Title:  Pillow Talk

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  NC-17

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:  A Spuffy story that starts in early Season 6 before deviating from canon.   A slight change in circumstances, a different decision or two, and you wind up with very different results.

Thanks: To Keswindhover and revdorothyl for the beta.

The story begins here.

This chapter marks the end of Part I of the story. There will be three parts in all. There is a list of links to the individual chapters here.

Chapter 30

The next few minutes were nearly a disaster of another kind, a tangle of limbs and half-discarded clothing, with too much eagerness unable to surmount first-time awkwardness.  They thrashed on the bed, first one on top, then the other, until Buffy was ready to sob again, this time with frustration.

She was shaking with reaction from the crazy emotions of the past half-hour, and now that she'd finally pushed her qualms and fears aside, she was wild with need for him.  All systems should have been go for passionate lovemaking, but they weren't coming together.  Or even separately.

She grabbed Spike by the shoulders and tried to straddle him, just as he tried to roll her over on her back.  What should have been an enthusiastic embrace turned into an involuntary tussle.  Spike capitulated abruptly, lying back on the bed, but before Buffy could take advantage of his retreat, he gave a startled yelp and sat back up again.

"Did I hurt you?"  Buffy backed away on all fours, wondering what she'd done.

"I just landed on my belt buckle!"   He grabbed his butt and glared as she started giggling. "Problem is, we're both trying to lead this dance."

Surprisingly, laughing helped.  It helped a lot.  It chased away the aura of desperation that had been taking over the room, reminded Buffy that they were supposed to be enjoying themselves, and, best of all, teased an answering smile from Spike.

She rolled him over onto his stomach and held him down as she grabbed the belt.  "Someone needs to take charge then, and since it's usually me anyway—"  She started to wrap it around her hand, intending to coil it up and set it down neatly somewhere, but stopped when she caught sight of his expression.  He can't think I'd—? She tossed the belt overboard with an extravagant gesture.  It unwound itself, first lashing out like a black snake on the attack, then lost momentum and fell to the floor before it could strike either of them.

Buffy dropped the jeans and some other crumpled clothing on top of the uncoiled belt and settled herself astride his ass, running her hands along his back. 

"There." She leaned down to murmur the words in his ear. "Now, it's just you, and me, and the sheets."

He lay still as she licked his neck, her hands kneading his shoulders.  She admired the pale, unmarked skin of his back as best she could in the dim and uneven light, sparing a frown for Spike's one decrepit lamp with its torn and lopsided shade.  If you were going to make love in the murk, it should at least be classy murk.  There were candles all around, but she didn't want to take the time to light them now.  Candles next time, maybe.  If we can get it right this time, so there is a next time. 

At least the bed was big and comfortable, with recently laundered sheets and a pile of big pillows.  In fact, the whole bedroom was more pleasant than she'd expected.  Spike had even piled all the old bones that had been lying around in a corner so she could at least try to ignore them.  She wondered if he'd made a special effort in case he ever did manage to lure her down here for precisely their current purpose.  Or maybe he'd just been watching Changing Rooms.

She returned her attention to the vampire at hand.  Still massaging him, she began to vary the pressure, one moment letting her hand coast along his spine, the next probing hard enough to make him groan as she coaxed the tension out of stiff muscles. Bending down, she ventured a delicate, experimental bite and watched the skin on his shoulder blade redden for a moment and then fade back to ivory.  His only response to that was a snort of laughter, so she kissed the spot and let her hands travel further down his back.

"Better?" she asked after a few minutes.

She heard a rumble that sounded almost like a purr.  "Quite a bit," he muttered.

He must have really liked this treatment, because it was five minutes later and she’d reached the small of his back before he started complaining.  "Now I'm lying on something else hard and uncomfortable."

"I'll fix that too.  If you let me."

"You're in charge, love."  He snickered.  "This time."

She rolled him over again, and he fell back lazily, his hands landing on either side of his head as if in a gesture of surrender.  She’d half-expected that he would try to grab her and restart their wrestling match, and when he just smirked up at her expectantly, she felt a thrill that made her suddenly conscious of the chill air of the crypt. 

He really is going to let me do whatever I want.

Straddling him again, she ran her hands over his shoulders and down his torso.  She was amazed how much of a turn-on this was. 

No you're not.  How many times did you end a fight like this, on top of him?  The only difference is that this time you're admitting how it really makes you feel.

