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BtVS: Servants of Aradia - Willow/Spike - FRAO/NC-17
Title: Servants of Aradia
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series. I don’t.
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Word Count: 2757
Overall Rating/Highlight for Warnings: FRAO/NC-17; **other character death, language, sex**
Setting: Set during BtVS Season 4 - "Fear, Itself."
Summary: Spike's back.
Beta(s): The absolutely wonderful![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
velvetwhip and purplefeen
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
nekid_spike. My prompts were Spike/Willow, haunted house, candy, and a striptease. That said the term striptease is used pretty loosely in this one.
Halloween on the Hellmouth.
It was the only excuse Spike had for coming back to Sunnydale so soon after the Gem of Amara fiasco. The Hellmouth was always a hotbed of violent fun on the one holiday demons were traditionally supposed to take off, according to the stuffed gits at the Watcher’s Council. But no one, especially not him, seemed to content to stay in bed on the night chaos roamed free Plus, it was absolutely guaranteed that the Slayer and her pals would be duking it out with nasty little demon tonight so why should he miss out on all of the excitement?
“Got any candy, mister?”
A plucky boy, no more than thirteen years old, stepped in front of his path holding a small toy gun in one hand and a bulging plastic bag full of chocolates and Twizzlers in the other. He was dressed in one of those cheap party store cowboy costumes: plaid shirt, bolo tie, blue jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat that seemed far too big for his small head.
Spike grinned wolfishly, not willing to pass up the chance to see just how long it would take to strike fear into this kid’s heart. “Wrong question, mate.”
“Fine. Trick or treat?” The kid scoffed, as the brim of his hat fell over his eyes. When he pushed back up with the pads of his fingers, he gaped in horror at Spike’s glinting fangs.
“I always liked...trick,” Spike growled, his feral eyes glinting with malice.
Once it dawned on the boy that Spike’s visage was not a costume, the boy screamed once, high-pitched and squeaky like a girl, before taking off in a run. Spike chuckled and followed, but kept a predatory distance as they rounded the street corner. Even with the space separating them, it wouldn’t be difficult for Spike to grab the kid and have his fill of fear-laced goodness, but something stopped him. It was the smell of dark magic, raw and rancid, and it was coming from the large stone house just to the left of him. The Greek symbol for Alpha was hanging proudly next to the slightly lopsided symbol for Delta.
Frat house.
Spike smirked, forgetting about the kid, and heading towards a trio of startlingly drunk females dressed – or undressed, rather – in cheaply made garments designed to show off as much skin as possible. One of them was a bee, another a ladybug, and he was pretty sure the third one was a cat, but the only indication was the strange, tubular tail sticking out from her backside.
“Evening,” he greeted, his fangs retracting and his forehead smoothing.
“You’re hot,” the ladybug murmured. “Like…really, really hot.” She lurched forward, her hands reaching up to grab his face, but her bumblebee friend grabbed her by the waist and pulled her backwards. This action, however, sent them both tumbling towards the ground and peals of laughter immediately erupted from their lips.
“You’re such a slut, Marti,” the cat admonished, staring at both of her friends with a frown creasing her face.
Spike narrowed his eyes and did himself a favor by reaching down to grab Marty by the soft column of her throat and twisting her head sideways before she had a chance to speak. The other two girls shrieked as the awful sound of bones cracking rang in their ears and their friend fell back to the sidewalk.
“Monster!” the cat yelled, jabbing her finger against his broad chest.
“Wanna be next, pet?” Spike asked, flashing her a warning look.
“Fuck no,” the bumblebee replied firmly, grabbing the cat by the arm and dragging her off in a half-stumble, half-sprint to the freedom that hopefully awaited them on the other side of Fraternity row.
Spike let them go and sauntered towards the front of the house, humming a few bars of a Clash song and feeling high on the fresh kill. Then, he reached through the spider webbing decorating the large wooden panel and grabbed the door handle, yanking it open. Ignoring the protesting creak that answered back, he experimentally stuck his boot through the opening and was rather surprised when he could enter, unfettered by the usual mystical forces that prevented vampires from entering private domiciles. Must have been a side effect of the magic infecting the place.
