[Reviews - 191]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 4562 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
eventually dark, angsty, underage sex, increasing levels of kink, and utterly unrealistic demands on Spike’s stamina :) it will * remain consensual *. I’ll try to mark any special kink warnings on a chapter-by-chapter basis.

This chapter: soft bondage

beta'd by the lovely goddessofmercy

I almost fell into that hole in your life,
You weren’t thinking bout tomorrow,
Cause you were the same as me,
But on your knees…
--Goo Goo Dolls' Black Balloon

~*~*~*~

okie dokie, not a Saturday, but I crawl out of the woods from two weeks of camping,, to present you with the update.

Some of you may be wondering...where's the kink? I know, I'm thinking it too! it has been hijacked by angst and morals, but it's coming. in the meantime, have some soft bondage!

~*~*~*~
Previously:
“You do realize that by inviting me to a movie, you are committing yourself to at least a large popcorn, small M&M’s, and an obscene Olympic swimming pool of Diet Coke? I’m a very high-maintenance date.”

He smirked. “I think your snack-food needs can be met.”

“Then you’re on.” Buffy’s beaming smile became overtly suggestive. “You know, you’re awfully dirty. I think you need a good hard scrubbing before I could possibly take you out in public.”

Spike loved her slightly clumsy attempts at innuendo and seduction. They were too obvious by half, but somehow that only made her more alluring. The lack of practiced guile.

Spike flashed her a bit of pink tongue. “Do I?”

“Mmmhhmmm, and at least half of this water is going to waste. I think we should share.”

So it wasn’t what he’d come for, but it was a pleasant detour. Spike stripped his shirt over his head. “You do make a stunning case for environmentalism.”


~*~*~*~

Spike was full to bursting with excitement about something. Buffy could see it on his face when he popped into her line of vision, obliterating the blue cloudless sky as she sunbathed. He was antsy, biting his bottom lip and bouncing on the balls of his feet with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Got somethin’ to show you.”

Buffy’s eyes flickered down to his crotch. “You always want me naked as soon as I put on this bikini. How am I supposed to get a tan around here?” she teased.

Spike shot her a look full of sex. “Well….” He shook his head as though he were dislodging the thought. “Nope, not about that this time. Come on, luv.” He offered Buffy a hand, and curious, she took it.

Spike led her through the kitchen and living room and down the hall. When he opened the door to the home gym, he guided her into the room ahead of him with a hand to her lower back.

The home gym was one of the largest rooms in the house, like it was a garage that had been remodeled. Spike told her they had expanded the house several times, and the room had a concrete, utilitarian feel to it, so that was her best guess.

Buffy had only been in here a few times before, but right off, she noticed that everything was different. The free weight stations and workout machines—resistance and cardio—had always been spread out in the big space, but now they were now compacted to one side.

The other half of the room was…. It was now hers. That was her first thought when she saw all of the boxing equipment. There was a large blue sparring mat, a standing bag as high as she was, and a rack with a heavy bag and a small speed bag.

Buffy’s chest felt tight, constricted. She was speechless. It was all top-of-the-line, expensive. Why would he do this for her? God, when she had told him about kickboxing, she hadn’t meant….

Spike jittered nervously beside her at her non-reaction. “And look in here,” he said suddenly, striding over to a box. It opened to reveal gloves and personal protective equipment. She recognized the brand—professional grade.

“Spike—” Buffy began, shaking a little. She would have to ask him to take all of this back. It was too much. But God, it would feel so good get back in the swing of things again….

He waited, now looking ill at ease, his hands stuffed in his back pockets.

“This is thousands of dollars worth of equipment.” That she knew for a fact.

Spike shifted like a guilty man. “Well…yeah, but—”

“But what?” She exclaimed, her heart up in her throat. He had done this for her. She couldn’t…. “Why did you do this?”

His brow furrowed, part-way between confused and irate. “I thought you’d want to practice your craft,” he explained. Then he seemed struck with a burst of inspiration. “And I’ve never had any training in formal fighting techniques before. You could teach me.”

Buffy held his gaze intensely for a long moment, then looked away. When her eyes returned, she forced herself to smile brightly. It was ok—she wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. Although she still felt strange about the grand gesture, part of her was relieved that he had given her an out for turning the gift down, by showing an interest in learning the sport himself. “Okay. But I’ll warn you, I’m a very strict taskmaster,” she teased.

Spike’s tongue curled out in that way of his that always did funny things to her tummy. “And I should warn you, I was always a very naughty student.” She laughed.

This was good. They could pretend that the equipment had been for him, for him to learn. But she knew the truth. He’d done this for her, before he ever thought of picking up kickboxing himself.

