He hadn't realized how dark it was inside until the door was shut. Thankfully, his current issues didn't extend past his inability to hunt. His predator vision was in full working order and after a moment to adjust, he spotted his prey.
She was backed up against the wall, eyes straining. By the erratic rise and fall of her chest, he could tell her visual range was seriously compromised and she was…well, not quite panicked, but as close to it as he'd seen her in a long time. It was a delicious thing to witness, even if he didn't want to kill her at present.
Spike moved forward in the narrow walkway, allowing his boot to scuff the metal flooring. Buffy's head jerked towards the noise and she gave a nervous laugh.
“I can't see a thing in here.”
Spike slipped the bear into one of the duster's pockets, enjoying her responsive jump. He silently palmed the wall on either side of her face and leaned in until he was close enough to feel her breath against his chin.
“I can see just fine,” he said, sotto voice.
Buffy's heart rate changed rhythm as she tried to focus on his face.
“You know, forget this,” she said, brushing past him, her hands searching blindly in front of her. “Obviously, I have lost my mind and need to seek therapy. Or possibly brainwashing. With acid.”
Spike easily moved around her to block the door, smirking when her hands came to rest on the soft cotton of his shirt. She pulled them back and frowned.
“Let me go.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked, parting the leather coat with his hands and settling his palms on her hips. She went very still as he leaned in, brushing his lips across hers.
“I…I..can't,” she said, the words nearly lost in his mouth.
He pulled back and turned her around. He didn't have a clue how they'd gotten here, but he wasn't about to let her walk out that door without at least attempting to see this bloody thing through.
“Let's just have a look around, shall we? See what kind of fun we can find.”
“Somehow I'm missing the fun,” she said dryly, holding herself stiffly but allowing him to push her ahead.
“The fun is that we shouldn't be here snooping about,” he said, steering them through an open door to the portion of the attraction paying customers were supposed to see. And this particular area couldn't have suited him better. There wasn't much more light here, but Buffy must have felt a difference in the flooring, because she came to a stop when they exited the hallway.
“This isn't snooping, Spike. This is aimless, blind stumbling.”
“Only for one of us,” he said, reaching into his pocket and tugging out his Zippo.
“So, where are we?” she asked, and if her pulse was any indication she was enjoying the thrill.
“I'll show you,” he murmured, igniting his lighter and setting it down directly in front of her.
She was instantly illuminated, flaxen hair and golden skin glowing in the flickering light. A string of mirrors flanked either side of the hall, which was painted black in any places that didn't hold a mirror. It left the room shadowy and eerily quiet, her dancing images like specters drifting all around. Spike slipped into the shadows behind her, watching her eyes roam over her many reflections.
“I thought these were supposed to make you look weird,” she said, slipping the duster off her shoulders and letting it pool on the floor at her feet. Spike suppressed the urge to whistle as his eyes took a leisurely stroll up her body.
“That's funny mirrors, luv,” he said from a few feet to her right. He grinned when her face jerked towards him. Gotcha, cutie. Spotting her own reaction, she turned forward again, clearly schooling her face to blankness.
“We're in the Hall of Mirrors,” he finished, slipping behind her and speaking close to the back of her neck. “Still a funny feeling when everything's a reflection.”
“Not everything,” she said, turning over her shoulder to look him pointedly in the eyes.
“Ah, but you have an advantage there,” he said, curling a finger around a silky strand of his hair and leaning in as she turned back to the mirror. “You can feel me, even if you can't see me.”
Buffy nodded slowly, and tipped her head to the right, eyes empty as she took herself in. “Doesn't feel like an advantage.”
Spike moved away, circling around her. This little game was driving him mad. Circling her like this, hearing the hush of her breath and the thump of her heart while he watched her from a dozen angles…a mortal man would have been on his knees. Then again, a mortal man wouldn't be able to play this game, would they?
“Why not?” he asked, his voice rough and hands itching to touch her. She turned, startled that he was now several feet to her left. That was the look that was going to do him in, that rabbit frozen in headlights, wanting to be caught nearly as bad as she wanted to run.
“Do you want an alphabetized list?” she scoffed, then, with her eyes locked on her reflection, dropped her voice to the barest whisper. “Let's start with A, as in the Absolute Wrongness of it.”
“Wrong for the Slayer side, maybe,” Spike disagreed quietly, “But you're more than that. Isn't that what you said? Isn't it time you let yourself have the bit of normal you crave?”