A severed head hanging above the presumably-spiked punch bowl parted his gray lips and a robotic chortle made Spike’s ears twitch.
“I’ve seen better,” Spike countered. Of course, the head didn’t respond, so Spike headed down the corridor, following the crudely written signs that both led the way through the maze that had been set up and warned to go back the way you came.
He paid no heed to the dangling rubber bats and plastic spiders that appeared to be watching him with beady eyes from the corners of doorways and walls. He ignored the repeated hoarse cries of “Release Me.” He didn’t even blink when a one-eyed skeleton popped out of a coffin, blood oozing from the corners of its lips as it swung a blunt carving knife back and forth in an arc over his head.
“Come on, people. Trying to scare a vampire here?” Spike sneered, shaking his head in annoyance as he took a detour into one of the open rooms off the hallway. The decorations were sparser in here, no doubt because some boy thought an inebriated bint would be more likely to shag him if she wasn’t freaking out about fake snakes in the bed.
He plopped down on the edge of the worn, but unsoiled, mattress and let the sounds of screaming, scampering children weave their sweet, glorious melody through his mind. He might not be feeling the full effect of the haunted house’s power, but the countless idiots trapped inside its gullet sure were.
Boredom eventually started to creep into his bones and he glanced around the room, checking to see if there was something that could amuse him before he ventured out again. Seeing nothing of interest, he got back to his feet and headed towards the door, only to be forcefully knocked backwards onto the bed again by a million glowing specks.
“Bloody hell!” Spike yelped, his arms flailing as he tried to shoo them away. The lights stayed put though, settling on his clothes, vibrating with energy.
“Stop!”
A familiar shock of red hair and an equally recognizable worried face appeared in the doorframe.
“Red,” Spike snarled, getting the sense that this particular brand of magic was her doing. Most demons he knew didn’t go for the twinkle effect.
Willow instinctively jumped, her body twitching with anxiety, despite the layers of protection she wore as Joan of Arc. “Spike!”
“Get these damn things off of me,” Spike ordered, swatting at one who’d dared to take up residence on the button of his jeans.
“I…” Willow stammered, as the door slammed shut behind her. “I don’t know why they’re on you. I mean, they’re emissaries. They’re supposed to help the lost and disoriented, except that there was only supposed to be one and then they multiplied and then they kept swarming me and I couldn’t stop them and Oz is a werewolf and I can’t find Buffy or Xander and….”
“Shut up,” Spike retorted.
Willow’s jaw dropped slightly and she looked wounded by his disinterest in her friends. “You’re really making me not want to help you.”
“Fine. Don’t help,” Spike replied coldly. “Lot of good you’d probably do me anyway.”
“Hey!” Willow said, clearly insulted. “I’m a good witch. I know what I’m doing. I just….”
“Screwed up this time?” Spike offered.
“Well…yeah,” Willow said softly, her shoulders slumping. “But I’ll fix it.”
“You’d better,” Spike said, pleased that his plan to play upon her sensitivities about her magical abilities had worked so well. ‘Course the most exciting bit was that she hadn’t even commented on the fact that she was about to free a killer from the very restraints that made him perfect fodder for the Slayer right now.
Willow nodded emphatically, wrinkles forming across her forehead as she scrunched up her face in concentration. “Okay, since it looks like we need an emergency stop button on Aradia’s messengers, we’re going to want to…um…ooh…we could maybe call on Persephone since she…or we could call on Nervis?”
Just then, one of the emissaries scuttled across his crotch and Spike groaned surprised by the sudden spread of warmth that nudged his cock awake. He wouldn’t have minded so much if it was Willow’s fingers exploring him, but magical, pervy fireflies? Hell no. “Now’s really not the time to be nervous, Red. Now’s the time to get these things off of me.”
“She’s a goddess, Spike,” Willow said, rolling her eyes.
“Pet,” Spike warned. “I will kill you and all your little friends if you don’t try something.”
“Right,” Willow replied. “I’m very big on not getting anybody killed.”
