DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course. And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike and Buffy are finally on their way back to Sunnydale…
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is the first of a series of shorts detailing our duo’s return to Sunnydale. Nothing horribly plot-driven, mostly vignettes pulling out specific moments. This one’s on the fluffy, romantic side, on their first night on the road. I hope you enjoy. :)
Casting a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, Spike witnessed the requisite pout accompanying Buffy’s scowl as she shook the stationary fan in a futile attempt to get its blades rotating again. “And usin’ it as a maraca brings the little doohickey back to life, does it?” he teased with a quirk of his brow. He watched as her lip jutted out farther. Hell, if they hadn’t only just got back on the road, he’d be on her in a flash, sucking that tender piece of flesh between his teeth like the tasty treat it was. He shifted imperceptibly in his seat to accommodate his rising erection, and added, “Try flippin’ the switch.”
“Oh, please. Like I didn’t already try that.”
Minus the whisper of the tires on the road, the car was silent for a long moment, before Spike heard the unmistakable hollow click of a switch being thrown and then hastily returned to its first position. He chuckled. “Should’ve picked yourself up a spare when we filled up the tank,” he said.
“But it worked then,” Buffy groused, and sighed as she rolled down the window even further, allowing the hot air rushing past to lift the sticky strands of her hair in a flurry. Though the heat was still stifling, heavy winds rolled over the countryside, stirring the air in a semblance of natural cooling, and the Slayer leaned into the small comfort the breezes were offering. “What I need right now are Fonzie powers.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“You know, he used to hit stuff to get it to start.” She brightened, twisting to look at him. “Oh! Maybe that could be like a secret Slayer power I don’t know about yet. Maybe all I have to do is hit it and it’ll work again.”
“Because everything else springs back to the livin’ after it meets the Slayer’s fist. That makes perfect sense, luv.”
“Party pooper.” Dropping her head back onto the headrest, she stared at the worn roof for a moment before saying, “I think it’s so hot in this car, my hair is now stuck to the seat. I. Am. Glue girl.”
“If you’re goin’ to whinge until the sun comes up, I’m goin’ to strap you to the bonnet like a hood ornament,” Spike warned good-naturedly.
“Ha. Like you even could. I’d have you pinned before you could even get out of the car.”
“Seems to me, I’ve done my fair share of pinning you. If it wasn’t for your mum’s little ax fetish, you’d’ve been a tasty little morsel for me that night at the high school. Might find yourself surprised, Slayer.”
“You always surprise me, Spike.” She flashed him a brilliant smile, her skin gleaming from the slight film of sweat on her cheeks, and the small knot that had been forming in Spike’s stomach eased. Probably couldn’t hurt to see about upgrading some of the car’s features, he mused, though he imagined it would cost him an arm and a leg to do so. And if he went to that prat down by Willy’s, that’s probably what he would charge.
Using his left hand to steer, Spike let go with his right to reach over and begin stroking Buffy’s bare thigh, amazed at the heat that was radiating from her flesh. Hot she might be, but there was something to be said about having his own little furnace sitting just a foot away. And when she groaned at the cool contact, he let his fingers go higher, running along the inside seam of her shorts to skate closer to the only heat that he was really interested in at the moment.
“Oh,” she moaned, and he was about to start seeking out the sweltering damp of her arousal that he could smell over the sweat when she bolted upright, coming away from the seat with a sticky snap.
“Oh!” Buffy exclaimed, leaning out her window before snapping back to pick up the atlas and flashlight that rested on the seat beside her. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor and she snatched it back while trying to balance the map on her knee.
“What is it?”
The beam from the flashlight illuminated the multi-colored page. “We’re right on schedule,” she announced. “According to the sign back there, we should’ve passed into DeSoto County a few miles ago.”
“DeSoto Parish, you mean.”
“They don’t do counties down here. Not sure why, but Louisiana has parishes, not counties.”
“Oh. OK.” There was a beat and then her bright smiled returned. “You know what being here means, though, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Spike said, scowling at the scenery he could see through his windshield. “It means we’re still in fuckin’ Louisiana.”
As she bent over and began rustling in the plastic sack of road trip supplies she’d bought at the gas station, Spike glanced at her as if she’d just told him to stake himself. “Are you completely off your box?” he demanded. “We’ve only been back on the road for an hour. If memory serves, you were the one who was spittin’ nails about takin’ too long to fill up, and now you want to take another pit stop?”
