“There’s a time and place for everything, and I believe it’s called ‘fan fiction’.”
― Joss Whedon
Disclaimer: Spike & Buffy are property of Mutant Enemy & Joss Whedon. I don’t own Spike & Buffy, I just borrow them for writing masturbation fodder.
“Let’s play a game Spike,” Buffy says, tilting her head coyly, her curly blonde ponytail brushing her nearly bare shoulders. As she enters Spike’s crypt, the heels of her black boots click against the stone floor. Spike looks up from his couch but away from her, avoiding eye contact. He’s immediately turned on by her sweet smell and gorgeous, petite figure, and this annoys the hell out of him.
“Oh right, is this the game where we destroy a house with our naked wrestling, and then you call me disgusting in the morning?” he says, meeting her eyes now, his lips twitching.
“Or the one where you kick my ass and go off about how you’re the good one, and I’m all pure evil, blood sucking and demon-like?” he says, picking up a glass of vodka on the table next to him, “Because I’m really not in the mood for either one, pet.”
Buffy puts her free hand on her hip and smirks.
“Maybe a little bit of both. Or maybe something completely different,” she says.
Spike raises his eyebrow as he notices the black leather bag that Buffy holds in her other hand. He leans back on the couch, trying to hide his curiosity.
“I’m really not in the mood for games, love. Not tonight. If you want to get me naked just say so, or get out.”
“Don’t call me love.”
Buffy approaches him, setting the bag on the floor nearby. She lifts herself on to his lap, straddling him. Her warmth is intoxicating, her breath a seductive whisper. He looks up at her, confused. She doesn’t usually act like this.
“Call me Slayer.”
“Oh, what is this? Are you on some kind of power trip? More than usual I mean. Are you going to tell me what to do now?” he says. “Do you want me to pretend I’m afraid of the big bad Slayer?”
“Shut up Spike,” Buffy answers as she delivers a nasty blow to his jaw, the aching from her powerful force echoing through his cheek.
“Bloody hell, woman, what do you want from me?” he says, rubbing his face.
“For one, don’t call me woman.”
“Fine, Slayer, what are you getting at?”
“I told you I want to play a game,” Buffy says, pouting her lips a little, running her hands along his chest, “and the first rule is, that you belong to me, get it?”
“Oh yeah, since when?” says Spike, rolling his eyes. “Are you going to tell your friends about us, about these little games you love so much?”
“Shut up Spike.” Buffy pulls her fist back, “unless you want me to hit you again?”
“Fine, I’m yours. What do you want from me?”
“Hmm, what do I want?” Buffy moves closer against him, sliding her hips until they lock in with his, their noses almost touching. She wraps her hands around his neck, squeezing.
“Ow, Buffy” Spike gasps as her grip tightens, “that hurts!”
“It’s supposed to,” she smirks, “I can tell you like it.”
He hardens beneath her, his body responding to the pain the way she knew it would. She releases his neck, moving her hands down to his collar.
“You know me so well, don’t you Slayer,” he laughs.
“Shut up!” Buffy says, ripping his shirt down the middle.
“Dammit Buffy, that’s my favorite one!” he says, holding up the tattered remains, “now I’ll have to steal another.”
She pulls him in close, her lips to his ear. Spike tries not to shake as his whole body tenses from the feel of her on top of him, from her breath, her soft skin.
“I told you not to call me Buffy,” she whispers, biting him on the neck, roughly.
He groans with the pain, but it only makes him harder, makes him want her more.
“It’s your turn to see how it feels,” she says before she pulls herself away from him, standing up. Spike rubs his neck, trying to pretend he’s annoyed when really he just wants her to do it again, to do anything that involves her touching him.
“So, what’s the game, Slayer?” he asks, trying to sound cool.
Buffy picks up the bag from the floor and pulls out heavy shackles and chains.
“It’s about trust, Spike,” she says. His eyes widen. He flinches a little as the chains clang loudly when she drops them onto the table.
She lifts up her black halter, slowly, revealing her smooth skin and bare breasts beneath. Spike opens his mouth, tilting his head slightly as he eyes her lustfully.
“So, do you trust me?” she asks.
“Well now, this could be incredibly kinky, and in that case, I’m in,” he says, running his fingers through his peroxide blonde hair. He stands up, walking towards her, “Or maybe, you’ve decided you’re done with the games, and you have a stake in that bag,” he says as he circles around her, looking down into her green eyes. He stops.
“Maybe you’ll kill me.”
“Hmmm, I guess you’re right, Spikey,” Buffy answers, her voice mockingly sweet, “are you scared?”
“Hardly,” he scoffs back. “Fine, I’ll play. You might as well put me out of my damn misery anyway, it’s not like I have anything to live for.”
“Oh, don’t say that Spikey, you have plenty to live for…at least until I’m done with you. Now be a good beastie and do as I say.”
Buffy walks over to the bed, feeding the chain through solid metal hooks on the wall.
“Down, Spike,” she says, nodding at the bed. He lies down, letting her lock the cuffs around his wrists.
“So, what’ll it be Slayer? What do you want from me?” he says, trying to mask his slight fear and overwhelming longing for her.
“You know what I want,” she says as she pulls off his pants, revealing his hard, pale, icy cock.
Spike smiles his evil smile, ready to get down to it, but Buffy punches him in the chest, her little knuckles leaving his skin burning.
“Ow, bloody hell!”
“I want to hurt you,” Buffy says, “And I want you to like it.”
This time she slaps his chin, his neck twisting from the power of her hand, the pain echoing through his skin and downwards.
“I like it,” he says, “You know I do.”
“Good,” she says, pulling off her boots, jeans, and lacy panties.
Buffy jumps on top of him, straddling him again, but this time she rubs herself over his cock, her clit tingling as it grazes him.
She grabs his nipples, her super strength pinching them way past the point of light foreplay. It feels like she’s ripping them off. Spike growls, his arms thrashing as he tries to break free. Buffy stops, staring at him solemnly. He thinks he sees love in her sad eyes, something real. His thoughts are interrupted as she slaps him again, without breaking her gaze. And again, and again.
Just as he begins to feel dizzy, his head pounding, she stops. She leans in and kisses him, and everything disappears, the aching he always feels, the pain, the longing. There’s only her sweet taste, her opposing strength and her soft feel, her smell.
And suddenly, a sharp jab at his heart. Literally. While she was kissing him, she’d reached beside the bed and pulled a stake out of her bag. He stiffens as she presses it lightly on his skin, smiling now.
Spike’s eyes widen; this time he can’t think of a witty comment. He looks up at her, half hoping she’s serious, that she’ll just kill him already.
Oh, what’s the use, he thinks. He relaxes his body, giving in. He closes his eyes. He feels the sharp end begin to pierce his skin, blood trickling lightly. The pain is nothing compared to what’s inside, beneath it. “Just do it already,” he says. Just when he thinks it’s really over, Buffy slides his cock inside her and clenches her warm wetness around him.
Spike moans, opening his eyes. Her hair falls over her face and her beautiful breasts, and she looks down on him, gasping. “Tell me you’re mine, Spike,” she says as she thrusts her hips, her hand pressing against where the stake was, blood smearing beneath her fingers.
“You know I’m always yours,” he says.