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snoggedTitle: Change the Addiction (5/9)
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t.
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Word Count: 2236
Rating/Warnings: FRAO/NC-17 for sexual situations
Setting: An alternate route from Season 6 - "Wrecked"
Summary: The best way to get over an addiction is to change it...
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikesredqueen andvelvetwhip. Thank you both so much for putting up with me!
A/N: Well over a year ago, I started writing the Addiction series based off a drabble I did for btvsats_love. I never got anywhere with it and so I wanted to try a rewrite to see if I could take myself deeper.
A/N 2: I also want to thankblondebitz and angelstoy for the gorgeous banners below the cut. Both ladies are truly amazing!
Previous Chapters
Fromblondebitz
Fromangelstoy
***
She sees the bowl first, ceramic and smooth, a yellowish color that’s reminiscent of Spike’s hair when it’s slick and stiff with grease. As she steps closer to the counter, she can see that the bowl contains seven large strawberries, ripe and succulent, waiting to be devoured.
She reaches forward to take one, stomach growling from hunger, but a hand stops her. Long, feminine fingers thread through her own, pulling her away from the bowl.
“Willow.”
Tara’s body weaves in front of her, curves glowing soft under the bright, blurring fluorescents and Willow feels her heart soften as she leans forward, firmly pressing her hand against her ex-girlfriend’s. “Tara?”
“You must save room for dinner,” Tara whispers, voice wavering. “Or our guests will be very cross.”
The room swirls around her, vibrant colors blending together in odd splashes, lines twisting into snakes and curves…and everything starts to feel wrong.
“What do you mean?”
And then she sees them. Dark shapes, dark shadows swooping into the room, covering every surface. They stare at her with red eyes, angry eyes. Eyes that wish to swallow her whole, swallow her down, condemn her to hell. Eyes that wish to prick her, and prod her, and rip her to shreds. They are the eyes of her addiction and it feels like there’s nothing she can do to stop them. Tara lets go of her hand and starts to float, moving above the darkness, leaving Willow to fend for herself.
“I can’t join you for dinner, Willow. But you must entertain your guests.”
***
Willow’s eyes fly open as she swallows down a scream. She can’t remember the last time she had a dream like that. Not that it was a dream because it most definitely wasn’t. Her dreams usually take place on white, sandy beaches where waiters serve pear martinis and Joan Cusack purrs sultry nothings into her ear.
Her nightmares, on the other hand, run in the totally spooky, ultra-creep-factor direction. Not only that, but her nightmares tend to be a lot more realistic than her dreams since the demons of Sunnydale frequently have the sadistic tendency to make those come to life. She has yet to party on the beaches with Joan but she has been left dumbstruck on a stage in a room full of people expecting her to sing Italian opera. She has been the victim of her own magic gone awry at a frat Halloween party. And because the third time is always the charm, she has been humiliated in front of her peers while the Slayer Prima Evil sucked the life out of her.
As the present comes back into focus, Willow feels a sense of dread hit her square in the stomach. The room is dark and unfamiliar, shadows dance across the candle-lit, stone walls, and there’s a heavy arm around her waist. On an average Scoobie day, the dark room and creepy candles would make her think that some psychopath had kidnapped her and she would soon find herself ground into a fine powder to make his bread but the arm throws all that out of whack.
She rotates her head slightly, her peripheral vision catching peroxide blond hair and suddenly, the events of last night come back to her. She had been marking a book, tracing over every word and line with yellow highlighter. Then Amy had shown up, wanting her rat cage back, but it was just a ploy, a ploy to make her all magic-y again. There had been black eyes and sparkling electricity. There had been the taste of black cherries on her tongue.
But Spike took all that away last night. He took away the cravings, the addiction, just by sucking it out of her…with his lips, with his perfectly symmetrical lips that should be kissing girls who are prettier than she is. Because any man-demon-vampire-person who can kiss like Spike can…should not be wasting his talents trying to cure her. Especially when Tara wouldn’t even…
Her breath catches in her throat and she coughs softly. It hurts to think about Tara, especially now that she’s lying in the same bed as a vampire. A vampire who kisses her like there’s no tomorrow and can make her forget her own name. But more than that, a man who makes her want to buy an express ticket back to boy’s town.