“’Course you are,” Spike answered, as several lights floated across his stomach and landed on the hem of his black t-shirt.
Willow quickly started muttering some gibberish, talking about shadows ceasing and Nervis helping. But while she did that, Spike felt his shirt creep slowly up his stomach and before he knew it, it was bunched up around his neck. Despite being bothered by it at first, he realized that they were helping him. They were guiding him to make use of a lost and disoriented girl that needed to learn a lesson about playing with things beyond her abilities. That or Aradia was a bigger nympho than her chastity gave her credit for.
“Your solution is to strip me?” Spike asked, arching his scarred eyebrow. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Red.”
“What-?” Willow stopped her spell-casting and looked down at Spike. Her lips parted, forming a small ‘o’ as she watched her creation skate down his broad chest and circle the very striking bulge that was pressing against the front of his jeans. A blush immediately stained her cheeks and she averted her gaze, staring down at her shoelaces.
“Like what you see?” Spike offered, leering.
“I….Why are they making you naked?” Willow murmured, a world of confusion in her voice. “I don’t remember reading anything about Aradia being all down with the sexy times. She’s a virgin and I….”
“Know you’re not one, pet. Can smell the wolf on you. Did he fuck you before you came tonight?” Spike asked, before grunting softly as the catch of his jeans was undone and the zipper was pulled down. He had to give them some credit, they were talented little buggers, and he was hard as hell.
“That’s really none of your business,” Willow said, less than firmly, crossing her arms over her plastic chest plate and attempting to fit her nose inside the hollow of her throat to avoid eye contact.
“Did he pull down those slick black leggings and push that little shift around your waist?” Spike continued. He could smell her arousal already starting to permeate the air and he knew he’d triggered something inside of her. But the scent of her man wasn’t as strong as it could have been, which made him wonder if the Little Witch had naughty schoolgirl fantasies she wasn’t letting anyone in on.
“Stop,” Willow protested weakly.
“Can’t,” Spike replied, his voice husky with desire as he shifted his legs a little to make it easier for the glowing dots to guide his pants down his legs. He’d never been a fan of knickers so his erection was bobbing in the still air. “It’s your magic that’s doing this to me. Your spell that’s left me wanting. Think you ought to do something about it.”
“I have a boyfriend, Spike. And you’re a vampire,” Willow said.
“So?” Spike asked pointedly.
“So that means I’m not going to whatever depraved things you want me to,” Willow replied.
Before Spike could respond, however, the twinkling beings left his skin and started to surround her. She yelped as tiny claws of power grabbed hold of her and dragged her towards the bed.
“Oz!” Willow shouted at them, but they didn’t listen. They merely pushed her down onto the edge of mattress and promptly glided towards the door, blockading it like sentinels standing guard.
Spike reached out to touch her then, his fingers brushing against her hip bone. She trembled like a leaf in the wind, still unable to meet his gaze.
“Not gonna hurt you. Not unless you let me.” Spike promised, seduction lacing his tone.
“I….” Willow said, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. She shifted uncomfortably and looked over at the door where the lights were buzzing angrily, impatiently waiting for their show to begin. “I don’t like this. I need to say this is not good.”
“Doesn’t have to be, pet. Lie down,” Spike replied softly, making a command decision. He was horny and therefore was going to need to convince her she was wrong.
Her body listened before her brain did and her small frame settled into the mattress.
“Good girl,” Spike whispered, praising her as he rolled himself on top of her, holding up his weight with his forearms.
Willow gulped as Spike lowered his head, taking her earlobe between his lips and suckling until he elicited the tiniest of moans from her mouth. It was enough to relax her as it cut down on the emissaries’ incessant humming.
As her body softened against him, his hand slid up her side to find the clasps that held the armor to her. One by one, he unlocked them and deftly pulled the plastic away from her skin. Then his mouth latched onto a breast that was still covered by the thin material of her shift and the cotton of her bra. Still, she could feel the wetness of his tongue and her back arched off the bed to meet his caress. “Spike.”
