The Crypt: A Will, a Way, and a Woman by Phoebe

Author's note: This chapter is rated NC-17 for detailed m/f sex. If you are underage or do not wish to sully your mind with such filth, then please do not read any further. It isn't really vital to the plot anyway, so you can stop at chapter thirteen and still get the gist of the story. However, if you are of age and you do want to sully your mind then I implore you to read on and to drop me a line afterward to tell me how I did. ;)

Just three little words, and yet they made all the difference in the world to him. Three words he had been longing for all his life. Three words he had never heard from any woman. He had never held any woman before, had never been able to call anyone his own. He was always hers—Dru's, Buffy's. They had held him captive, powerless in his adoration. To hear Buffy acknowledging that he had power over her was like a drug, intoxicating him. He felt dizzy; his limbs were weak, shaking as he inclined his head, closing his eyes to approach her mouth. Her lips were soft and pliant, responding most favorably to the kiss but demanding nothing. It was not like any kiss he had ever experienced before. She was leaving it up to him completely, allowing him to move at his own pace and do as he liked. It was incredible.

Buffy tilted her head back, granting Spike broader access as he kissed his way from her mouth to her chin then down her neck. Her flesh was smooth and salty against his tongue, and he moved slowly, savoring ever millimeter of her beautiful throat. When his mouth had reached her collarbone, Spike began to move upward again, tracing the same path as before. He wasn't kissing her so much as brushing his lips across her skin now, his head sliding upward until he reached paradise. Her mouth felt like satin; it was cool and soft against his dry, hot flesh. He ran the tip of the tongue across it and it tasted like heaven. Her lips parted and he explored the smoothness of her teeth, the slippery heat of the inside of her cheek, before finally finding her tongue.

When had he felt like this before? Had he ever felt like this? Spike didn't think so. Their other couplings had been hard and fast—they were acts of desperation rather than love. This...this was slow and deliberate and so very, very gentle. He might as well have been a virgin so unfamiliar was he with the sensations her touch evoked. It went beyond desire or even love—it was overwhelming. He couldn't be bad if he could feel this way, could he? He couldn't be bad if she could love him this much...if she could keep on loving him even after he had left. He couldn't be bad because she was good. No matter what the priest said, he couldn't be completely wicked...not when he could hold the heart of something so beautiful, so pure.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeper. Not harder. There was nothing hard or coarse about this. But his mouth opened wider and his tongue delved deeper and he lost himself completely in the pleasure of her lips, her body, and her hands. She was beautiful and good, and he did not think he would ever do another bad thing—not when she loved him.

"Shh..." She pressed her forehead to his and gulped for air. "It's okay..." Her hands grasped his hair, gently guiding his head back down so she could find his mouth. Her body pushed closer into his, moving up and down against him, creating a delicious friction of clothing and skin.

Closer. He had to get closer to her. His arms ached he was holding her so tightly—his ribs ached because she was holding him so tightly—but it wasn't enough. He wanted inside her. Not just inside the warm cave of her femininity. He wanted in her head, in her heart. He wanted to be part of her. He wanted to be hers.

Whispered words spilled from his lips, warming her flesh as his inner poet leapt for joy, stammered in excitement. "Buffy...I love you so much...You're...I never felt so...It's like..."

"...paradise..." he finished. But the word didn't seem adequate. There wasn't a word for what he was feeling right now.

The laughter left her eyes, replace by something else, something he didn't recognize. "Take me," she said. Her tone was soft, sober, and though there was no question mark appended to the sentence, it was a request and not a command. Not like before.

But Spike was too distracted watching the movement of her lips as she spoke, by the feeling of her body shifting against him as she adjusted her stance, to fully understand what it was she was saying. "Take you?" he repeated dazedly. "Take you...where?"

Spike met her eyes; they were dancing again, amused, affectionate. Like a light flicking on, he suddenly realized what it was she was asking him to do. He cocked his head at her, lips twitching a little with nervousness, as well as mirth. "Do I?" he asked.

"I'm sure of it." She leaned up, her mouth just brushing his as she added, "And this time I'm not letting you get away."

The bedroom was as empty and as plain as the rest of the apartment, but it didn't matter. For the first time, Spike did not notice the bare, cracked walls and worn carpet, the sheer austerity of the place. The unadorned room, the creaking bed, was suddenly heaven, an oasis where his body met hers in an explosion of heat and need.