Spike stirs beside her, his fingers shifting across her abdomen before settling down again. She gulps, feeling so aware of this new brand of contact that she’s not even sure there’s any clothing between her skin and his hands, and having clothes on would be a very good thing because she’s sure that she’d been crystal clear on her no-sex rule. A quick glance beneath the sheets settles her fear about the state of her dress as Spike shifts again, nuzzling the tip of his nose into the space between her shoulders.
“Morning, Red.” Spike smiles against the thin fabric of Willow’s shirt before raising his head off the bed to look down at her, ice blue eyes sending a chill down her spine as she turns her face towards him. “Trust you slept well?”
Willow offers a half-hearted smile, attempting to push her crazy, freaky nightmare into the dark recesses of her mind. She doesn’t want to tell Spike about it…at least, not yet. Not when he’s trying so hard to help her get better without calling her an arrogant amateur or a magic junkie. “I slept all right, I guess. Certainly wasn’t expecting to wake up in your crypt though…so I mean…I can get going and stuff. I don’t want to be a bother or anything.”
Spike tilts his head forward; his mouth mere millimeters from the tip of her nose and Willow’s teeth graze her bottom lip. “I don’t want you to go, pet. It’s nice having an adorable face to look at, as opposed to Harmony’s completely plastic nose.”
Her cheeks flush pink with blush as his words bulldoze over the jumbled mess of her mind. Spike thinks she’s adorable? Spike doesn’t want her to go? And yet she can’t help but find his non-snarky attitude a bit strange just because of the way he’s always treated her since he first arrived in Sunnydale. “Is your chip working okay?”
A smirk ghosts over Spike’s lips as his hand slides over the ridge of her shoulder. He can tell that she’s unsettled by his pleasant demeanor and that just makes this wake-up call all the sweeter. Her muscles twitch under his touch and he can’t help but wonder how long it would take him to get her other parts twitching. After all, she did spend the night in his bed and that can only mean she’s willing to be a bit more flexible with their deal. Not only that, but Darla always said he had the finest seduction skills in all of Britain. Nicest thing that bitch had ever said to him. “Chip’s working just fine, pet. Couldn’t hurt a fly the way I am. Couldn’t hurt you either, not even if you wanted it.”
It takes her a few minutes to process the subtext in Spike’s words, to process the boldness behind them. He’s talking about hurting her with sex. Spankings, and nipple clamps, and foreign sex objects that go places where the sun doesn’t shine. He’s talking about the stuff that would send her vampire doppelganger into a horny sex frenzy. And he’s talking about doing that stuff with her!!
Willow jerks upright, her head smashing into Spike’s with a resounding crack.
“Ow,” Willow moans, hand flying up to cup her aching nose. She doesn’t feel blood yet but it wouldn’t surprise her if it started oozing any second. She looks over at Spike and shoots him a glare. “Why’d you have to go and put your head in my way?”
Spike waits for the sharp flare of pain from the chip, seeing as technically speaking, she got hurt because of him, but all he gets is a barely noticeable pinch as if the chip couldn’t care less about Willow’s accidental head bonk. Instead, Spike chuckles and rolls off the bed, sauntering over to the small fridge on the far edge of the room and yanking the door open. He reaches into the freezer and pulls out an ice pack before walking back to the bed and handing it to her.
“This isn’t funny,” Willow hisses, tears stinging her eyes as she takes the ice and rolls into the bed sheet, before placing it on her nose. “If you hadn’t had to start with the sexy pain talk, I wouldn’t be in pain right now!”
