Shot in the Dark

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Chapter 17: Impulse Control
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Buffy turns over for the hundredth time, desperately trying to get comfortable in her tangled sheets. Curled onto her side, she smacks the bed with her hand in frustration.

“So so stupid. Oh Buffy, you can’t stop thinking about having sex with a certain bloodsucking vampire, so what do you do? Go out and save his drunk butt and wait, what next? Bring him back to your HOUSE! Good one.” She slaps the bed again and turns over, landing on her back. Her aggravation has done nothing to drive out the thoughts of the vampire sleeping one floor beneath her. Thoughts which are giving her warm, wet feelings growing increasingly harder to ignore. His strong hands holding her, running up and down her spine. Goosebumps spring up on her skin just thinking about it.

Almost of their own volition, her own hands begin to roam over her body, seeking out the most sensitive spots. Buffy slips one hand up under her shirt, running her fingers over her nipples, sore and tender. They respond immediately and she feels a stab of sensation below her waist. She pushes her head back into the pillow, surprised by the power of the feeling. One hand pulls roughly on her pajama bottoms and she manages to kick them off. She lets her hand rest gently on top of her panties, feeling the wetness grow there as her mind wanders over his body. His strong shoulders that she clung to as he drove into her. The muscles stretched taut in his arms as he held her hips while she bucked on top of him. She shudders a bit, remembering the rolling, pounding sex on the floor of the kitchen. Her hand slides into her panties, and she begins to rub her swollen clit in circles with her thumb. The hour of tossing and turning with thoughts of Spike have her already incredibly wet and aroused.

As her hand works its magic down below, her mind sends flash after flash of him. Like a series of snapshots, she gets images of Spike. The curve of his full mouth, the surprisingly soft platinum hair, the rippling tightness of his chest, the groove of his spine down his strong back, his words tickling her ear, teeth nipping at her neck... The images come faster and faster as her pace increases. He is there, taking her body, running his hands through her hair, his deep voice moaning her name... ‘Buffy...I love you so much...’ Remembering his words muttered from a dream sends shockwaves through her system and she moans to a climax, riding the wave of those words. Letting the ripples in her pelvis dissipate, Buffy lies still, staring at the ceiling and panting. All those images of his body, his face and what makes her come? His words...his profession of love. She scolds herself. In a dream, Buffy. Doesn’t mean a thing and why would I want it to? Thankfully, the efforts of her orgasm are stealing over her, and her eyelids grow heavy as her body lapses into a relaxed state. Her thoughts are stored away for another few hours as sleep takes her.

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Meanwhile, Spike stares daggers into the ceiling. The alcohol wore off...way too fast...and his natural wakefulness at night took over. He wakes to a very faint sound, a very faint scent. Both unmistakably Buffy and both unmistakably aroused Buffy. He strains to listen to her, simultaneously thanking and cursing his vampiric hearing for this little show. tel telltale moans make Spike’s jaw twitch. “Least the bloody spell is still workin’ on her...too.” His body responds to her even at this distance. He feels his jeans get tighter as his cock springs to life. Spike growls deep in his throat in frustration. He can see her, cheeks pink, moist lips open as she moans, hands running down her body, lower and lower. Listening very hard, he confirms his suspicions and his hand drops to his zipper. Won’t be walking in on him while she’s in the middle of that. Quickly, Spike undoes his jeans, releasing his erection. His hand immediately goes to it, rubbing in time with her sounds, letting his imagination roam, seeing her in his mind’s eye. He grips harder as he remembers her throwing him down on this very couch, standing over him, eyes glinting, stripping down to reveal her flushed body before straddling him. Spike closes his eyes as he continues to stroke himself. His pace increases as he remembers her body stretching above him, her breasts begging to be touched, her neck bared. And then, later, that look in her eyes. The one that nearly burned him from the inside out. A passion, some undefined emotion when she looked at him. He hears a whimper from the room upstairs and it is too much for him. Spike finally comes with a low deep groan straining to be quiet. He lies still for a few minutes, stilling his strangely accelerated breathing. Buffy does a number on him, even in his memories, his visions of her.

