Title: No Vacancy
Author: kindred 
Disclaimer: Buffy and Spike belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and
other corporate interests. My thoughts are my own.
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Always gratefully received <alp@magma.ca>
Summary: Alternative S3 'Anne'. After sending Angel to hell, Buffy
disappears into anonymity in a dusty Californian town until a little
piece of Sunnydale finds her...

9.

The dresser surface cleared as items rolled off the edges with each
successive thrust. The mirror perspective was quite odd. She saw her
body inexplicably thrusting forward and her hips being invisibly
pinched. Spike glanced at her reflection wanting to see the evidence of
what he was feeling, unrivaled pleasure. What he saw was a twisted mask
of pain on her beautiful features. He was hurting her.

"Fuck..." Spike clenched his jaw and stopped his hips. It suddenly
dawned on him that she was not much more than the chaste virgin of
Angel's obsession. The look of discomfort on her face troubled him
beyond measure.

"Easy, pet," he whispered directly into her ear, "it's gonna be so good.
You'll see, just let me..." He lifted her slightly and angled himself to
ease their joining. His voice gentled as well. The smug edge of his
interrogation left his tone entirely.

He meant those words and the realization floored him. Spike truly wanted
this to be pleasurable for her. He had no interest in hurting or
humiliating her sexually. His fingertips whispered a cascade of
sensation down her spine.

"Arch your back, Slayer." Buffy did so and something shifted internally.
"Is it better yet?  There...yeah...can you feel it? Right there."
Turning his mouth to her cheek he spoke gently. "You feel it?" Buffy
gasped a faint reply and nodded. The pain was gone and replaced by
something tingling and fluid and spreading beyond the boundaries of her
mind. It was a graceful wordless communication.

Then she felt him inside her moving with her and moving through her.
Their bodies merged and eased in symbiotic concert. Instinctively she
knew how to move with him. It was an energetic cohesion, robust and raw
but not brutal.

Angel was stillness and slow progressions and deep soulful kisses, but
her jaw never vibrated like this. She could well condemn herself with
her approaching orgasm. It stalked her like a tornado on the horizon.
This was Spike inside her mind and body and she didn't feel punished at
all. He leaned forward again and met her turned cheek. She looked at him
from the corner or her eye. His hands roamed wantonly over her flesh.

"That's it, pet...oh yeah...much better...shoulda been more careful with
a kitten like you...you like it now? Like how that feels?" Spike put his
palms to the sides of her face and gently turned her to face the mirror.
"Look at yourself, love...look at what you want...what you need...what
you are...beautiful...beautiful..." It was the oddest thing. Buffy could
see Spike peripherally but he was nowhere to be found in the mirror.

His voice filled her mind with a truth she could not evade. "...Feel me,
Slayer...fuck, you feel so...ahhh that's right, move with me...I
know...I know, baby...it's okay...show me how you like it...yeah...oh
yeah...I could get stuck in you..." Spike continued to babble in a
stream of consciousness commentary. He was not exactly aware of
everything that fell from his mouth

Buffy tried to concentrate on her own hazel irises. She spoke silently
to herself. No cries of passion or pleasure escaped her lips. A few
plaintive gasps leaked out but she had said quite enough and Spike was
doing enough talking for the both of them.

She bit her bottom lip until she feared drawing blood to stop her from
saying anything further.  She didn't want any words said during this
surreal experience to come back and own her. The unimaginable feelings
of ecstasy were devastating enough without betraying the truth aloud.

Spike was facing his own unexpected truths. What was it that Drusilla
shamed him with? That he was covered by the Slayer? Consumed by her? His
eyes traveled down over their heaving and dipping bodies. He was
floating in her, covered with her.

No amount of fantasy imaginings could have prepared him for this. This
was a sensation greater even than draining the life's blood from a
slayer. This wasn't about death or mayhem or darkness anymore. This was
truly sinful, and this bliss was theirs. It belonged to Spike and his
slayer and it wasn't going to be ending any time soon.