"Now I just have to decide where to start."  Her hands slipped over his chest, cataloging  a few small scars and firm muscles.  Her teeth nipped at his throat.  Still not enough to break the skin.  Just tasting her prize.  His whole body gave a very satisfactory shudder, and she smiled.  Mine.  She shivered at this new tone of her own internal voice.

What had he said a few minutes ago about being hers to “use and abuse” as she wished?  She hadn’t liked the words then and she didn’t like her thoughts now. 

You can't own people, Buffy.  If Spike's a person, you can't think of him that way.  And if he's not, what are you doing here?  She found herself pulling away, sitting up, her thoughts racing.

"Can't make up your mind, love?"  Spike's words drew her eyes to his face.  His expression was closing off.  "Or changing it again?"

She hesitated.  No, this body under me isn't mine.  I don't own my crazy vampire.  But the decision to be here, to make love to him, that is mine.  My choice.  And he’s chosen to be here too, and right now he wants to leave things up to me.  If he doesn’t like what happens next, well, he’s never been shy about complaining.

"You know how it is, Spike.  The best campaigns take careful planning."  She bent her head to lick a scar she'd found near his collarbone. "Making sure your troops are in the right position before you start your assault."   She settled back again, this time rubbing herself against his cock, and smiled as his suspicious expression dissolved into a gasp of pleasure.  "After all, I've already been caught with my pants down once tonight."

"Caught?  You caught yourself this time, love."  His back arched up, his body seeking greater closeness despite his promise to leave everything to her.  "Found me such tasty bait you built your own trap, didn't you?"

This time her internal voice just snickered.  He's right.  You didn't just choose to be here, girl.  You stood there and begged for this.  So get on with it.

So she did. 

Soon, he was trembling and warming under her hands, which was hardly surprising since she was flushed fever-hot.  That vampire kink of hers was winding her up inside, and for once she didn't mind.  Her body was reacting to the smell, sight, and touch of him, and his growls of pleasure sent vibrations down her spine.  As for the taste of him—

"Buffy—" 

She raised her head, gripping the base of his cock.  "Not yet."

"Patience—not usually one of my virtues."  He was panting.

"You have virtues?"  She put as much snark into her voice as possible. But he really has been patient.  He waited a very long time for this, and some of the time he didn't even bitch about what a bitch I was.

"Slayer!"  This was a new kind of pleading from him.  One that sent chills of anticipation through her. 

"Fortunately for you, you're not the only one who's impatient."  Her voice was hoarse, and as she slid her body up against his, she realized her skin was slick with sweat. 

Positioning herself over him, she guided his cock into her, feeling him fill her, letting her muscles contract around the shaft.  She rode him experimentally at first, finding just the right angle—there, that was the spot, and then moving more confidently.

He wasn't looking impatient now.  He was looking sort of stunned. But after a moment, his hips began to move in rhythm with hers.  His hands were resting on her thighs, and she took one, guiding it to her clit.  Then she was gripping her lower lip between her teeth.  Too fast, she thought, but then she was panting hard, and suddenly she could feel every cell in her body, and all of her was alive, really alive, fabulously alive.  She vaguely realized that Spike had lost control too and that he was shouting something, but her selfish body was demanding all her attention.  If I could feel like this forever--

Then it was over.  She rolled off him, but he reached out an arm, not letting her go too far away.  He was muttering something in a low voice now.  It sounded like a string of curses, but there was an occasional "brilliant" or something like that thrown in, so she ignored everything but his tone. 

The next couple of minutes were wholly occupied by lying on her back, waiting for her breathing to return to normal and for sensation to return to her legs.  Suddenly, she was aware of the cool air drying the sweat on her skin. She began shivering in reaction.  Spike reached out and pulled her against him.

At first she hugged him back gratefully, her cheek against his chest.  But, much too soon, she had to fight against a vague but familiar discontent.  Stop it!  Just relax! she ordered herself sternly.

Yes, it had been good.  Very good.  But in spite of her effort to start out slowly, they’d wound up rushing quickly from third base to home plate.  But that's normal for a first time.  Isn't it?  They were just getting to know each other’s bodies.  It would get better, the next time and the time after that.  She buried her face in his shoulder.  You came, Buffy, stop complaining.  But the lazy happiness of a minute ago was leaving her, and her body was starting to scream, “More!”