Spike can’t help but laugh as he sits down beside her. It doesn’t take long for the realization to hit him that this never would happen with Buffy in his bed. The Slayer wouldn’t be giving him a pouty frown, wouldn’t be clutching ice to her nose, wouldn’t be freaking out about blending pain and pleasure with sex in the cute, rambling way that is so perfectly Willow.
“You wanted to taste the darkness, pet,” Spike offers gently, mind still racing with his ulterior motives. He wants to bury himself inside her the way his tongue buried itself inside her mouth the night before. He wants to let her feel the darkness melt between them. Wants her to really feel the impact of her decision to say: yes. At the same time, he’s not a monster. He won’t push her unless she wants it to happen, won’t force her.
“But it doesn’t have to be about pain. It doesn’t have to be about hurting you. The darkness can cleanse you; can wash you away with the comforts of sin.” He leans in close, brushing his lips over her cheek and pulling the ice pack off her nose. When she doesn’t protest, his lips press against the space behind her jawbone and his tongue slowly weaves down the slender column of her throat until he reaches the spot that makes her instantly mewl in pleasure.
“Spike…,” Willow says, feeling hesitant and insecure even if his lips are doing things to her that magic never did. But he’s a man and she hasn’t been with a man since Oz and it’s not like straight and gay sex are on the same side of the coin. There are differences, nuances, and she can’t bring to mind how they work. “I thought we weren’t going to have to…I thought my addiction could be something…”
Spike inhales deeply, picking up the scent of her desire along with the traces of ancient, primal power. Doesn’t take much to guess that her mind and her body are not putting two and two together, so he takes an extra step to help her put it in perspective. “What I have is better than magic. Stronger, even. A few nights with me and you’ll be under a different sort of spell.”
His mouth latches onto the hollow of her neck and he sucks gently, teeth barely scraping the sensitive flesh. Willow whimpers and tilts her head, giving him better access, and silencing her protests. He always knew she’d be a bit of a submissive in the bedroom.
Willow’s heart flutters inside her chest as she feels his hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt to brush over the cotton cups of her bra. When his fingers brush over the exposed tops of her breasts, her nails dig into Spike’s mattress and she bites down on her lip. It’s all so fast, so dizzying, so…insane. She can feel the fire on her skin from his caresses, and she wonders how that’s possible because he’s a vampire and he’s dead and dead people are supposed to be cold…oh, who is she kidding? Screw logic. It’s been far too long since anyone’s made her feel like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.
Spike takes hold of the hem of her shirt and pulls it upwards, feeling his own excitement grow as her arms reach up and the shirt slides over her head and onto the floor. He presses his lips against her solar plexus, holding them there for three seconds before moving down to the top of her belly button and repeating the kiss. He does this once more, hovering over her pubic mound.
Willow arches her back and thrusts her hips forward, letting him slip his fingers inside the elastic band of her skirt and her panties, sliding them down her legs in one swift movement. His cock twitches as it grows to full hardness, pressing against his dark jeans, eager to get inside Willow’s velvet warmth.
But tonight, that longing will go unsated. Tonight is all about preparation and guidance. She needs to be ready for him.
“Beautiful…” Spike whispers, taking a moment to admire the smooth planes and round curves of her figure and wondering why she bloody chooses to hide it under frumpy Grandma sweaters and baggy skirts. If people could see her the way he does, they wouldn’t see a cute sidekick. They’d see a fire goddess, a siren, an intoxicant, an addiction.
He positions his head between her slightly-spread thighs and experimentally runs his tongue over her labia; and he can feel her whole body shudder with pleasure. He flicks his tongue over her clit and Willow’s hands grip the bed tighter, mattress creaking beneath them.
She closes her eyes and tries to think of math equations, tries to think of science experiments, tries to think of other tongues that have come before Spike, but nothing replaces the feel of him. Nothing changes the fact that she’s in his bed and she’s feeling the tendrils of addiction curl inside her belly again.
His teeth scrape over her clit and her hips buck helplessly as her body shakes and trembles, as it tenses and warms, as it heats and explodes.
This is game changing, mind altering.
And…it’s so addicting.