“We took so long because you cornered me in the ladies’ room.”
“No, we took so long because you bought half the bloody store when we were done,” he countered. “I had that shag perfectly timed to fit in with your little schedule, thank you very much.” Spike froze when she sat up, a small fluorescent box poised in her hands. “What. Is that?”
Buffy looked down at it in confusion. “It’s a camera.”
“I can see that. Why do you have one that looks like Disneyland tossed its cookies on it?”
“Well, the way I figured it, we’re on vacation and we should have smiley happy proof of it. And when I saw this in the display next to the licorice, I couldn’t resist. So pull over. I want to take a picture.”
“Of what? It’s almost midnight and we’re in the armpit of the soddin’ South. The only pictures you’re goin’ to get are big black smudges of nothin’.”
“Well, I want one of those big black smudges to be of you and the car.” She turned on her best I-wanna-cookie pout, eyes luminous in the dark. “Is it so bad I want a picture of my guy? And c’mon, you gotta admit, the DeSoto in DeSoto Cou---Parish? It’ll be cute.”
“My car is not cute,” Spike muttered, but felt his resolve fading. Maybe it was the casual way she bandied around the words my guy, or maybe it was the irresistible force her lower lip exerted on his will, or maybe it was just because of the prospect of knowing he could give her something so simple and she’d bestow upon him that winning smile that made him feel ten feet tall. Whatever it was, the possibilities of her request tumbled around inside his skull while his foot began to ease up on the gas pedal.
“Make you a deal,” he said, measuring his words carefully. “I’ll pull over and let you be a little shutterbug, if I get to have a picture of you on the car as well.”
“Oh, sure, of cour---.”
Her mouth stayed in the perfect small o as the word died in her throat. A quick glance revealed her staring at him, and he had to stifle the grin that threatened to crease his features. For all her big ways, there was still much for Buffy to experience, and he’d just sussed out that public nudity was one of them.
“’Course, if you’re too scared to show a little skin---.”
Buffy snorted, finally breaking free of the surprise his condition had wound around her. “Oh, please,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You’re not going to get me that easy. I’m not doing a skanky car model for you in the middle of the highway. I just thought a few photos would be fun.”
“Can still be fun, pet.” His hand returned to her thigh, this time studiously avoiding her damp cleft to begin tracing abstract letters along the tawny skin. “Find a cozy little spot out of sight of the random lorry driver who happens to be out at this time of night, get you out of your kit, and then drape you across my black beauty here? Sounds like my idea of heaven, it does.”
His voice had dropped, slithering like rough silk as it joined his fingers’ indulgence across her flesh, and Buffy gulped as her mouth suddenly went dry. “It’ll be hot,” she argued feebly. “From…the engine going…you know, vroom vroom…?”
“Still have the tent and sleeping bag in the boot,” he murmured. “No reason for an inch of that glorious skin of yours to touch anything it doesn’t want to.” Spike shifted his weight so that the folds of his duster fell open and exposed the bulge of his raging erection to her gaze. “Though I’m sure I can find something it doesn’t object to.”
Long silence, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d lost her there. “…nobody will see?” she finally asked softly, flaming the silence into cinders with the unspoken promise behind her words.
“Cross my unbeating heart,” he vowed.
Finding a secluded spot proved easier than he expected, and Spike maneuvered the car so that its nose pointed away from the concrete, the headlights slicing into the countryside with unerring accuracy. He had barely killed the engine when Buffy was out of her seat, slamming the door behind her as she stepped into the cooler air of the night. Her arousal had grown over the last few minutes, saturating the vehicle’s interior with a pungence that made Spike’s mouth water, his body itch to claw through his seatbelt and take her right there in the front seat, driving be damned.
That’s all right, he thought as he climbed out of the car. Get my taste here and now. She thinks I can keep my hands off her with her sprawled starkers only a few feet away, she’s got another thing comin’.
Buffy hovered at the front of the car while he got the blanket from the trunk, tossing it over his shoulder while he strode to her side. “Not havin’ second thoughts?” he asked as he laid it out.
The swift flash of headlights whizzing by on the road made her jump as she responded. “No, no second thoughts,” she said. A little quickly, he thought, but his eyes betrayed nothing as he turned back to see her shimmying out of her shorts.