What did that mean?

~*~*~*~

Spike was spread out on top of Buffy on her bed, kissing her leisurely, her arms wound around his neck. She was warm and her breath was sweet, and his hands stroked back and forth from her shoulders to her elbows. She sighed against him, contented, and Spike remembered how much fun simply making out had always been. He and Dru didn’t do this much anymore.

Buffy had reacted strangely to his gift. Alright, so it was sort of extravagant…but…it had been an impulse buy, almost, when he was surfing the web. There should really be a sliding scale for these things. The amount that it had set him back was hardly…he had deep pockets, right?

And he cared for the girl. Wanted to see her happy. Spike could see the spark in her, under all the tarnish of pain, and he’d just wanted to bring that out. It seemed as though kickboxing might do that. There was light in her eyes when she spoke of it.

Spike nuzzled at Buffy’s neck. “You smell good.” Buffy made a little noise and arched up into him when he nipped at her neck. “Taste good too,” he teased.

Spike turned his head and kissed the tender inside of her elbow, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Care to try something new, luv?”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “Sure. Like what?”

Spike chuckled. “You know, Goldilocks, you really shouldn’t agree to something before you know what it’s about. Sure way for the Big Bad Wolf to lure you down the dark path.”

“Mmmm. But I’m sure it will be good. I trust you.”

She actually did. He could see it bright in her eyes.

Spike smiled at her. “That’s a good thing for us, then, because this little game requires it.” He pulled a strip of soft cloth out of the bedside drawer.

Buffy peeked over the edge of the bed. “That drawer is like a Mary Poppins bag of sex accessories. What else have you got stashed in there?”

“Oh, this and that, in good time.” He tried to look coy.

Buffy eyed the cloth. “So is this some kind of kinky tie-up thing?”

He grinned at the assessment. “It is, in fact, ‘some kind of kinky tie-up thing.’ That sound ok?”

Buffy shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”

Spike leaned in close and murmured in her ear, running one hand down the side of her body. “I’ll share a little secret with you, sweets…the goal is actually to get your boat floating. I’m easy, when it comes to you.”

Buffy smiled into his neck.

“Arms above your head, pet.” She stretched her arms towards the headboard and arched her back as she did so. Christ, he loved this bikini. She was a sight. He wound the soft cloth around her wrists and then hesitated. “Comfortable with me tyin’ em to the headboard, luv?”

“You can do whatever you want with me.”

Spike could see that she meant it…really, truly meant it. He opted to ignore the part of him that that was scared witless by her faith in him and go with the fact that it gave him an instant boner. Some of the most important decisions of his life had been made with his cock, and the thought of Buffy, tied up and willingly at his mercy—his cock definitely had an opinion on the matter. A strong one.

He bit his lip and leered at her playfully as he anchored her to the bed. “Whatever I want, eh? I’ll definitely have to keep that in mind.” He jerked his chin towards her hands. “Tug.”

Buffy made a show of writhing and struggling against the restraints. “Oh, please sir, do be gentle, I’ve never been with a man before,” she simpered, blinking big green eyes at him innocently.

Spike couldn’t help but laugh, even though it was a lovely image. He settled himself above her. “Minx,” he murmured against her lips, and she grinned.

“I know all your sick little kinks,” she confided just before he captured her lips. Somehow, he didn’t think so. But with this girl, anything was possible.

His palms were warmed by her sunshine-hot skin as they smoothed over her upper body. As he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, he pulled the loose ends of the two bows holding her top together until it popped off. Spike tossed it over the side of the bed, palming her bare breasts and kissing the soft underside of Buffy’s chin. She twisted against the restraints. She liked it fast and hard, but he was going to drive her mad slowly, this time. The thought of Buffy squirming beneath him, helpless as he tortured her, made Spike groan into her neck.

Spike could imagine the vitality of her youth thrumming under his lips as he mouthed along her throat. So gorgeous, she was. Warm and strong and sweet. He rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and she whimpered and thrust up against his hips.

“You like that, kitten?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. Spike kicked off his jeans so that he was naked and came back. He braced one thigh between her legs and slid his hands up the wings of her back, cradling her rib cage on his forearms, lifting her up slightly to meet his mouth. The tip of his tongue just flickered teasingly over her nipple. She arched upward to gain more contact, but he remained illusive. Buffy yanked against the bonds at her wrists as though she had forgotten they were there in her eagerness to put her hands on him. He grinned up at her. She was pouting, but he just shook his head, brow quirked, to let her know that cute lip had no power here.