Chapter 6
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t.
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Word Count: 2236
Rating/Warnings: FRAO/NC-17 for sexual situations
Setting: An alternate route from Season 6 - "Wrecked"
Summary: The best way to get over an addiction is to change it...
Beta:
spikesredqueen andvelvetwhip. Thank you both so much for putting up with me! A/N: Well over a year ago, I started writing the Addiction series based off a drabble I did for btvsats_love. I never got anywhere with it and so I wanted to try a rewrite to see if I could take myself deeper.
A/N 2: I also want to thank
blondebitz and angelstoy for the gorgeous banners below the cut. Both ladies are truly amazing!Previous Chapters
From
blondebitzFrom
angelstoy***
She sees the bowl first, ceramic and smooth, a yellowish color that’s reminiscent of Spike’s hair when it’s slick and stiff with grease. As she steps closer to the counter, she can see that the bowl contains seven large strawberries, ripe and succulent, waiting to be devoured.
She reaches forward to take one, stomach growling from hunger, but a hand stops her. Long, feminine fingers thread through her own, pulling her away from the bowl.
“Willow.”
Tara’s body weaves in front of her, curves glowing soft under the bright, blurring fluorescents and Willow feels her heart soften as she leans forward, firmly pressing her hand against her ex-girlfriend’s. “Tara?”
“You must save room for dinner,” Tara whispers, voice wavering. “Or our guests will be very cross.”
The room swirls around her, vibrant colors blending together in odd splashes, lines twisting into snakes and curves…and everything starts to feel wrong.
“What do you mean?”
And then she sees them. Dark shapes, dark shadows swooping into the room, covering every surface. They stare at her with red eyes, angry eyes. Eyes that wish to swallow her whole, swallow her down, condemn her to hell. Eyes that wish to prick her, and prod her, and rip her to shreds. They are the eyes of her addiction and it feels like there’s nothing she can do to stop them. Tara lets go of her hand and starts to float, moving above the darkness, leaving Willow to fend for herself.
“I can’t join you for dinner, Willow. But you must entertain your guests.”
***
Willow’s eyes fly open as she swallows down a scream. She can’t remember the last time she had a dream like that. Not that it was a dream because it most definitely wasn’t. Her dreams usually take place on white, sandy beaches where waiters serve pear martinis and Joan Cusack purrs sultry nothings into her ear.
Her nightmares, on the other hand, run in the totally spooky, ultra-creep-factor direction. Not only that, but her nightmares tend to be a lot more realistic than her dreams since the demons of Sunnydale frequently have the sadistic tendency to make those come to life. She has yet to party on the beaches with Joan but she has been left dumbstruck on a stage in a room full of people expecting her to sing Italian opera. She has been the victim of her own magic gone awry at a frat Halloween party. And because the third time is always the charm, she has been humiliated in front of her peers while the Slayer Prima Evil sucked the life out of her.
As the present comes back into focus, Willow feels a sense of dread hit her square in the stomach. The room is dark and unfamiliar, shadows dance across the candle-lit, stone walls, and there’s a heavy arm around her waist. On an average Scoobie day, the dark room and creepy candles would make her think that some psychopath had kidnapped her and she would soon find herself ground into a fine powder to make his bread but the arm throws all that out of whack.
She rotates her head slightly, her peripheral vision catching peroxide blond hair and suddenly, the events of last night come back to her. She had been marking a book, tracing over every word and line with yellow highlighter. Then Amy had shown up, wanting her rat cage back, but it was just a ploy, a ploy to make her all magic-y again. There had been black eyes and sparkling electricity. There had been the taste of black cherries on her tongue.
But Spike took all that away last night. He took away the cravings, the addiction, just by sucking it out of her…with his lips, with his perfectly symmetrical lips that should be kissing girls who are prettier than she is. Because any man-demon-vampire-person who can kiss like Spike can…should not be wasting his talents trying to cure her. Especially when Tara wouldn’t even…
Her breath catches in her throat and she coughs softly. It hurts to think about Tara, especially now that she’s lying in the same bed as a vampire. A vampire who kisses her like there’s no tomorrow and can make her forget her own name. But more than that, a man who makes her want to buy an express ticket back to boy’s town.