She stood between the twin beams, and though the light didn’t hit her directly, Spike didn’t need it to see the muscled columns of her calves, or the rounded curve of her bottom when she hooked her thumbs into either side of her thong to slide it down her hips. Don’t know what I did to deserve this, he thought as he watched her through his lashes, his tongue running hungrily along the edge of his teeth as her back arched in a sinuous stretch with the removal of her tank. But bugger if I’m goin’ to muck it up now by makin’ this about the wrong thing.
His original intention was to just fuck the picture-taking. Spike’s rationale was, that as soon as he was stretched out on top of her, ploughing into her depths and making her scream, Buffy’d forget all about the silly camera and they could spend a few pleasant hours under the stars doin’ what he’d wanted to be doin’ back in the Big Easy before she plopped her driving home schedule down in front of his face.
“I’ve already gone through the atlas,” she’d said, and the excitement in her face had been that of a child, gleeful and innocent and so endearing that he’d let himself wallow in the simple joy she’d radiated as she chattered along. The weight of the past couple weeks had been lifted from her shoulders, and glimpses of the happy young woman he’d first met over two years previous shone in the green depths of her eyes. It had taken all his willpower not to fall on his knees in front of her and start spouting some of William’s poncy poetry at her unsuspecting feet. That would have sent her in hysterics, for sure.
She was far from hysterical now, her eyes wide and solemn as she stood in the moonlight, arms folded across her bare breasts as if that small modicum of modesty would prevent anyone from witnessing her nudity. “How do you want me?” she asked, hints of trepidation making her voice quaver.
“Now that’s a loaded question, Summers,” Spike teased with a sly grin, hoping it would ease her nerves. When he was rewarded with a roll of her eyes, he nodded toward the blanket. “Let’s do something sexy. Not that that should be hard ‘cause it’s you and all, but…” He tilted his head in scrutiny when she sat along its metal length, legs in front of her, hands propping her weight up as she leaned back. “Turn it around,” he instructed.
“Like this?” Bending her legs, Buffy swiveled on her seat as well as the blanket would allow her and looked back at him over her shoulder.
“No, like…” Spike stepped forward, guiding her body to the position that had suddenly popped into his head, his fingers firm as she took the pose. In spite of her natural beauty, there was an awkwardness to her muscles, a stiffness to her neck, that told him louder than any words she might say how uncomfortable she was in acquiescing to his wishes. Well, maybe not so much his wishes, but more like the deliberate posturing he was asking her to take. Cameras may adore his Slayer, but she sure as hell didn’t adore them.
Her frown was evident when he finally stepped back. “But you can’t see anything,” she said, confused. “What’s the point in me taking my clothes off if you can’t see anything?”
“But I can, luv,” he murmured. “It’s the promise of it all that’s so sexy, you know.”
And it was. Now, Buffy was on her stomach, acutely angled along the hood so that from directly in front of the car, only the long line of her thigh was visible, her bare hip sloping upward to the arc of her ass that was obscured from full view by her upper body. Her chin was propped up in her palms, forearms blocking her chest, but along the slant of her torso, the soft swell of her right breast could just barely be seen, all insinuation and velvety allure as it hid from the onlooker’s eye.
The entire effect was intoxicating.
The seconds slipped away. He wasn’t even aware that he was staring until Buffy offered him a nervous smile. “If I’d known the best way to shut you up was to take off all my clothes,” she said, “I’d’ve done it years ago.”
“Buffy…” The camera fell forgotten from his hand as he returned to stand before her, his body humming from her proximity. Spike’s mouth was dry as he reached forward again, this time not touching her skin but instead sculpting the air around her. The heat didn’t normally bother him, but now it felt thick and sultry, cushioning the millimeters that separated his palm from the bow of her shoulder, too much and too far and oh how the strength of her beauty made him ache.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
“Obviously, I don’t inspire you to be using that clicky finger of yours,” she replied. “Tick tock, Spike. You do me, I do you. That’s the deal, right?”
“Is that what you want?” His voice was husky, and his thighs pressed into the grille of the car as he leaned forward and let his fingertips tickle the side of her breast. “I could just…do you. Make you feel good…” The sharp intake of her breath made her shoulders lift just enough for him to graze the now-exposed hardened nipple. “Let me show you how beautiful you are, pet.”
She sat up then, swinging her legs around so that she faced him. “You don’t have to do this,” Buffy said quietly, and stilled the hand that hovered in front of her.
“No have to about it. More along the line of want.”