It’s always like this.  I must have super-adrenaline or something.  She tried to force herself into cuddle mode, but focusing on the cool body pressed against hers only made things worse.  Come on, Buffy, learn from experience.  Don't start acting like you expect more.  And whatever you do, don't get up and go out into the night looking for something to kill.  Guys really don't take that as a compliment.  She concentrated on not moving, which just made her more restless. 

She was so focused on squashing her own contrariness that when Spike rolled over on top of her, he took her by surprise, and her instinctive reaction was to try to throw him off.  Before she could do any accidental damage, he grabbed her wrists, pulled her hands over her head, and began a long, exploratory kiss.  She let herself collapse back against the sheets, suddenly finding it much easier to lie still.

“Now, it's my turn.”  Spike slid down her body, his mouth closing over one nipple as his hand teased the underside of her breast.  Once again, her whole body bucked underneath him in reaction, and he laughed, his breath tickling her sensitive flesh.  His other hand reached down to grab her ass and grind her against him.  She pressed his head down against her breast again, and wrapped one leg around his waist.  Her other leg was pinned under him, and she could feel his cock pressing against her thigh.  He was getting hard again.  Already.

Wow.  I guess I'm not the only one in the room with adrenaline issues.

They were lying side by side, truly lazy at last, under the sheet and blanket that Spike had rescued from the floor when she'd begun shivering with reaction after her last orgasm.  Buffy tucked one hand under the pillow that she hugged to her cheek and let the other rest on Spike's hip.  He was gently stroking her arm and smiling at her. 

She couldn't remember how long it had been since they'd first tumbled onto the bed.  It felt like hours, or no time at all.  Then she pushed the question aside as a wasted thought.  This hadn't been a race or an endurance test.  Who cared how much time had passed?  She wriggled closer.  Cuddle mode at last. 

"Knew you'd be like that."  His lips were against her hair now.

She considered asking, "Like what?" but thought better of it.  The answer was likely to be obscene and borderline insulting, and she didn't want to break this mood.  She settled for a safer, "Are you happy?"

"Feel like a kid who just found out Father Christmas is real."  More nuzzling.  "I love you."

She sighed, half in relief.  Every word that comes out of his mouth doesn't have to be awkward.

His next words were pitched so low she could barely hear them.  "Did you really mean it?"

And the non-awkwardness dies prematurely.  "Mean what?" she asked, more out of reflex than anything else.

He held her tightly.  Too tightly, as if he were trying to prevent her from escaping.  "What you said before, about my not leaving when you said you could never love me—"  He almost hissed the words, and she heard a familiar note of shame and pleading.  She'd always hated that, and told herself it was because he disgusted her.  Now, she knew it was because she'd hated herself for wanting him. 

I'm still not sure how I feel about myself for doing this.  But I do know how I feel about him.

We can't end the night—or start tomorrow—like this.  She forced an amused tone to counter the near-desperation in his.  "Yeah, that's right, Spike, keep reminding me how wrong I was." She felt his death grip relax.  His lips moved against her hair again.

But that isn't really enough, is it?  After all the times I rejected him, don't I owe more?  Not just for him, for both of us.   So she said the words properly, in the traditional order, for the first time.  "I love you." 

He sighed.  It was a huge, needless exhalation of breath that communicated immense relief and happiness.  His arms relaxed, holding her loosely now, without fear of abandonment.  This embrace was to take and offer comfort. 

She sighed too, less extravagantly, and settled herself against him, discovering how to best fit her body against his.  He was barely breathing, apparently too tired to be bothered by her fidgeting. 

As his chest stilled under her hand, she found herself murmuring the words again, experimentally, just to herself this time.  "I love you, Spike."  They still felt right, and for once the voices in her head were silent.  She refused to wonder if they were busy storing up doubts and regrets for the morning.

She squirmed around a little, shifted one arm that was threatening to fall asleep before she did, and hiked the sheet a bit higher on her shoulder.  She realized with satisfaction that she was physically and mentally exhausted.  I don't think I could work up a good anxiety right now if I tried.  She'd lost a lot of fights for a good night's sleep lately, but right now victory seemed at hand.

Tired? Check. Comfortable? Check. Relaxed? Very.

All systems are now go for dreamland.  Her eyelids flickered.

Hmm, I wonder if he snores?

But the answer to that important question had to wait.  Their first night, she slept too soundly to notice. 

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