Spike stirs beside her, his fingers shifting across her abdomen before settling down again. She gulps, feeling so aware of this new brand of contact that she’s not even sure there’s any clothing between her skin and his hands, and having clothes on would be a very good thing because she’s sure that she’d been crystal clear on her no-sex rule. A quick glance beneath the sheets settles her fear about the state of her dress as Spike shifts again, nuzzling the tip of his nose into the space between her shoulders.
“Morning, Red.” Spike smiles against the thin fabric of Willow’s shirt before raising his head off the bed to look down at her, ice blue eyes sending a chill down her spine as she turns her face towards him. “Trust you slept well?”
Willow offers a half-hearted smile, attempting to push her crazy, freaky nightmare into the dark recesses of her mind. She doesn’t want to tell Spike about it…at least, not yet. Not when he’s trying so hard to help her get better without calling her an arrogant amateur or a magic junkie. “I slept all right, I guess. Certainly wasn’t expecting to wake up in your crypt though…so I mean…I can get going and stuff. I don’t want to be a bother or anything.”
Spike tilts his head forward; his mouth mere millimeters from the tip of her nose and Willow’s teeth graze her bottom lip. “I don’t want you to go, pet. It’s nice having an adorable face to look at, as opposed to Harmony’s completely plastic nose.”
Her cheeks flush pink with blush as his words bulldoze over the jumbled mess of her mind. Spike thinks she’s adorable? Spike doesn’t want her to go? And yet she can’t help but find his non-snarky attitude a bit strange just because of the way he’s always treated her since he first arrived in Sunnydale. “Is your chip working okay?”
A smirk ghosts over Spike’s lips as his hand slides over the ridge of her shoulder. He can tell that she’s unsettled by his pleasant demeanor and that just makes this wake-up call all the sweeter. Her muscles twitch under his touch and he can’t help but wonder how long it would take him to get her other parts twitching. After all, she did spend the night in his bed and that can only mean she’s willing to be a bit more flexible with their deal. Not only that, but Darla always said he had the finest seduction skills in all of Britain. Nicest thing that bitch had ever said to him. “Chip’s working just fine, pet. Couldn’t hurt a fly the way I am. Couldn’t hurt you either, not even if you wanted it.”
It takes her a few minutes to process the subtext in Spike’s words, to process the boldness behind them. He’s talking about hurting her with sex. Spankings, and nipple clamps, and foreign sex objects that go places where the sun doesn’t shine. He’s talking about the stuff that would send her vampire doppelganger into a horny sex frenzy. And he’s talking about doing that stuff with her!!
Willow jerks upright, her head smashing into Spike’s with a resounding crack.
“Ow,” Willow moans, hand flying up to cup her aching nose. She doesn’t feel blood yet but it wouldn’t surprise her if it started oozing any second. She looks over at Spike and shoots him a glare. “Why’d you have to go and put your head in my way?”
Spike waits for the sharp flare of pain from the chip, seeing as technically speaking, she got hurt because of him, but all he gets is a barely noticeable pinch as if the chip couldn’t care less about Willow’s accidental head bonk. Instead, Spike chuckles and rolls off the bed, sauntering over to the small fridge on the far edge of the room and yanking the door open. He reaches into the freezer and pulls out an ice pack before walking back to the bed and handing it to her.
“This isn’t funny,” Willow hisses, tears stinging her eyes as she takes the ice and rolls into the bed sheet, before placing it on her nose. “If you hadn’t had to start with the sexy pain talk, I wouldn’t be in pain right now!”
Spike can’t help but laugh as he sits down beside her. It doesn’t take long for the realization to hit him that this never would happen with Buffy in his bed. The Slayer wouldn’t be giving him a pouty frown, wouldn’t be clutching ice to her nose, wouldn’t be freaking out about blending pain and pleasure with sex in the cute, rambling way that is so perfectly Willow.
