate on Passions. He jerked off twice, knowing that if he does not take the edge off, he will not last long that night. He fed early in the day so his skin would be extra chilly.

Shortly before he expected her to show up, Spike readied his crypt. He covered the sarcophagus with several blankets, making it soft for Buffy. The top blanket is a velvety crimson throw that he knows will make him look more pale. He lit a collection of all-white candles which he has arranged around the briar. For a vigil, his is sparse. He had resisted the urge to steal some flowers.

Ten minutes before he expected her to show, he stripped and lay down. He can understand Buffy's directions. It is a test for him. Will he hand control over to her? Can he lay still and allow her to do what she will? Damn right I will. Because she requested it.

Suddenly, he sensed her entering the graveyard. He sat down and shook out the clean white sheet over himself. He made sure it covered his feet, lay down, and tossed it over his face. A few calming breaths to curb his excitement and he was dead still, flat on his back, arms at his sides. He knew the only thing spoiling his illusion was his semi-hard dick. Some things a vamp had no control over.  

Very soon he heard her, hesitating outside, but he was not worried, he knew she would not back out now. The wording of the note, the fact she had it ready to pass to him showed how much she had thought this out, maybe played the fantasy in her mind.

He heard the door open and shut and has to keep himself from tensing up. This is not the first time he has played dead, although this is the first time in decades for such fun reasons. He took a tiny sip of breath and smelled the heavy, greasy smell which never completely came out of her synthetic, brightly colored uniform. Under it, he smelled her excitement and carnations. I’m touched. She brought me flowers.

He listened closely. She placed several objects at his feet, one of them wood. Next came the snaps, zips and rustle of cloth as she removed the hated uniform. He imagined her standing naked in the candlelight and felt his dick harden another degree. Too bad if it spoils her illusion. Other than that, he is utterly and completely still.

She cast a shadow over his face as she moved to his head. He closed his eyes and fixed them on a point in the empty darkness. She walked all the way around him, once. There was a tentative touch at his ankle, then another at his hip. The light touches moved up to his shoulder.

She knew his lean form, even under the sheet. There was a particular way his presence made her feel. She hesitates. What am I doing? Why does this excite me so? I should be trying to forget he is a dead thing, not embrace it. I wonder if all Slayers shared my fantasy. Have any of them had the opportunity to indulge it?

But for a possibly imagined shift at his groin, he had not moved.

She ran her hand over the smooth sheet, the cotton slipping over his hairless body. She bunched the sheet on his chest, gathering it so his face was slowly revealed, like a reverse curtain opening. She watched, somewhat detached, as his features are revealed.

Not even his eyes moved under closed lids, yet she was aware of his attention fixed on her. He is truly,  unbelievably beautiful, although I will never tell him so. The candle light flatters him. She stopped when the sheet was across his shoulders like a body displayed to be identified at the morgue. With a shudder, she pushed away all memories of her mother laid out thus.

She touched his smooth cheek as if he were a marble statue; some fair treasure from antiquity. His features are less sharp without the cockiness of attitude or strain of nightmare-shrouded sleep. His slightly parted lips are so smooth, like the flesh on the tip of his cock. She traced a line down his chin with a single finger, then ran the whole of her hand down the column of his neck and clean line of his shoulder. She pulled the sheet down more until it was across the sharpness of his hipbones. The trail of fine hair leads down to a just visible tuft of dark pubes and the muscles of his stomach V down toward the root of his penis. She played her finger in the pool of shadow in the hollow of his hip.

Her touch was maddeningly light, yet he refused to move even as she touched each of his erogenous zones in turn. My lips. God, my neck. But I’ll not move, Buffy, because you said not to. His nipples were brushed each in turn. Spike could swear she touched his ticklish spot just out of meanness.

Finally, she pulled the sheet down, leaving it covering his knees and feet. She watched, amused, as his cock hardened and traced a slow arc as it moved to rest against his stomach.

With an easy movement, Buffy hopped up on the hard makeshift bed beside him. She leaned over and breathed on his penis, making it pulse. Without using her hands, she took him in her mouth. Her tongue and breath warmed him. She lapped and sucked just enough to bring him to complete hardness. She pulled her mouth off with a sucking pop, allowing his cock to slap back down on his lean belly. She smiled to herself as she saw it bounce back up as if seeking her lips again.

In a Slayer-quick move, she threw a leg over him. She looked at his sculpted body as she rubbed her dripping cunt against his hard cock. She leaned over and rubbed her breasts against his chest, because she knew he loved that. She slid a hand down to grasp his cock, pointing it upwards. Unable to wait any more, Buffy impaled herself.

Finally! Spike was glad he relieved his horniness earlier or he would have lost it when she took him in her mouth. After many timeless minutes of Buffy moving over and around him,  he felt her turn and pick up one of the objects she laid on the foot of his bed. He tensed slightly as the sharp point of a stake touches the base of his throat. She ran it down and over to rest against his chest right on the sweet spot which could spell his death with just a little effort on her part.

She started to move over him again. Each time she rose up, she pressed lightly on the stake. A small thread of blood ran down his side.

Still she said nothing. Why talk to the dead? For many long minutes she worked herself up and down on his cock. Slowly, thoroughly. Being filled and emptied. Buffy found that zone where she can loose herself and rocked on the brink. Spike thought he may go mad.

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