Spike would love to see her fight. He imagined all of this lean muscle coiled to strike as she wore that determined, stubborn little expression she had sometimes, the one that said she was about to do something and not to get in her way. Spike was a sucker for strong women, even ones that were down on their luck and no longer recognized the trait in themselves. Especially those, maybe. Made him want to show them just how powerful they were. Coach them back to the best of themselves.

Making a frustrated noise at her confinement, Buffy began sliding her covered sex up and down his thigh, spreading her legs further and moaning, pressing down harder for more friction. Spike’s own forehead collapsed to her breastbone. She was soaking wet. God, this woman—always so ready and willing.

Spike pulled his thigh away and Buffy’s head popped up. “Spike,” she complained.

Spike felt warm amusement well up at her eagerness. He met her for a tender kiss. “Gonna take this one slow, yeah?” He continued to nibble on her lips until she was pliant, murmuring an agreement.

Spike pulled the strings on her hips until the bikini bottoms fell apart. Rolling to the side, he mouthed Buffy’s ear, sawing the strip of cloth back and forth between her legs. Her head fell back, breath hitching from the direct friction.

Spike sucked her earlobe into his mouth and laid his hand over the cloth, rapidly twiddling a finger over her erect clit. Buffy made a wanting little noise and twisted, quietly exclaiming, “God, right there!”

When he pulled away too soon and discarded the bikini bottoms, she pressed her lips together impatiently but stubbornly refused to complain. There was that look now. Christ, she was delicious. She was flushed and open and perfect. Despite her supplicant position, it still felt like she was the one in charge here, a siren twisting Spike’s will. When he didn’t touch her at all, Buffy began clenching her buttocks and pressing her hips upward sensually, as if trying to use her pelvic muscles to get herself off, in the absence of other options. Her eyes were closed in concentration. He watched, stroking himself. It made him wonder if she could bring herself off that way, given the right circumstances. Spike shifted down the bed and blew cold air against her pussy, and her hips jerked. She bit her lip and looked down at him, arms stretched behind her head uselessly.

Spike smiled at her and kept his eyes trained on hers as he turned his face to the side and brushed his lips over the inside of her thigh. Her hips jerked again, bringing the fresh scent of arousal. He kept up the light teasing nibbles high up on each of her thighs. Buffy was trembling slightly, her neglected clit swollen and red.

Spike sat up, placing butterfly kisses on the inside of her leg near the knee. He propped that leg on his shoulder and massaged her thigh in the direction of her knee with both of his spread hands, nibbling at her calf. Buffy relaxed by fractions. He nipped at her lower calf and she jumped, smiling at him when he smirked mischievously.

He repeated the massage with her other leg, mouth toying at her ankle. Cradling her foot in his hands, he kissed the delicate arch, and when he sucked her big toe into his mouth, Buffy turned pink and giggled in that endearing way of hers. The nervous laughter died away when his gaze remained intense—this didn’t really feel like playing.

Spike rested her heel against his chest so that he could continue to scrape and lave at it with teeth and tongue while his hands were occupied by their slow ascent up the tender inside-underside of her legs. She tasted like chlorine from her time in the pool this afternoon, and her pelvis jerked involuntarily when one hand teased at the crease of her elevated knee. The other hand continued sliding upwards, fingers running along the top of her quads as his thumb ran low, eventually dragged up through the cleft of her buttocks and between her inner lips, gathering moisture from her slit.

Buffy whined and pressed upwards at the long-delayed direct contact, body twisting and hands pulling at her ties. Spike let his thumb stop just pressing against her clit, and he could feel her pelvic and abdominal muscles contracting beneath where his fingers were splayed out across her lower stomach. When he didn’t move his thumb, Buffy ground against it, sobbing as she came.

Spike rolled on a condom and surged forward, taking Buffy’s leg up with him, cradled against the hollow of his shoulder, as he settled his weight on her and entered her, moaning at the contractions of her orgasm around him.

“Oh god,” he gasped, rubbing his face against her neck and reaching up to untie her hands. As soon as her hands were free, she was caressing him, arms and shoulders and neck and scalp. They kissed desperately, as he remained buried inside her dying orgasm.

Spike rose up on his hands and swiveled in deep, slow thrusts against her. Buffy’s face was flushed red at the cheeks, overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion, and he knew the angle was good for her because her left leg was hitched so high. She had wrapped her other up around his waist, and he took a moment buried to the hilt to appreciate the depth it afforded him. She clenched purposefully around him, and Spike swallowed and let his mouth drop open so that he could draw in deeper breaths. Ordinarily they would have shared a giggle over her trick, but neither of them was playing games at the moment. The whole thing was too intense.

