Hers

The kiss was rough, demanding, tongues battling in a playful fight, lips pressed together hard enough to bruise. Buffy was holding Spike’s head between her hands, while his fingers were sliding down her back and under the shirt she wore. She felt him smile against her lips as his hands discovered and roamed over her bare ass.

Reluctantly pulling her face away from his, she sat up astride him, first caressing his chest softly, and then dragging her nails on it, though not hard enough to draw blood. He hissed a little, and his hips rose, pressing his jeans clad hardness against her flesh.

Moving down, Buffy unbuttoned and unzipped the offending garment before peeling it off his body while he was shrugging out of his shirt. Then his hands reached up to hers, but she swatted them away.

“My game,” she simply said.

More light was coming in from outside, the sun having risen already, and she could clearly see his little smile as he nodded. He laid back down, arms crossed behind his head, an eyebrow arched expectantly. The pose was way too arrogant, and Buffy smiled to herself. Just for that look, he would be begging before she was half done with him.

Scooting up between his legs, she bent down and placed wet kisses along his left thigh. Ignoring the quivering hardness that was trying to catch her attention, she moved to the right thigh, covering it not with kisses but with tiny licks. He shifted a little then, and she placed a hand on each leg, stilling him, as she gave him a severe look.

“The more you move around, the more time it will take.”

She noticed with satisfaction that the smug look had been wiped from his face, replaced by raw need. It was so nice to know that she could create that much desire with just a few touches.

Bringing her attention back to his legs, she was startled by a slight smell of blood. Looking closely, she realized that she had held him down so tightly that her nails had broken his skin, bringing forth little blood crescents. With long licks, she cleaned the tiny wounds, enjoying the taste of him, however faint it was. He was keeping perfectly still under her ministrations, and as she glanced up she could see that his eyes were unblinkingly focused on her and that he was biting his bottom lip.

Keeping the eye contact, she brought her lips just to his shaft, yet still not touching, and blew lightly over it. He quivered a little, and a soft moan escaped his lips.

“Buffy…”

She touched the tip of her tongue to him, following a protruding vein upward, then asked, teasing:

“Yes, love? You want something?”

“You.”

She flicked her tongue against the tip of his cock, enjoying the little twitch that followed.

“You have me,” she said quietly. “I am yours. Isn’t it enough?”

Another lap, longer this time, along the whole length of him, caused a quiet groan.

“Please…”

That didn’t take long, she thought smugly as she took hold of him and wrapped her lips around the hard flesh. For a few minutes, she alternated between suckling and nibbling with blunt teeth, until his tightly shut eyes and low growl told her he was close. Fast enough so that he didn’t have time to protest, she moved up so that she was straddling him, and guided him inside her as she lowered her body to his.

His eyes opened then, a luminous blue, the exact shade of their sky at home, and she told herself she could have drowned in them. A sudden thought came to her, quickly shoved aside for later. She remained still on him, placing both hands on his chest when he tried to move his hips. Very deliberately, she clamped her inner muscles on him, as tightly as she could, observing his face as she did so. At the first squeeze, he bit down on his bottom lip, so hard that it started bleeding. At the second, he cried out her name as he spilled himself in her.

She would never tire of that look on his face right after the wave took him, pleasure and awe, gratitude and wonderment, love and lust, all mixed together in an image that was purely and uniquely him.

Leaning down on him for a second, she licked his bleeding lip tenderly, murmuring just one word against his skin.

“Mine.”

She then returned to her seated position, and, slowly, deliberately, began rocking her hips. She couldn’t suppress a wicked grin as she felt him harden again. The first round had been for him. This one would be theirs.

It was almost noon already, or so Spike’s internal clock told him. At some point during the morning, they had sneaked out of the room he had chosen and returned to the one next door, which had more adequate window coverings. So, in spite of the late hour, the bedroom was a warm semi-darkness.

Spike’s head was throbbing with a nasty hangover, but he was barely aware of it, concentrating as he was on the random patterns his Slayer was drawing on his chest with a delicate finger. She was cuddled against his side, her head nestled against his shoulder. He was playing with a strand of her hair, curling it around his fingers absently. They had been lying like this for about an hour, and despite the headache, he felt so good that he was actually purring softly. The only shadow to his contentment was that Buffy was not purring with him, which meant that she was preoccupied by something. He had an idea of what this something was, but he wanted to know for sure.

“What are you thinking about, luv?” he asked softly.

She let out a little sigh. “Faith.”

He couldn’t help frowning at her answer, which was not what he had expected, and then chuckled lightly.

“Should I be insulted that you’re lying naked against me and thinking of someone else?” he teased. “Or should I suggest that we invite her to join us?”

The finger on his chest pressed harder, leaving a red trail against his so pale skin.

“You’re mine and I don’t share,” she said sternly.

He winced inwardly as she said this. Whether she wanted it or not, she was sharing him. Wherever Dru was, whatever - or whoever - she was doing, she still had a part of Spike with her. Buffy was sharing, she had always been, but the difference was that now she was aware of it. However wonderful the past several hours had been, he understood what had been going on. She was proving, to him as well as to herself, that, Mates or not, they belonged to each other.

“Yours, luv,” he said quietly, turning his head to press a kiss to her hair.

He was quiet for a few seconds, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“So, what about the bint?”

She moved against him, one leg thrown over his body, her face in the crook of his neck, and her voice was muffled when she answered.

“The Council wants her dead. They want me to kill her.”

Spike could see all too well where her thoughts were heading.

“But you’re not going to, are you, luv?”

“Everybody asks me that,” she replied, annoyed. “Of course I won’t kill her. She’s human. She’s a bloody bitch and the less I see her, the better I feel, but she’s still fucking human.”

It was so rare to hear his Slayer swear that Spike couldn’t help laughing quietly.

“It’s not funny,” she protested. “You know the Council will come after us if I don’t do it.”

He ran a hand over her hair, caressing lightly, soothingly.

“Even if they do, pet, they’re just a band of wankers. We can take them.”

“A band of human wankers, if I may remind you.”

Always, they were back to that. Humans, too fragile and precious to be touched or hurt, whatever the reason, no matter how twisted they were.

“If it comes to that,” he suggested, though he hated the idea, “we can run away. Hide. Travel. And they would never find us.”

That would mean leaving behind the Bit, their friends, their home, everything they had, but if she refused violence against all humans, it might become their only choice.

“There’s another way,” she said at last, hesitantly.

She half rose, leaning on her elbow, her hazel eyes looking straight at his, almost too seriously.

“Would you kill Faith for me?”

Spike’s eyes widened in surprise as his mouth fell open. He had promised not to hurt a human unless she agreed to it, but he had never expected her to actually ask him to kill someone. Her face was grim and he could tell she wasn’t happy about what she was asking him. But the simple fact that she had actually asked was enough to tell him how desperate she was feeling. He tightened his hold on her, trying to convey his certainty that everything would be fine and that she had nothing to worry about.

“Anything you want, luv.”