Her lips quirked in an almost smile, “Normal? This is dancing on the lines of recommended institutionalization.” Her hands flew to her temples, “God, what am I doing?”
He moved behind her again, clutching her hips and pressing the full length of his body against her back. She sucked in a tight breath and held it, her tirade cut short.
“You're doing what feels good, and that is very normal,” he nearly growled into the back of her hair. “You and I have wanted this since the second we woke up from Red's mumbo jumbo.”
The truth fell over her features like a curtain. Her eyes welled and her chin trembled with the force of it. He loosened his hold on her. “If that's true then I'm a failure.” Then, with a bitter laugh, she added, “You know, I actually passed failure about an hour ago. This is treading into Slayers Gone Bad material.”
“Don't be daft. They don't make Slayers better than you,” he said simply, because it was true and something in him couldn't remember a reason to lie to her. Not here. Not now.
Buffy's eyes softened before she dropped her gaze and her voice, her hands knotting in front of her. “That doesn't make this any less wrong.”
“Yeah, but you can't deny how right it feels,” he said, running a slow hand down her spine.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he continued, encouraged by the surge of her heartbeat. “Ever since that damned spell, I can't keep my eyes off of you. Or any of my other senses, for that matter.”
She shivered then, but it was from anything but cold. Spike settled both hands at the small of her back, sliding his fingertips under the hem of her shirt.
“Your smell drives me out of my mind,” he said, leaning into her neck to inhale deeply. “It's all I can do to keep from doing this every time you're in the bloody room.”
Her eyes rolled as his lips brushed her neck. With a satisfied smirk, Spike lifted his head and grazed his fingers around her front, reveling in the silky heat of her skin. His thumbs edged higher as his palms pressed against the taut flesh of her belly. In the mirror, her shirt rose higher and higher and she watched it with dark eyes, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
Their breathing was the only sound in the room, hers digressing into whimpers as he unveiled her pink cotton bra and began to pant himself. He bit his lip as her nipples tightened in her reflection, straining against the thin fabric. Hungry for more, he moved his mouth near her ear, “You're sweeter than candy. Kisses like cherries and skin like honey.”
He pinched the peaks of her breasts lightly and groaned when she moaned and leaned back against him. His body drumming with anticipation, he unhooked the front clasp of her bra. Bugger all but she was a vision. He bit her earlobe lightly and let his hands explore her completely, exulting in her every desperate sound.
“We have to stop,” she whispered, even as her hands reached behind her to claw into his thighs.
“I don't think I can,” he rumbled, moving one hand down the front of her belly. He unbuttoned her skirt while he continued to tease her nipples in turn. Her sounds were eager, her eyes slipping open and shut in the mirror.
Buffy mewled as he slid his hand into her skirt and palmed her cotton-covered mound. One long finger pressed against her clit and her knees buckled as she let out a beastly groan. Spike's cock surged impatiently at his zipper and he gritted his teeth, suddenly incapable of words as she bucked against his hand.
He pulled away just long enough to move in front of her, dropping to his knees and offering her a hungry stare. ““And I don't think you want me to.”
***
Buffy was on sensory overload as she looked down on him. Her mortal enemy crouched at her feet, thumbs hooked in her functional pink panties and cool breath bathing her inner thighs. This was totally insane. This was about six miles past insane. Yet, insane or not, she was watching her reflection with growing need as her underwear and skirt slid to her ankles.
He helped her step out of them, while her pulse rattled around in her body like a jackrabbit. She felt the tickle of his curls against her thigh and her eyes widened in shock. In the mirror, she was alone. Naked and panting like a porn star, but totally alone, and for one second after his hair touched her leg, she almost felt alone, too. Then he pressed a wet kiss to her clit and she choked on a scream. A series of skilled flicks later and an orgasm that she hadn't realized was close rocked over her. She rode it out in a set of soft moans, his hands supporting her bottom as he continued to work her with his mouth, his tongue and lips moving in a cadence that had her building up again before she'd even come down.
He moaned appreciatively against her sex, moving two fingers inside of her to press her over the edge again. Oh God, how was it happening so fast? She couldn't stop herself, and didn't want to, just wanted him to go on forever, bringing her to this precipice and catching her when she fell from it. Her moans slipped into sighs as she drifted back to the world.