Spike withdrew, shuddering, through her clamped muscles and she released for him to slam back in. “Aahh!” He pumped into her hard and fast, supporting himself with one hand so that he could wipe the sweat out of his eyes. He lowered that hand to where they were joined and used it to rub at her clit as he slammed into her repeatedly, and she was shuddering and coming again, watching him with bedroom eyes. So beautiful. Precious little girl.

Spike’s thrusts became irregular as her contractions brought him close. He released her leg from his shoulder and hugged in close, pressing the side of his sweaty face against her own. Buffy drew her knees up high and crossed her ankles behind him, and Spike took her mouth, able to do nothing more than latch his lips onto her own before he was grinding buried to the root and coming.

His forehead sank to the pillow beside her head and he didn’t have the energy to move off of her, even though he could tell it was just a little hard for her to breathe with his weight there.

“Wow.” Buffy’s voice was watery and thick.

“Mm.” It was little more than a grunt, but really, his best effort.

Her voice was soft, and she was tracing delicate patterns over his cooling back. “Is it always that intense, with bondage?”

Spike pulled back and pressed a kiss to Buffy’s forehead. “It’s always that intense with us.”

Buffy’s eyes shone with tears and she nodded. Spike’s eyebrows drew together. He felt funny about saying it out loud, even though it was true.

He rolled to the side, onto his back and she snuggled up against him sleepily and kissed his shoulder. “You were quiet. Not so much dirty talk this time.”

Spike smiled. “Too intense for that. Knocked all the thoughts out of my skull.” She hummed and dropped easily into unconsciousness.

Spike stretched an arm up to prop behind his head, too satisfied to fall asleep just yet. Fuck. Intense was one way to describe it. Mind-blowing was another. Course, Dru always said his level of vocalization was a direct indicator as to whether they were in for a fast-and-dirty shag or love-making. But that’s because—

Spike felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. Love-making. Is that what he was just doing with Buffy? Suddenly Spike felt ill, because he knew the truth, felt it in his bones. He started to jerk up to sitting but he didn’t want to wake the girl snuggled in the crook of his shoulder, so he eased her away and sat up.

Fuck. Bugger. He looked over his shoulder at the sweet, peacefully sleeping girl beside him. He thought about her unshed tears after. Spike scrubbed a shaking hand over his face. He felt as though he’d been sucked down the rabbit hole and had only just now realized he was falling.

His stomach rolled. He needed air.

Spike eased out of the bed and into his jeans and out the door.

~*~*~*~

Spike had quit his near-fifteen-year smoking habit when Jackson was born, so he had to drive all the way to the store in order to get a pack. Night had already fallen, but it was still relatively early. He squatted down on the back patio and lit up, balancing the cigarette on his bottom lip as he tucked the pack and lighter away. It was like riding a bicycle, if the bicycle could give you cancer and make all your problems go away at the same time. He took a long deep drag, pulling the mentholated smoke deep into his lungs. He wanted to weep with that first drag, it was so delicious. Like coming home to an old friend.

His hands steadied out. He sat on the boards with his back against the deck railing, forearms perched on his knees between drags, and he busied himself with peeling the price label off of the brand new ashtray. Perhaps he’d been a tad optimistic in his moral fortitude when he’d thrown all of the old ones away.

Moral fortitude. It was a fucking joke. He had just made love to a woman who was not his wife. Who was not old enough to be anyone’s wife. Who could, technically, be his daughter if he’d gotten a very early start. He squelched that thought down. One sin at a time, mate.

How had he gotten in this deep? Spike hadn’t really acknowledged it before, but there was something more going on here than sex. He’d been calling it friendship, in his mind—the sharing that they’d been doing after sex, the little outings. But now he saw…God, it was something more than that, and he hadn’t even noticed. It wasn’t love, yet—but the fact that there was a ‘yet’ in that sentence was all wrong.

Spike pinched at the bridge of his nose. How could he do this to Drusilla? You had to walk a fine line with these types of things. As soon as emotion became involved, you were sunk.

God, he was a bastard. He had a wife and a kid and he’d been mucking about with this little girl. It was his life he was putting on the line here. If Dru found out how serious—

No. Pull yourself together man, it would be fine, because it hadn’t gone that far. No need to go all melodramatic. It wasn’t the end of the world…it’s not like he was ready to run off with the girl. Just a minor slip, one that was not irreparable. He’d just tell Dru what had happened, and then…what, stop sleeping with Buffy?

Panic clutched at him. He didn’t want to stop sleeping with Buffy. Hell, part of him wanted to do what they’d just done, exactly how they’d just done it, as often as humanly possible.

Just, not the part of him that loved his wife.

Fuck, damn and bugger him to hell.