Finally, he struggles to his feet, swaying a bit from the aftereffects of his drinking binge. His hands go to his head. “Sod it, ‘m going to feel this tomorrow...” Moaning slightly, he stumbles to the bathroom to clean himself up. On the way back, he stops at the foot of the stairs. Grasping the banister on one side and placing his hand on the opposite wall, he stares into the dark at the top of the stairs. She is sleeping now, taken to that state by her own hand. He can see her, skin still very warm, heart rate slowly returning to normal. Spike’s grip tightens on the banister. He doesn’t even want to have her body right now, he just wants to let her curl into him, hold her while she sleeps, share that intoxicating warmth.

He jumps back from the steps as if he was burned, shaking his head. “Spell must be getting to me. Just a sex thing, nothin’ more...” With one last glance up the stairs, he wobbles to the door and out into the night, fleeing the confusion in his brain and his still heart.

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The next morning...


Buffy stretches, feeling warm and satisfied. Glancing at the clock tells her she has a little time before she has to head over to campus. Slowly her smile fades as he remembers that she missed all her classes yesterday...and the reason why. The reason is asleep on her couch downstairs. Buffy covers her face with her hands, wondering how she can face him this morning. And these feelings...god, how can it continue like this? She wants him, craves him even now, moments into the new day. And he will know it. The minute he looks into her with those baby blues, he’ll know what she wants.

“I can’t. I have to go to class. And it’s just the spell. How many times do I have to tell myself...ugh!” She cringes at the thought of him saying no to her. How mortifying. “Just have to avoid him, get to class and forget all about his...just forget it. By tonight, back to sane Buffy. Who may stop talking to herself quite this much.” Shaking her head, Buffy concentrates her efforts on getting ready and any thoughts not centered on Spike.

An hour later, she can avoid it, avoid him no longer. Tentatively, she starts to head down the stairs, absently straightening her black sweater, touching her hair and then getting mad at herself for primping. For Spike. Taking a deep breath, she enters the first floor, her eyes automatically shooting towards the living room.

And the empty couch.

Her heart drops when she sees he is gone. Despite her dread of facing him, she still wanted to see him. Confirming the craziness of the last two days. She checks into the kitchen. Nothing. Going back to the living room, she flops on the couch, running her hands over the upholstery. Seeing him there, black leather, alabaster skin. Otherworldly he is, makes everyone else look so ordinary, so plain. So human. Buffy sighs in exasperation. Why can’t she want the normal things a girl wants? A quiet voice in her head points out that she is hardly ‘normal’, so why should she seek it?

She pushes off the couch, grabs her bag and heads for campus, hoping to shake these thoughts and just make it to the end of the spell.

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Willow watches her friend, a concerned look creasing her features. “Um, Buffy, forgive me for being Little Miss Repeat Herself, but are you sure you’re okay?” Her eyes still on Buffy, she crunches into a potato chip.

Buffy pulls herself out of daydreams, naturally centered around a certain blond vampire and focuses on Willow. “Wha-? I’m sorry, what was that, Willow?”

Willow sighs. “Buffy, something’s wrong.” She drops her voice. “Is it the lusty spell? You still thinking about Spike?”

Waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, Buffy laughs. “Oh heck no. Not even at all. Nope. Not thinking about Spike...” Her voice trails off, losing conviction with each word.

Barely noticing, Willow continues, “Oh good, ‘cause I’ll tell you, whew, what a relief when I found the Cupid thing. Otherwise, yikes, right?”

Blinking back an unbidden tear, Buffy smiles a bit too brightly. “Absolutely. Such a major relief, Will. Knew you’d come through for me. I was just, uh, wondering how much I missed yesterday. I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Willow blushes as she remembers, all too vividly, the reasons Buffy missed her classes. Ducking her head, she fumbles for a notebook. “Well, I’ve got notes from Pysch class and I’m sure you can make up anything else. I’ll help you out.”

“Yep, you’re always there for me, Will. Done?” Buffy nods at Willow’s lunch, stealthily dumping her mostly untouched lunch into a bag to throw away. She wonders if Willow had to be quite so there for her on the Spike thing. If they didn’t know about the spell, she could be with him right now...

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He moans, wondering when his sarcophagus got to be so uncomfortable. “Prob’ly when you got used to the Slayer as your pillow, wanker.” Spike squirms a bit, fighting consciousness, willing himself back into the peace offered by sleep. He punches at the pillow he made of his duster, trying to make it more comfortable. Mouth twitching, thoughts of her tripping unbidden into his dreams, he manages to drop back off to a relatively peaceful slumber as the day wears on...