Spike's left hand eased up her sweat slicked back and unhooked her bra.
She moved her arms so Spike could pull it free from her body. Buffy's
palms returned to the wall. She obeyed his instructions. She wanted to
be led; she wanted to go where Spike would lead her. Long fingers
slipped around her body and cupped her breasts, finding her painfully
erect nipples.

"Give me some lube," he whispered and put a hand to her mouth. She
sucked three fingers inside and slathered them with her tongue. Spike
worked his fingers in and out of her mouth, entranced by the feel of her
suction; then he removed them and traced his wet fingers back to her
nipples working each one into a frenzy. She clamped muscularly around
his shaft in response. Spike buckled and leaned heavily into her while
he struggled for balance.

"Ahhhh...OHHH...sweet FUCK...do that again," he moaned, "strangle my
cock." Buffy clamped down on him. "GaaaHHH...that...ohhh...yeahhhh..."
he groaned and began to ejaculate. Unable to maintain control any
further, Spike morphed in his sexual delirium and bit deeply into her
shoulder. It was a non lethal strike, the purest expression of a swiftly
mutating desire.

The contents of Spike's mind dissipated as if spewed by a centrifuge.
All thoughts of killing her were summarily abandoned leaving something
else entirely in their midst. Something small and feral and dangerous.

Something that had no name.

"Spike!" Buffy cried out in pain and lust and an undulating orgasm that
snaked through her body. Her arms fell across her chest and held onto
his arms. Buffy's eyes snapped to her side and she saw his demon face
sucking and licking at her shoulder. His hips churned into her center as
he spurted repeatedly. A slackened mouth left her shoulder and nuzzled
deeply into her neck.

"Stay with it...fuck...come on...stay with me..." he begged with his
hips and a growling voice of unrestrained need.

Then he was swept by a wave of purpose. Spike pulled her upright against
his chest. He lifted her from the dresser and walked to the bed. His
left arm supported her torso while his palm encircled her throat in a
display of animal possession.

That sensation beat through Buffy's pelvis like a bass drum. She made no
attempt to remove his hand. She drank deep the forbidden pleasure of
submission to her sworn enemy, this demon inside her, the one to whom
she surrendered her body and her blood.

This unexpected submission raced unimpeded through Spike. It was a
stunning development. He did not stop to analyze or acknowledge anything
beyond purely sensory stimulation. Something primal was occurring.
Beyond speech, beyond reason, it was a solidness beneath bedrock,
spiraling toward magma. To the core.

Buffy had no words for the sensation coursing through her. She didn't
even know her own desire until she felt him take her blood. She wanted
to be taken, that was a blood beat scouring her soul. She wanted to be
taken by Spike.

Pure instinct took control. These were the dynamics of marking a mate,
of taking possession. Any thoughts of fucking the Slayer just for
bragging rights fled. This was no longer a game or strategy or a
perversion of combat. It was a pure animal calling beyond the boundaries
of his conscious mind. He wanted her now. He wanted to crush her and
rebuild her; he wanted to brand her and claim her.

He wanted to name her.

"Slayer," his demon snarl rumbled sensuously from deep inside his chest.
His fingers found her clit and worked her to another shattering orgasm.
An incoherent cry spasmed through her throat as she jerked and shook
through a wave of climaxes in his embrace. Scrambling for a handhold,
her sweaty palms merely slipped off his skin. He tightened his hold on
her in response. A vibrating snarl accompanied her soaring sensations.

She arched and curled around his vocalization as the thickened tones
sank into her being. She'd never heard a snarl like that. It was sounded
for one purpose, to accentuate and perpetuate her pleasure. Lost in his
larynx she floated far from shore.

A dim memory of duty and righteousness floated abandoned in her internal
atmosphere. Weeks earlier one of local cheerleaders handed Buffy a
brochure on abstinence at the diner with her tip. She actually read the
contents.

She could not rationally reconcile her feelings, but she left rational a
few stops back. This new feeling slammed into her like a freight train.
It was illicit and wicked and she wanted it. It was shiny and pulsating
and fun.

Damnation had never felt so right as now, with Spike as her personal
tour guide.

tbc...