He lit yet another cigarette, having sucked his previous—several?—down rather quickly.

Well, it wasn’t an option. He was no longer a single man, hadn’t been for a decade, officially, and unofficially for even longer than that. And for that matter, he wasn’t even making decisions for just himself and Drusilla. They had a child now, a beautiful baby boy who needed him to be a grown-up and a dad who was thinking with his noggin for once.

Not to mention Buffy. He needed to be more careful there, he suspected. Didn’t girls that age fall in and out of deep emotions at the drop of a hat? He’d tried to discourage her jealousy and possessiveness, or at least not encourage it, but…he also kind of liked it a little.

Christ, he really was going to hell. She wasn’t a toy to be brought out of the box when he felt like playing. She was young and tenderhearted. Spike smiled faintly as he thought about the way he had caught her crying over that cartoon movie, Fox and the Hound, which she claimed to be watching for Jackson’s benefit. He’d refrained from pointing out that his child was not at an age to make heads or tails of anything other than bright colors and shiny objects. Embarrassed, she had dashed away her tears with one hand and explained earnestly, “They just wanted to be friends!”

She was a sweet girl. ‘Girl’ perhaps being the operative word in that sentence. He could tell that she was going to grow to be an amazing woman. There was a passion in her sometimes, a determination and a strength, that he wished he could just box up when he got glimpses of it. He didn’t see it often, but when he did, it astounded him. When she grew, she would be better than them all. It made him ache with something bittersweet for her, to see her potential. How she would flower after she had already slipped out of his life. And wasn’t that a kick in the teeth.

From what he could gather, she’d had her heart stomped on quite recently by some boy named Angel before she’d moved to Seattle. Boy had fed her some shite about letting her go for her own good. If Spike was footloose and young and Buffy was his, he’d never let her go voluntarily, even if she moved to halfway round the world to Ibiza. Bloody idjit.

Fantastic, now he was fantasizing about riding off into the sunset with the girl. Fuck. Perhaps he needed to avoid hanging about with her altogether for a while then. She was too charming by half—she was bright and funny and she called him on his crap. Yes, if he was honest, it wasn’t just the sex.

He had bought her enough specialized kickboxing equipment to fill half of the home gym. How had he convinced himself that was totally kosher? Not seen it as a warning sign?

Fuck.

His scalp began to itch. That happened sometimes. You know, only when he was having a bloody complete and total nervous breakdown.

Spike had already filled the ashtray.

Alright, he’d tell Dru what was going on, see if she could make herself more available for a while. He was probably just partly missing her companionship. Nobody could drive him to distraction like Drusilla. She was the love of his life. Always had been, and God willing, always would be. And he’d lay off of things with Buffy for a while, let them both cool their jets. They could both stand to have the space if either was to come out of this unscathed.

Besides, he didn’t need to stop having sex with her altogether, forever. He just needed to quit for long enough to get perspective on the situation. Then he could go back to her with some modicum of self-control.

Spike looked down at the two lonely cigarettes that were jiggling around in the brand-new pack, and then at the full-to-brimming ashtray. The sad and undeniable evidence that he was not a man capable of moderation.

Bugger. This was bound to go well.

~*~*~*~

Spike watched Drusilla move about the bathroom readying herself for bed. She hadn’t gotten home until nearly midnight, but the routine was always the same, always unhurried. It was a comfortingly familiar ritual, one he had observed nightly for the last decade. She smelled of jasmine, and it was a comfortingly familiar scent.

Spike felt, for the first time, as though he had actually cheated on her. The knowledge was tearing at his insides.

“Princess?”

Dru turned blue-gray eyes on his in the mirror and smiled at him warmly. Spike’s gut clenched.

“Could you…if I told you I needed you to come home early for a time, could you? Would you?”

Sometimes Spike fancied that Dru could see right through him if she looked hard enough. As she was doing now.

“Because of the girl,” she observed. It wasn’t a question, though it sort of sounded like one.

Spike nearly sighed in relief. “Yeah, ducks. Because of the girl. And I just…need you. I miss you.”

Dru smiled at that, but she was still dissecting him with her eyes. “You care for her.”

A wave of guilt swamped him. “Yeah. I do.” His voice cracked, and he felt so damn responsible.

Drusilla approached him quietly, and lay a hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek. “My Spike. Still so soft-hearted. Of course you do, she’s a wounded little bird, and you’re a healer.”

His wife kissed him softly, carefully, and Spike felt his heart break just a little with love for her all over again. No recriminations, no distrust, no anger. Just understanding. Dru had always taken him as he was. And she trusted him.

Even when he didn’t quite trust himself.

~*~*~*~

TBC





You must login (register) to review.