She felt her knees hit the floor and his soft kisses on her throat as she crumpled in his lap. Her eyes fluttered open to see his face in shadow in front of her.
“What you said,” she whispered through her heavy breathing, arms linking around his neck. “What you said on the ride. What did it mean?”
Spike leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back, wanting his words. He sighed against her mouth and whispered, “I'm still under your spell.”
Buffy kissed him with bruising force then, tasting the tang of herself on his tongue. Soon enough she was burning even hotter than before. When Spike lifted her up, she eagerly shifted sideways to help him recline her on the pile of clothes. For the first time since they'd come in, he was truly visible to her, the flickering firelight casting strange patterns on the angles of his face. She watched him in silence as he worked at the button to his jeans, then curled her hands around his biceps when he moved over her, settling between her thighs.
Then he was pressed against her entrance and panting in her ear and everything was very very real. In the I'm-about-eight-inches-from-hot-monkey-s ex-with-my-arch-enemy kind of way. Buffy dug her nails into his arms and froze, “Stop.”
He did, pulling back to settle a desperate look on her. She shook her head vigorously. “I have to stop this. I have to stop you.”
“I won't hurt you,” he promised with a voice so soft she scarcely recognized it. Everything about him was soft just then, the pout in his bottom lip, the feel of his thumb tracing her jaw. Everything was inside out and upside down and every nerve ending she possessed was begging her to give in.
“I know you won't,” she said, trying not to pant at the feel of him, still firm and pressed between her folds. “I can't,” she cried. “This can't…we can't do this. Or any more of this, at least. It's just wrong.” He rubbed himself in a slow circle and her voice squeaked, “So wrong!”
Suddenly his hands were spanning her face and he was smiling at her. And it was sweet enough to make her almost forget what he really was. And what wrong meant. Might need a dictionary, because that point was getting mighty blurry.
“Crazy wrong,” he agreed, leaning down to catch in her in another mind-blowing kiss. He pulled away, sucking her bottom lip just a little before releasing her.
“This thing happening here,” he said again, his voice a silken thread as his fingers stroked down the length of her throat and slowly down to her chest. “It's a bit of magic, yeah? It defies every law we understand, but somehow it makes sense.”
He pressed lightly at her nipple and she gasped, rolling her head sideways on the leather. “Scary sense,” she replied, breathlessly.
“Nothing to be scared of, pet.” She looked at him then and his fingers paused in their ministrations. He leaned down to press wet kisses at each hardened tip before looking up at her from the valley between her breasts. “It's all smoke and mirrors, luv. A trick of the light. It feels real enough, but after the curtain comes up, you know it never really happened.”
He surged against her entrance, tongue flicking at a nipple as he waited for her to process.
“Never happened,” she rasped shakily.
“The greatest trick of all,” he said, and she tugged at his head, bringing her legs up and open for him.
“Show me.”
Their eyes locked for one moment, one piercing connection that she felt from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Then his jaw clenched and his hands were on her thighs and he was inside of her, buried to the hilt.
“Oh God,” she whimpered and he growled as he pulled back, thrusting again, his fingers pressing with bruising force.
Hips straining to meet every movement, Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes tight. She'd never known a ride like this, one that sent the earth spinning and her body shivering. Hell could come forth. Set up a damn camp in her kitchen and eat the last pint of Ben and Jerry's for all she cared, just as long as Spike stayed with her, stayed in her.
His rhythm was punctuated with a line of babbling that dizzied her as much as his motion. “God, Buffy…..so warm….like being in the Sun…don't stop….like that…I never dreamed…”
She rolled into a thrust the right way and let out a growl, her internal muscles clenching and her nails digging into his nape. “More,” she gritted out and Spike tensed within her, his pace increasing as his words digressed into grunts.
“More!” she begged, clenching again. He shuddered and turned his face and Buffy smirked in triumph as she heard the telltale shifting of bones.
She jerked his jaw towards her as his thrusting reached a crescendo. She wanted to see him, wanted to look the devil in the eyes. He fixed her in a yellow stare as he pounded her mercilessly into the leather, his grunts coming in a quick rhythm. It was watching him over her like that, the beast and man together wanting this, wanting her more than blood. It was that knowledge that sent her third orgasm rushing over her. A low keening escaped her as her back arched and lights exploded behind her eyes.