Hearing her utter his name so quickly emboldened Spike to keep going, switching to her other breast, making her moan and tremble even more. It made him aware of her newfound willingness to accept the environment they were in so he moved down her body. As he got closer to the apex of her thighs, the smell of her intoxicated him. She was already wet, most likely because he was mirroring the figments her imagination had already stirred up.
“You want this, love?” Spike asked, peering up at her through hooded, appreciative eyes.
He wanted her to be ready for this. Never could be quite the monster Angelus was in the sack.
“Yes,” Willow whispered, breathless and overwhelmed by the lust building between them.
His fingers slid up her legs and hooked themselves into the elastic bands of her leggings and panties. Willow lifted her hips and whimpered as the fabric slid easily down her legs.
From there, he lifted up her shift and lined himself up at her entrance, his cock aching with the urge to get inside of her, to fuck her. With one quick thrust, he was buried to the hilt and Willow cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
Despite the gentleness that had got him here, Spike didn’t take her that way. The pace was demanding and dizzying, blurring the lines of ecstasy and oblivion. It was filthy hot, sweaty, and quick. It started with a buzz and ended with a scream.
A scream that wasn’t hers, which was followed by the sharp splintering of wood floorboards several stories above them.
“Buffy!” Willow shouted, pushing at Spike’s shoulders and unbalancing him enough to wriggle out from underneath him. She hastily pulled her stockings back up and charged towards the door, panting and expecting to swat away lights.
But those were gone too.
“Slayer saved the day without you, Red.” Spike observed.
Willow turned towards him. Her cheeks were still flushed with heat and shame in the aftermath of their rough sex. “I think you should go before she stakes you.”
“Don’t you want her to?” Spike asked. Despite her engagement before, she was a Scooby, born and bred to fight the darkness and all it contained.
Willow shook her head and grabbed the doorknob. “I told you’d I’d fix it so this is me fixing it. Just…don’t make me regret it.”
Not waiting to watch him go, Willow pulled open the door and disappeared from sight.
Not waiting around to get his ass kicked, Spike did the same.
But he’d be back.
He always came back.
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series. I don’t.
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Word Count: 2757
Overall Rating/Highlight for Warnings: FRAO/NC-17; **other character death, language, sex**
Setting: Set during BtVS Season 4 - "Fear, Itself."
Summary: Spike's back.
Beta(s): The absolutely wonderful
velvetwhip and purplefeenA/N: Written for
nekid_spike. My prompts were Spike/Willow, haunted house, candy, and a striptease. That said the term striptease is used pretty loosely in this one.Halloween on the Hellmouth.
It was the only excuse Spike had for coming back to Sunnydale so soon after the Gem of Amara fiasco. The Hellmouth was always a hotbed of violent fun on the one holiday demons were traditionally supposed to take off, according to the stuffed gits at the Watcher’s Council. But no one, especially not him, seemed to content to stay in bed on the night chaos roamed free Plus, it was absolutely guaranteed that the Slayer and her pals would be duking it out with nasty little demon tonight so why should he miss out on all of the excitement?
“Got any candy, mister?”
A plucky boy, no more than thirteen years old, stepped in front of his path holding a small toy gun in one hand and a bulging plastic bag full of chocolates and Twizzlers in the other. He was dressed in one of those cheap party store cowboy costumes: plaid shirt, bolo tie, blue jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat that seemed far too big for his small head.
Spike grinned wolfishly, not willing to pass up the chance to see just how long it would take to strike fear into this kid’s heart. “Wrong question, mate.”
“Fine. Trick or treat?” The kid scoffed, as the brim of his hat fell over his eyes. When he pushed back up with the pads of his fingers, he gaped in horror at Spike’s glinting fangs.
“I always liked...trick,” Spike growled, his feral eyes glinting with malice.
Once it dawned on the boy that Spike’s visage was not a costume, the boy screamed once, high-pitched and squeaky like a girl, before taking off in a run. Spike chuckled and followed, but kept a predatory distance as they rounded the street corner. Even with the space separating them, it wouldn’t be difficult for Spike to grab the kid and have his fill of fear-laced goodness, but something stopped him. It was the smell of dark magic, raw and rancid, and it was coming from the large stone house just to the left of him. The Greek symbol for Alpha was hanging proudly next to the slightly lopsided symbol for Delta.