Their bodies tangled with the cheap cotton sheet and rough woolen blanket, struggling for closer contact. Spike rolled onto his back and suddenly she was on top of him, her back arched slightly as she bent to kiss him.

He gasped at the heat of her words against his skin, at the words themselves. She had never asked him what he wanted before. She had never cared. It had all been about her wants, her needs. He had merely been...convenient. He wasn't sure what he wanted because no one had ever bothered to ask him before, and when he answered, it was almost without his realizing it—a need expressed without conscious thought.

She hadn't before. Not really. She had groped him, kissed him. She had given him blowjobs... But it had been for her enjoyment, not his. Not theirs. He wanted her to touch him—really touch him—to caress him, to make him clean.

He closed his eyes as her fingers manipulated the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one so nimbly it was only a few moments before the garment was open. He shivered as she ran her finger across the center of his chest, tickling him with her fingernail before pressing her hands flat against him and stroking downward. His back arched as her fingers dipped into the waist of his jeans, resting lightly against the V of flesh just below his navel.

"Yes," he said, forcing the word out on a ragged, hungry breath. Part of him wished she would just plunge her hand in. But another, bigger part, was relishing this moment and wanted to make it last.

She leaned down and began to kiss his breastbone, tracing a burning line from his chest to his stomach. The tip of her tongue arrowed around his navel before her mouth moved lower, kissing its way down to meet her hand. Then she withdrew the latter, using it and her left hand to grasp his hips as she pressed her lips to the front of his jeans. She took the edge of the buttonhole in her teeth and tugged lightly, pulling it free. His hips bucked in response to her touch, but she held them down, keeping him still as her lips closed over his zipper-slide.

Spike watched her through half-closed eyes, marveling at her beauty, her grace. In a series of movements so fluid they appeared to be a single one, she slid down his body, lowering the zipper, her hands at the waist of his jeans, spreading the teeth wide, pulling his pants over his hips and down. When she reached his ankles, she paused to unlace his boots, removing them along with his socks so that his jeans could quickly follow.

Her clothed body stretched the length of his naked one, the front of her khakis rasping over his erection as she rocked her hips against him. Her fingertips made circles over his abdomen, tracing the contour of muscles as her mouth sought his. She drew his bottom lip between both of her and sucked gently, the tip of her tongue caressing the half-healed wound. The kiss was gentle as the ones before it, but deeper, almost desperate. Her mouth was begging for response now, not asking for it.

Spike opened his mouth to her, groaned as her tongue wrestled with his, moving in time to the slow writhe of her body rubbing against his own. He reached for her hips, trying to compel her to move faster, but she took hold of his wrists and pushed his hands away, pinning his arms to the mattress. She was moving so slowly—too slowly. Her clothed center rubbed him just fast enough to get him good and hard and to keep him there, but the slow friction wasn't enough to grant him release, to make him come. It was like torture.

"Yes..." He shivered with pleasure as she began attacking his Adam's apple with her teeth and tongue. Where did she learn to do this stuff? And when? It wasn't at all like this before...

He did not need any more encouragement than that. He pushed her tank top up her belly, over her breasts, drawing it over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra. His eyes drank in the sight of her naked breasts, but he did not touch her. Instead, his hands moved to her waist, his fingers fumbling at the snap of her pants, then at the zip. She raised her hips slightly, making it easier for him to push them over and off. Underneath, she was wearing a wisp of satin and lace that tore in his clumsy, two-handed grip.

Buffy giggled at the expression on his face when he found himself to be holding her shredded underwear.

"Not really." Dropping the thong, he allowed his eyes to climb her bare form, finally coming to rest on her face. Her eyes were black with desire, her lips red and swollen, smiling slightly. She looked like a goddess, sitting there naked. She looked like a fantasy.

He rolled her over onto the mattress and moved on top of her. She was warm and soft beneath him. He laid his cheek on her shoulder and rubbed against her like a cat. His hand slid up her belly, over her ribs to her breast. Her body quivered and jerked upward as his palm moved in slow circles over her creamy flesh. He could almost hear her heartbeat increase as he leaned to kiss the stiffened peak.

"Oh God..." she moaned, clutching him, pushing his head in closer as he suckled her. She spread her legs to him and he moved in between, barely touching the tip of his erection to her opening. "Please..."