Using the resistance of her arm to brace her, Spike let his other hand drop to her stomach, tangling in the coarse curls before slipping between her folds. Each and every single time, it amazed him how wet she could get merely at the suggestion of his touch. Slippery, and coating, and scorching with her desire, enough to make the dryness of his mouth turn into a veritable oasis as the memory of her taste brought his body screaming to life.
She was tensing, eyes glued to his as she waited for his next move. Up and down, his long fingers stroked her inner lips, carefully avoiding any contact with her clit or straying too close to her opening. Each move was deliberate. Each move stoked the furnace of Buffy’s body just that much higher, driving her pulse to throb in the hollow of her throat, demanding his attention even more so than her gaze.
Without missing a beat, Spike lowered his head, hair grazing her chin as his tongue darted out and lapped at the droplets of sweat that vibrated against her neck. The first tang made him want to melt into her flesh, and the hand that had been held in hers curved around her back, tugging her closer until the natural instinct of her legs around his hips was inevitable.
“Spike…” Buffy whispered, breathless as she tugged at the waistband of his jeans. “Please…want…all of you…”
Between nibbles of her collarbone, he groaned when her small hand freed his erection, pulling along its length, up and down with that delicious power of hers that hurt so good. Previous intentions flew out the window. The only thing he wanted at the moment was to bury himself in her flesh, in any way she would have him.
Coiling her arms around his shoulders, Buffy lifted up until the tip of his cock was poised at her slit, and then slowly lowered herself onto him, letting him sink into her heat inch after excruciating inch, all the while never tearing her eyes from his face. She gasped when the steel teeth of his zipper grated against the sensitive skin of her inner lips but it didn’t stop her from pressing him even deeper inside, and it didn’t stop her from grinding herself against him once he was fully sheathed.
“Love you…so much…” Spike said, and raised his mouth to hers. Like honey her kisses were, an ambrosia for him to get drunk on for as long as she’d share them. Slowly, he began pumping in and out of her, letting each stroke last for as long as her inner walls clung to his cock, not allowing the duet of their tongues to falter though each thrust made it increasingly difficult.
She was everywhere at once---in his mouth, around his back, along his chest, surrounding his cock---a blur of Buffy that left him dizzy and hungry and desperate for more. When he felt the violent tremors begin to ripple around him, his kisses deepened, sucking her in just as she was to him, and Spike held her as she came with a muffled scream. His own orgasm almost immediately followed. Something about knowing he was the source of her pleasure was the only trigger he needed.
Her sweat dampened his shirt where she pressed herself against him, but when Buffy tried to pull away, Spike’s grip tightened. “Hang on,” he said, and, hefting her weight against his pelvis, he stepped away from the DeSoto, taking the few steps to where he’d dropped the camera on the ground.
“What are you doing?”
“You wanted a photo,” he replied. Back to the car with the camera in hand, and only then did he disentangle from her enough to situate them on the edge of the hood, holding the small box out at arm’s length to snap a quick picture that blinded both of the momentarily from the flash. “Now that’s the kind of shot of my Slayer that I want,” he said when she looked back at him in surprise. “In my arms, still all passion swollen and the like.”
“And here I just wanted a cute picture I could stick on my nightstand and wake up to every morning,” she teased. “Not quite viewer-friendly for roommates or visitors, now is it?”
His thumb stroked the line of her jaw. “So put it on my nightstand. Just means you have to wake up in my bed if you want to see it, and that’s not something I particularly have a problem with if you don’t.”
“Nope. No problem here.” Another kiss, and she was pulling away, leaving him bereft and oddly aware of the air again now that she wasn’t in his arms any more. Almost immediately, Buffy grimaced. “Ick. I’m all hot again.”
“Next gas station, we’ll stop and pick you up another fan,” Spike promised, zipping himself up. “Think that schedule of yours is all buggered to hell at this point anyway.”
Nothing more was said until they got in the car, and then, it was only Spike’s grunt of approval when Buffy eschewed her seatbelt to nuzzle against his side. Achingly content, he was smiling as he navigated the car one-handed back onto the highway, leaving his arm draped across her shoulders in order to keep her closer. She was asleep in a matter of minutes, her small hand resting on his thigh, and he hummed under his breath as the DeSoto raced past the sign announcing their departure from the county.
With the Slayer asleep and Spike distracted by the feelings of repletion coursing through his veins, neither noticed the darkened car along the edge of the road when they zipped by it, nor the way it pulled out after them, marking time with the DeSoto as it stayed in the distance.