His vicious momentum was a contradiction to the softness of her orgasm, but somehow it propelled it, sent the pinnacle of her pleasure on and on. It swallowed her in deep long pulses that made her bones ache and her eyes roll. Her hands flailed for his face, and she focused blearily on him as she continued to clench. She tested his lips, sliding her fingers inside, searching and finding his fangs with her fingertips. She pressed hard against them, hissing in exquisite pain as he roared in climax at the first taste of her blood.
Then his arm was around her and he was clutching her to him while soared into the crux of his own orgasm. Hers was still drifting slowly, sweetly away, leaving her limp and replete in his embrace as he rode his to its finish. She let out a shuddering sigh and watched him come down, his body still thrusting softly as he sucked her fingers and watched her with predator eyes. He came to a still, tongue taking a final swipe across the cuts before his bones shifted again and the demon retreated.
He kissed the tips of her fingers and watched her with a mix of wonder and wariness as he laid her back down, the smell of leather and of Spike filling her senses again.
“Should I run while your knees are still wobbling?” he asked, still breathing roughly as he directed a pointed look at her fingers.
“At this rate, you'd have until sometime next week to get moving,” she said and they both chuckled, their pants mixing in the air.
He tugged up his jeans and fastened them while Buffy struggled with her own clothes. She felt a lot like a jelly donut, and that was just a little bit too real. She worked at her bra with shaking hands, jerking down her shirt as soon as it was fastened and avoiding even looking in Spike's direction as she wiggled into her underwear and skirt.
Okay, wig factor at red alert.
She needed to go. Needed to go and do stuff. Needed to study for the Chem test and wash some socks and about forty other things that had nothing to do with having sex with Spike. She was resolutely patting her hair in the mirror and working on item six of her To Do list when she felt his hands on her waist. Her fingers stilled in her hair as he slowly turned her to face him.
“Don't,” she said, all shaky voice and too-bright eyes.
“Won't,” he assured her, tugging her forward and resting his forehead against hers. “Just wanted one last taste of you.”
“I…uh, where…” she trailed off, her hands moving of their own accord to toy with the edges of his shirt sleeves.
He reached down, and wrestled with his duster for a moment before picking it up and shrugging into it. “I'm going to the market to pick up the list of goodies and then back to the Watcher's where I'll swim around in the smell of you until my fingers are pruny.”
“Spike...”
He cut her off with a kiss, his tongue and lips as soft and sweet as the smile he'd given her earlier. Then he was brushing past her for his lighter and before she could catch her breath to speak, he was gone and it was dark once more. She made her way to where he'd left the service door ajar, the smells and lights of the real world trickling into this sanctuary. Buffy sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, watching him leap a barrier fence and disappear into the shadows beyond the carnival.
She stepped outside, then hesitated, looking over her shoulder before darting back inside again.
***
When her phone rang, she wrestled it open with her free hand. “Yeah?”
“Buffy!” Giles' voice came through, “I've been a bit worried. Are you still at the carnival?”
“Yeah, I'm just leaving.”
“Did you run into Spike?”
Does participating in several lewd sexual acts constitute running into someone?
“He was here,” she confirmed, feeling the final word throb at the apex of her thighs.
“Your verbosity is enchanting,” he said, sounding irritable. “Where exactly is Spike now?”
Feeling that “Well, part of him is dripping down my leg” wasn't the optimum choice, Buffy sighed. “He's on his way to the grocery store like you asked him. He was just taking his sweet time about it. And before you even ask, the carnival patrol didn't turn up anything of interest.”
Mostly since I didn't actually do it.
“Well, I'm sorry to have wasted your evening,” he offered. “I'm sure you had more inviting things to do than running about following my wild goose chase.”
“You know, for a work night, it was really okay. I took a walk down memory lane and got to eat some nutritionally useless fair food.”
A sad sigh met her at the other end of the line, “Buffy I should tell you more often what a remarkable job you do at juggling your calling along with the rest of your life. I…I often wish things could be more along the lines of what a person your age should be dealing with.”
“I don't know,” she mused, “Maybe normal isn't what anybody expects it to be. I think everybody has to make it up for themselves.”
“Ah, yes well you might be right,” he said softly. “Have a good night, Buffy.”
“Thanks, Giles.”
Buffy pocketed her phone and smiled, sniffing the pink bear she'd gone back for. It smelled like polyester, cotton candy, and a little bit like leather.
“I already did.”
The End.
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