Frat house.
Spike smirked, forgetting about the kid, and heading towards a trio of startlingly drunk females dressed – or undressed, rather – in cheaply made garments designed to show off as much skin as possible. One of them was a bee, another a ladybug, and he was pretty sure the third one was a cat, but the only indication was the strange, tubular tail sticking out from her backside.
“Evening,” he greeted, his fangs retracting and his forehead smoothing.
“You’re hot,” the ladybug murmured. “Like…really, really hot.” She lurched forward, her hands reaching up to grab his face, but her bumblebee friend grabbed her by the waist and pulled her backwards. This action, however, sent them both tumbling towards the ground and peals of laughter immediately erupted from their lips.
“You’re such a slut, Marti,” the cat admonished, staring at both of her friends with a frown creasing her face.
Spike narrowed his eyes and did himself a favor by reaching down to grab Marty by the soft column of her throat and twisting her head sideways before she had a chance to speak. The other two girls shrieked as the awful sound of bones cracking rang in their ears and their friend fell back to the sidewalk.
“Monster!” the cat yelled, jabbing her finger against his broad chest.
“Wanna be next, pet?” Spike asked, flashing her a warning look.
“Fuck no,” the bumblebee replied firmly, grabbing the cat by the arm and dragging her off in a half-stumble, half-sprint to the freedom that hopefully awaited them on the other side of Fraternity row.
Spike let them go and sauntered towards the front of the house, humming a few bars of a Clash song and feeling high on the fresh kill. Then, he reached through the spider webbing decorating the large wooden panel and grabbed the door handle, yanking it open. Ignoring the protesting creak that answered back, he experimentally stuck his boot through the opening and was rather surprised when he could enter, unfettered by the usual mystical forces that prevented vampires from entering private domiciles. Must have been a side effect of the magic infecting the place.
A severed head hanging above the presumably-spiked punch bowl parted his gray lips and a robotic chortle made Spike’s ears twitch.
“I’ve seen better,” Spike countered. Of course, the head didn’t respond, so Spike headed down the corridor, following the crudely written signs that both led the way through the maze that had been set up and warned to go back the way you came.
He paid no heed to the dangling rubber bats and plastic spiders that appeared to be watching him with beady eyes from the corners of doorways and walls. He ignored the repeated hoarse cries of “Release Me.” He didn’t even blink when a one-eyed skeleton popped out of a coffin, blood oozing from the corners of its lips as it swung a blunt carving knife back and forth in an arc over his head.
“Come on, people. Trying to scare a vampire here?” Spike sneered, shaking his head in annoyance as he took a detour into one of the open rooms off the hallway. The decorations were sparser in here, no doubt because some boy thought an inebriated bint would be more likely to shag him if she wasn’t freaking out about fake snakes in the bed.
He plopped down on the edge of the worn, but unsoiled, mattress and let the sounds of screaming, scampering children weave their sweet, glorious melody through his mind. He might not be feeling the full effect of the haunted house’s power, but the countless idiots trapped inside its gullet sure were.
Boredom eventually started to creep into his bones and he glanced around the room, checking to see if there was something that could amuse him before he ventured out again. Seeing nothing of interest, he got back to his feet and headed towards the door, only to be forcefully knocked backwards onto the bed again by a million glowing specks.
“Bloody hell!” Spike yelped, his arms flailing as he tried to shoo them away. The lights stayed put though, settling on his clothes, vibrating with energy.
“Stop!”
A familiar shock of red hair and an equally recognizable worried face appeared in the doorframe.
“Red,” Spike snarled, getting the sense that this particular brand of magic was her doing. Most demons he knew didn’t go for the twinkle effect.
Willow instinctively jumped, her body twitching with anxiety, despite the layers of protection she wore as Joan of Arc. “Spike!”
