She was naked.
His eyes zeroed on her pert breasts as his cock leapt to attention. He'd known she had to be beautiful under her clothes, but he hadn't expected her to be quite so…
Effulgent.
She was luminous, so clearly a being from a world other than his own. He felt as if he should have to shield his eyes, that she should be too bright for him to look upon, and yet he was, staring at her in all her glory.
In his arms, Buffy stretched, her body rubbing tantalizingly against his. "Mmm… Good morning," she said, then yawned.
"Good morning. And, um, mind telling me why you aren't wearing any clothes?"
Buffy gave him a sleepy pout, and Spike managed to fight off a very unmanly whimper. "You always sleep naked. Why can't I?"
"I wasn't complaining, it's just, I…"
For a man who made his living on words, Spike was finding it very difficult to come up with any.
"You need to do the wanking thing again?"
Spike nodded dumbly in response to her question. Bloody hell, did he ever…
Buffy stretched again, shimmying a little as she did. "Go ahead then. I certainly won't stop you." She cupped his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss, remembering how that had seemed to set the mood the day before.
However, this time, with their position and their nudity, when she pulled him to her, his cock slid between her legs, rubbing against the folds of her pussy. Spike groaned, her heat seeming to scorch him, before he pulled away sharply, looking at her in a panic.
"What…what's wrong?" Buffy asked through pants. Whatever he had just done, it had felt damn good…
"I…I can't do that," Spike replied. "If I'm that close to…there… God, Buffy, I won't be able to stop from slipping in, luv. I'm not that strong of a man."
"Oh." Buffy worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "What do you want me to do then?"
Spike regarded her for a moment, his head cocked to the side as he thought of the best way to go about this. "Roll over on your stomach," he said after a moment.
Buffy did as he asked without question, and Spike grabbed a pillow and slid it under her hips. He shivered at the sight she made, her firm, tanned bottom pushed up and presented to him. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gain some semblance of control. He had to keep in mind what was at stake here, what he would be taking from her if he entered her tempting body.
Slowly, he lowered himself over her, situating his penis against the crack of her rear. He began to thrust against her, experimentally at first, until he was able to establish a steady rhythm. He gripped the base of his cock with his left hand while he supported himself with his right, massaging the bottom half of erection while the top slid between the crack of her ass, careful never to slip and go too far.
Beneath him, Buffy felt a torrent of sensations she'd never known before. This was better than what he'd done with her the previous morning. Whatever it was he was doing to her now, it was building up a pressure in her that was driving her out of her mind, and yet she didn't want him to stop. It was frustrating, but it was the most wonderful frustration she'd ever known. She was trapped between his hard body and the soft pillow, and both were rubbing against her in the most delicious of ways.
Soon, she was thrusting up to meet him, her hips moving almost of their own accord. She reached out and grasped the bars of his headboard, gasping his name over and over again as she listened to him pant harshly above her.
Spike had to admit that this felt better than he ever would've imagined, but still, it wasn't enough. It was easier for him to keep some level of control when he wasn't looking at her face, but he needed to see her, needed to look into her eyes. Surrendering, he pulled up and flipped her over, pulling the pillow out from under her so she was flush with the mattress.
"Spike…what…" Buffy began before his lips came crashing down, kissing her hungrily. She moaned into his mouth as she felt his cock, hot and heavy against her stomach, dripping with the evidence of his desire for her.
"Had to see your face," Spike told her as he moved from her lips to her neck, kissing and nibbling against the tender column of flesh. "Fuck, luv, you're beautiful. So more than I deserve to touch."
"Spike…" Buffy half-moaned, half-whimpered, her hand coming up to tangle in his bleached curls.
His erection continued to slide against her belly, caught between their writhing bodies, and Spike knew he couldn't last much longer. Reluctantly, he pulled back from her, sitting up on his knees as he grasped his cock and began to pump it in earnest.
Buffy's eyes remained glued to the sight, eager to watch what had happened before. She wanted to be with him when he let go, wanted to feel it splash against her skin. The act was so human, and she wanted to know it as well as she could.
"Buffy, oh, pet, I'm… Fuck!" With his last shout, his cock began to jerk in his hand, and Buffy knew it was happening. She opened the connection between them right at the moment when his semen began to shoot towards her, wanting to know exactly what it was Spike was experiencing when he was with her.
The answer she got was more than she expected. His pleasure was white hot, more intense than anything she'd ever known, and the strength of it hit her full-force, making her scream. She shook beneath him, bucking sporadically as he emptied himself onto her stomach and breasts.
With a gasp, Spike slumped, then rolled over to the side, falling onto his back beside her. Buffy pulled away from his mind again, panting heavily as she lay beside him. Was that what humans experienced with each other?
She didn't notice the tear rolling down her cheek until Spike wiped it away. "Luv? Was…was that too much? I shouldn't have come all over you, baby. That was rude of me. I'm sorry. I'll get something to clean you up, yeah?"