“You wanted to taste the darkness, pet,” Spike offers gently, mind still racing with his ulterior motives. He wants to bury himself inside her the way his tongue buried itself inside her mouth the night before. He wants to let her feel the darkness melt between them. Wants her to really feel the impact of her decision to say: yes. At the same time, he’s not a monster. He won’t push her unless she wants it to happen, won’t force her.
“But it doesn’t have to be about pain. It doesn’t have to be about hurting you. The darkness can cleanse you; can wash you away with the comforts of sin.” He leans in close, brushing his lips over her cheek and pulling the ice pack off her nose. When she doesn’t protest, his lips press against the space behind her jawbone and his tongue slowly weaves down the slender column of her throat until he reaches the spot that makes her instantly mewl in pleasure.
“Spike…,” Willow says, feeling hesitant and insecure even if his lips are doing things to her that magic never did. But he’s a man and she hasn’t been with a man since Oz and it’s not like straight and gay sex are on the same side of the coin. There are differences, nuances, and she can’t bring to mind how they work. “I thought we weren’t going to have to…I thought my addiction could be something…”
Spike inhales deeply, picking up the scent of her desire along with the traces of ancient, primal power. Doesn’t take much to guess that her mind and her body are not putting two and two together, so he takes an extra step to help her put it in perspective. “What I have is better than magic. Stronger, even. A few nights with me and you’ll be under a different sort of spell.”
His mouth latches onto the hollow of her neck and he sucks gently, teeth barely scraping the sensitive flesh. Willow whimpers and tilts her head, giving him better access, and silencing her protests. He always knew she’d be a bit of a submissive in the bedroom.
Willow’s heart flutters inside her chest as she feels his hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt to brush over the cotton cups of her bra. When his fingers brush over the exposed tops of her breasts, her nails dig into Spike’s mattress and she bites down on her lip. It’s all so fast, so dizzying, so…insane. She can feel the fire on her skin from his caresses, and she wonders how that’s possible because he’s a vampire and he’s dead and dead people are supposed to be cold…oh, who is she kidding? Screw logic. It’s been far too long since anyone’s made her feel like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.
Spike takes hold of the hem of her shirt and pulls it upwards, feeling his own excitement grow as her arms reach up and the shirt slides over her head and onto the floor. He presses his lips against her solar plexus, holding them there for three seconds before moving down to the top of her belly button and repeating the kiss. He does this once more, hovering over her pubic mound.
Willow arches her back and thrusts her hips forward, letting him slip his fingers inside the elastic band of her skirt and her panties, sliding them down her legs in one swift movement. His cock twitches as it grows to full hardness, pressing against his dark jeans, eager to get inside Willow’s velvet warmth.
But tonight, that longing will go unsated. Tonight is all about preparation and guidance. She needs to be ready for him.
“Beautiful…” Spike whispers, taking a moment to admire the smooth planes and round curves of her figure and wondering why she bloody chooses to hide it under frumpy Grandma sweaters and baggy skirts. If people could see her the way he does, they wouldn’t see a cute sidekick. They’d see a fire goddess, a siren, an intoxicant, an addiction.
He positions his head between her slightly-spread thighs and experimentally runs his tongue over her labia; and he can feel her whole body shudder with pleasure. He flicks his tongue over her clit and Willow’s hands grip the bed tighter, mattress creaking beneath them.
She closes her eyes and tries to think of math equations, tries to think of science experiments, tries to think of other tongues that have come before Spike, but nothing replaces the feel of him. Nothing changes the fact that she’s in his bed and she’s feeling the tendrils of addiction curl inside her belly again.
His teeth scrape over her clit and her hips buck helplessly as her body shakes and trembles, as it tenses and warms, as it heats and explodes.
This is game changing, mind altering.
And…it’s so addicting.
Chapter 6