“Get these damn things off of me,” Spike ordered, swatting at one who’d dared to take up residence on the button of his jeans.
“I…” Willow stammered, as the door slammed shut behind her. “I don’t know why they’re on you. I mean, they’re emissaries. They’re supposed to help the lost and disoriented, except that there was only supposed to be one and then they multiplied and then they kept swarming me and I couldn’t stop them and Oz is a werewolf and I can’t find Buffy or Xander and….”
“Shut up,” Spike retorted.
Willow’s jaw dropped slightly and she looked wounded by his disinterest in her friends. “You’re really making me not want to help you.”
“Fine. Don’t help,” Spike replied coldly. “Lot of good you’d probably do me anyway.”
“Hey!” Willow said, clearly insulted. “I’m a good witch. I know what I’m doing. I just….”
“Screwed up this time?” Spike offered.
“Well…yeah,” Willow said softly, her shoulders slumping. “But I’ll fix it.”
“You’d better,” Spike said, pleased that his plan to play upon her sensitivities about her magical abilities had worked so well. ‘Course the most exciting bit was that she hadn’t even commented on the fact that she was about to free a killer from the very restraints that made him perfect fodder for the Slayer right now.
Willow nodded emphatically, wrinkles forming across her forehead as she scrunched up her face in concentration. “Okay, since it looks like we need an emergency stop button on Aradia’s messengers, we’re going to want to…um…ooh…we could maybe call on Persephone since she…or we could call on Nervis?”
Just then, one of the emissaries scuttled across his crotch and Spike groaned surprised by the sudden spread of warmth that nudged his cock awake. He wouldn’t have minded so much if it was Willow’s fingers exploring him, but magical, pervy fireflies? Hell no. “Now’s really not the time to be nervous, Red. Now’s the time to get these things off of me.”
“She’s a goddess, Spike,” Willow said, rolling her eyes.
“Pet,” Spike warned. “I will kill you and all your little friends if you don’t try something.”
“Right,” Willow replied. “I’m very big on not getting anybody killed.”
“’Course you are,” Spike answered, as several lights floated across his stomach and landed on the hem of his black t-shirt.
Willow quickly started muttering some gibberish, talking about shadows ceasing and Nervis helping. But while she did that, Spike felt his shirt creep slowly up his stomach and before he knew it, it was bunched up around his neck. Despite being bothered by it at first, he realized that they were helping him. They were guiding him to make use of a lost and disoriented girl that needed to learn a lesson about playing with things beyond her abilities. That or Aradia was a bigger nympho than her chastity gave her credit for.
“Your solution is to strip me?” Spike asked, arching his scarred eyebrow. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Red.”
“What-?” Willow stopped her spell-casting and looked down at Spike. Her lips parted, forming a small ‘o’ as she watched her creation skate down his broad chest and circle the very striking bulge that was pressing against the front of his jeans. A blush immediately stained her cheeks and she averted her gaze, staring down at her shoelaces.
“Like what you see?” Spike offered, leering.
“I….Why are they making you naked?” Willow murmured, a world of confusion in her voice. “I don’t remember reading anything about Aradia being all down with the sexy times. She’s a virgin and I….”
“Know you’re not one, pet. Can smell the wolf on you. Did he fuck you before you came tonight?” Spike asked, before grunting softly as the catch of his jeans was undone and the zipper was pulled down. He had to give them some credit, they were talented little buggers, and he was hard as hell.
“That’s really none of your business,” Willow said, less than firmly, crossing her arms over her plastic chest plate and attempting to fit her nose inside the hollow of her throat to avoid eye contact.
“Did he pull down those slick black leggings and push that little shift around your waist?” Spike continued. He could smell her arousal already starting to permeate the air and he knew he’d triggered something inside of her. But the scent of her man wasn’t as strong as it could have been, which made him wonder if the Little Witch had naughty schoolgirl fantasies she wasn’t letting anyone in on.
“Stop,” Willow protested weakly.
