Written for glassslipper's birthday, and fondly dedicated to her.
Waltz
The waves are warm, just like the air of the night sliding around them.
The waves move slowly and lightly caress Buffy’s body, just like Spike.
Slow and warm, tender and quiet. She wishes the night would never end.
She wishes this dance would never end.
The wind carries music to
them, not loud enough to even distinguish what it is, a simple musical
background to hard breaths and pants, soft moans and sweet endearments.
The wind also carries the scent of the ocean, salt and storms, sun and
lightning. The wind is a constant friend, here, its touch as familiar
to Buffy as her lover’s.
Above her, along her, inside her, he
moves, following the melted rhythms of the waves, wind, music,
heartbeat. Her hands are on him, touching, tracing vows on his skin,
promising an eternity's worth of love, and even more.
Time has
stopped, shielding them from the world, from prying eyes, from anything
that isn’t her or him. All that exist for Buffy is Spike’s skin against
her own, his cock, the burning fire he lights in her, the overwhelming
love in his eyes. And in his eyes, she reads that nothing exists but
her for him; she is all he sees, all he breathes, all he lives for, all
he loves. In this one instant, this one place, they are not two
separate bodies, they are one, merged, melted together, the heat of
their feelings fusing them, their differences combining for strength
like the metals of a carefully crafted blade.
Attuned as they
are to each other’s bodies, they know what, where, how, when to stroke,
scrap, bite, kiss to give the maximum pleasure, and receive in return.
And so it is no surprise when, as one, they reach bliss, together
falling into an endless abyss, clutching each other as they roll to
their sides, holding on tight enough that breathing becomes an issue.
A
few kisses, more words of love, renewed caresses, tender looks. The
night is young, the waves relentless, the wind still playful, and time
always theirs. Tomorrow, they will sleep, talk, laugh, live. Now, they
dance again, and this time she takes the lead, forgetting the regular
beat of a long forgotten waltz for a faster, wilder tempo of this age.
The steps are different, but the dance is the same.
Him.
Her.
Together.
And the rest of the world disappears.
Home ~ Cleveland-verse
The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.