He started to get out of the bed, but Buffy's hand shot out, grabbing his arm to keep him in place. "No, stay. I don't mind." She smiled softly. "Actually, I kinda like it." To demonstrate, she scooped a bit up with her finger and brought it to her mouth, sucking it off of her skin as she had the day before, after Spike had left.
That act alone was enough to make Spike's eyes glaze over. "Buffy, do that any more, and I'm just going to be hard all over again."
Buffy pouted. "But I like the way it tastes."
Spike shivered. "So not helping, Buffy." He reached out and cupped her cheek. "So why the tears then?"
"I've never experienced anything like that before," Buffy told him. "It…it was beautiful."
Her simple answer was enough to fill him with awe. He realized with a start that what they'd just shared was quite possibly the most intimate moment of his life—and he'd never even been inside of her.
It was over for him. He could never truly have her, yet he was surrounded by her, drowning in her. Whatever Powers had sent her to him must've had a bloody sick sense of humor.
He kissed her gently, his touch now surprisingly chaste, given what had just occurred between them. "Come on, luv, why don't you join me in the shower? Get this stuff cleaned up off of you, yeah?"
With only a simple nod, Buffy let Spike help her to her feet and lead her into the bathroom.
"Let me wash your hair."
Buffy turned towards Spike at his request, her tongue coming out to dampen her lips at the sight of him fully naked, standing beneath the spray of the shower. Her legs trembled, and she wondered how she still had enough strength to stand upright.
In answer to his question, she nodded her assent, not trusting her own voice. After countless years with inhuman strength, Spike could make her feel weak.
Surprisingly, it didn't scare her. In a way, it became a different kind of strength—she was strong enough to trust herself to someone else.
Spike turned her around, then squeezed a healthy amount of shampoo into the palm of his hand. "God, how I love this hair," he said as he began to lather the golden strands. "How it bounces…how it shines. I could spend all day lost in this hair—in the scent, in the touch."
With a sigh, Buffy leaned into his hands, closing her eyes and relishing the sensuousness of what he was doing. This was something she was never allowed before. At that moment, she wasn't existing for someone else. She was existing for herself, and she was feeling.
With some reluctance, Spike pulled his hands away from her hair to lead Buffy over to the spray, guiding her to stand under the water. "Close your eyes, luv," he instructed her before tipping her head back and helping her rinse the suds from her hair.
Buffy loved the feel of the warm water rushing over her skin. In the past, she'd always bathed in standing water, yet there was definitely something to be said for a shower. Between the water and Spike's touch, it was positively sensual.
And Buffy was discovering, she really liked sensual. She felt cheated to have been denied it for so long, and ached with the knowledge she would lose it all once she left Spike.
She already couldn't imagine ever experiencing this with another man. Something about Spike called to her in a way no one ever had, made her feel things she didn't know she wanted until now.
Perhaps it was being cut off from the world for so long. After never truly experiencing anything, she now wanted to experience everything.
Or perhaps it was simply Spike himself. Was it possible for him to be able to call to parts of her no other man would ever be able to touch, even if she searched lifetimes?
It was an overly romantic notion, and yet, wasn't it exactly the sort of notion she, as a muse, was supposed to inspire?
She and her kind had inspired all the tales of the great lovers throughout history: Romeo and Juliet. Helen and Paris. Orpheus and Eurydice. All drawn to each other uncontrollably, willing to love without reason.
And all of them, separated in tragedy. Death, pain, and destruction were all their passion ultimately wrought.
Was that the fate she faced with Spike? Did they share the sort of undeniable passion that was doomed to consume and destroy?
"Hey. You got all sad looking there, pet. What's wrong?" Spike asked, pulling her out from under the water and into his arms.
"Nothing," Buffy lied, resting her head against his damp chest.
Spike knew she wasn't telling him all that was going on in her mind, but he didn't push. She wrapped her arms around him, and he returned the embrace, wishing the moment could last forever.
The longer he held her, the more he knew he'd never be able to recover from losing her.
Buffy watched in awe at the speed with which Spike's pen moved across the paper. He had a look in his eyes she'd come to associate with when he was truly inspired, and Buffy watched him from the chair, anxious to see what he'd written once he was finished.
She genuinely looked forward to reading Spike's poetry—and not just because it tended to be in praise of her. She'd enjoyed some of her other poets' writing—while with ones like old McGonagall having to sit through a reading was a genuine chore—but with Spike it was different. His words stirred something deep inside of her.
A small smile crept to her lips as she continued to watch him.
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Also, if you're looking for something else to read, I highly recommend Satindoll. She's a fairly new writer, but both of her stories so far have been very enjoyable. You can find her works here: http://spikeluver.com/SpuffyRealm/viewuser.php?uid=2055