He groaned and began to move against her, stroking the head of his penis over her hot wetness in tight little circles, making her shudder, making her beg. She was so helpless now, so completely under his control. Despite everything he had done—and tried to do—she was willing to give him that control. She wanted him that much. She loved him that much.

Buffy's eyes opened at his abrupt retreat. "Spike..." She reached for him but he caught her hands in his own.

He kissed her forehead then the tip of her nose, smiling softly. "I want you too, pet. Just...not yet." He slid a hand between her legs, adding, "I want this to last..."

She cried out as his hand found her center. Her down was silky-soft, wet with her desire. It tickled his wrist as he stroked her clit with the heel of his hand, dipping a single finger into her opening, teasing her with a slow in-and-out until he found that special rhythm and went with it. She thrust her hips, burying his hand deeper in her, and he chuckled softly, enjoying his newfound power. He had never had power over her before, and he was intent on making it last as long as he could.

He smiled. His lips made love-trails across her throat as he moved his hand faster. She moved with him, both of them building speed until he felt her trigger throb against his hand, her slick muscles clenching his finger as she arched and moaned, then cried out sharply. He had to bite his lip to keep himself from coming right along with her.

Spike furrowed his brow, fighting very hard for control before gasping, "Buffy...no, love..."

"Shh, it's okay," she whispered, smothering his protests with a kiss. "I promise I'll be gentle..."

Buffy being gentle was the least of his worries. He was so near to coming he was afraid he wouldn't be able to hold himself back, and he didn't want to come in her hand, lovely as it was. But he underestimated her. She pumped him slowly, building momentum until he closed his eyes, more than ready to give in. And just at the moment when he felt himself getting ready to come, she pulled back, releasing him and withdrawing her hand.

He groaned, more in frustration than pleasure now. He forgot about maintaining power over her. He forgot about making it last. All he could think about was burying himself to the hilt and releasing his love into her. Maybe he didn't have all the power.

She kissed his chin and, seeming almost to read his thoughts, asked, "Has it been long enough now?"

She took him in her hand again, this time guiding him into her. He pushed gently, burying himself in her warmth. He moved slowly because it had been awhile and she was tight, unaccustomed to his bulk, and he didn't want to hurt her. He started out very gentle, gradually moving faster, harder, as she grew more comfortable with his presence.

She began to move against him, her fingers gripping his shoulders as his thrusts grew more vigorous. She pressed her lips to his bare shoulder, biting him softly as she chanted, "Yes...yes..." Her tone was almost pleading. "Spike..."

She was saying his name. She had never said his name before—not during sex. It was as if she was trying to forget who he was, what he was, while he was inside her. Spike had always been aware of the slight, though he had never acknowledged it, and to hear her calling out his name like that was the stuff of dreams to him.

He groaned into her neck and, unable to hold back any longer, began fiercely driving into her. Her legs seized his waist, ankles hooking together behind his back as she gasped and arched her back, pushing against him. He was sobbing without tears, burying his face against her neck. Tight, she was so damn tight. So hot and wet. And he loved her so much. She felt so good...Everything about this moment felt so good—so good it hurt. He couldn't bear it anymore—

They came at almost the same time: Buffy first, followed quickly by Spike. Their voices mingled in a toneless song of pleasure and release as their bodies writhed and shuddered and, finally, found fulfillment. He had never felt anything as good as that single moment. In the whole of his existence, he had never been so close to another creature. It was overwhelming.

When it was over, and he had fallen against her in exhaustion, he laughed softly to himself. "My God."

"What?" she asked. Her fingers combed through his sweaty hair, smoothing the locks against his head.

She laughed too, hugging him so tightly he had to struggle for breath. "So why didn't you?"

"I tried. You just wouldn't take no for an answer." He kissed her shoulder as he pulled out of her. "Thank you for that, by the way."

They fell into comfortable silence. Spike rested his cheek against her breast and closed his eyes, lulled by the steady beat of her heart. She continued to stroke his hair, her fingers trailing from his scalp to the back of his neck, petting him the way he had always dreamed of her doing. He smiled in sleepy contentment. For the first time in forever, he felt perfectly happy. She was his. Finally.

Well, that's all folks. I do have an idea for a sequel, but if you want it written, you have to send me lots of feedback so I'll know it will have an audience. Thanks for reading! :)