“Can’t,” Spike replied, his voice husky with desire as he shifted his legs a little to make it easier for the glowing dots to guide his pants down his legs. He’d never been a fan of knickers so his erection was bobbing in the still air. “It’s your magic that’s doing this to me. Your spell that’s left me wanting. Think you ought to do something about it.”
“I have a boyfriend, Spike. And you’re a vampire,” Willow said.
“So?” Spike asked pointedly.
“So that means I’m not going to whatever depraved things you want me to,” Willow replied.
Before Spike could respond, however, the twinkling beings left his skin and started to surround her. She yelped as tiny claws of power grabbed hold of her and dragged her towards the bed.
“Oz!” Willow shouted at them, but they didn’t listen. They merely pushed her down onto the edge of mattress and promptly glided towards the door, blockading it like sentinels standing guard.
Spike reached out to touch her then, his fingers brushing against her hip bone. She trembled like a leaf in the wind, still unable to meet his gaze.
“Not gonna hurt you. Not unless you let me.” Spike promised, seduction lacing his tone.
“I….” Willow said, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. She shifted uncomfortably and looked over at the door where the lights were buzzing angrily, impatiently waiting for their show to begin. “I don’t like this. I need to say this is not good.”
“Doesn’t have to be, pet. Lie down,” Spike replied softly, making a command decision. He was horny and therefore was going to need to convince her she was wrong.
Her body listened before her brain did and her small frame settled into the mattress.
“Good girl,” Spike whispered, praising her as he rolled himself on top of her, holding up his weight with his forearms.
Willow gulped as Spike lowered his head, taking her earlobe between his lips and suckling until he elicited the tiniest of moans from her mouth. It was enough to relax her as it cut down on the emissaries’ incessant humming.
As her body softened against him, his hand slid up her side to find the clasps that held the armor to her. One by one, he unlocked them and deftly pulled the plastic away from her skin. Then his mouth latched onto a breast that was still covered by the thin material of her shift and the cotton of her bra. Still, she could feel the wetness of his tongue and her back arched off the bed to meet his caress. “Spike.”
Hearing her utter his name so quickly emboldened Spike to keep going, switching to her other breast, making her moan and tremble even more. It made him aware of her newfound willingness to accept the environment they were in so he moved down her body. As he got closer to the apex of her thighs, the smell of her intoxicated him. She was already wet, most likely because he was mirroring the figments her imagination had already stirred up.
“You want this, love?” Spike asked, peering up at her through hooded, appreciative eyes.
He wanted her to be ready for this. Never could be quite the monster Angelus was in the sack.
“Yes,” Willow whispered, breathless and overwhelmed by the lust building between them.
His fingers slid up her legs and hooked themselves into the elastic bands of her leggings and panties. Willow lifted her hips and whimpered as the fabric slid easily down her legs.
From there, he lifted up her shift and lined himself up at her entrance, his cock aching with the urge to get inside of her, to fuck her. With one quick thrust, he was buried to the hilt and Willow cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
Despite the gentleness that had got him here, Spike didn’t take her that way. The pace was demanding and dizzying, blurring the lines of ecstasy and oblivion. It was filthy hot, sweaty, and quick. It started with a buzz and ended with a scream.
A scream that wasn’t hers, which was followed by the sharp splintering of wood floorboards several stories above them.
“Buffy!” Willow shouted, pushing at Spike’s shoulders and unbalancing him enough to wriggle out from underneath him. She hastily pulled her stockings back up and charged towards the door, panting and expecting to swat away lights.
But those were gone too.
“Slayer saved the day without you, Red.” Spike observed.
Willow turned towards him. Her cheeks were still flushed with heat and shame in the aftermath of their rough sex. “I think you should go before she stakes you.”
“Don’t you want her to?” Spike asked. Despite her engagement before, she was a Scooby, born and bred to fight the darkness and all it contained.
Willow shook her head and grabbed the doorknob. “I told you’d I’d fix it so this is me fixing it. Just…don’t make me regret it.”
Not waiting to watch him go, Willow pulled open the door and disappeared from sight.
Not waiting around to get his ass kicked, Spike did the same.
But he’d be back.
He always came back.
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Gabrielle
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