Shot in the Dark

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Chapter 20: In The Dark
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It’s dark. Very dark. Buffy has time for this thought as the door to the crypt clangs shut. The inky blackness is nearly total, just a few small pools of moonlight through high windows. Quickly, the darkness is not a concern as she feels Spike against her. She caught him off-guard when she pulled him into the crypt, but he has recovered. His hands slide up her sides, making a tremor run straight through her. The darkness swallows Buffy whole and she welcomes it.

“Can you see, luv?” His voice, deep and resonant, washes over her in the darkness. Her hands run up his chest, feeling the leather of the duster under her fingers, cool and roughened from years of wear. Buffy spreads it wider, seeking his skin. She slides the duster down his arms, letting her warm, grasping hands finally find his bare skin. One last push and he hears the solid thump as the leather hits the floor.

“Don’t need to.” Her reply comes soft and urgent. “Want to feel my way.” With a start and a gasp, Spike realizes she is not kidding, as one of her roaming hands finds the hardness pressing against his jeans. He can almost hear her smile.

“Spike.” The word is a cross between a sigh and a plea as she breathes it out. She still can’t see him, but she can feel him. Buffy can map him with her eyes closed, so the darkness is little obstacle. In fact, it makes her brazen, unafraid, able to forget the outside world. It is only Spike and Buffy, alone in this black cocoon. And the evidence of him wanting her is hard and warm under her hand.

The craving for each other, momentarily derailed by the sudden darkness, builds toward a fever pitch once again. Her hands move faster, harder, leaving the front of his jeans to push against his chest. She finds his lips with her own as he steps backwards until his back hits the edge of a sarcophagus. Buffy throws her body against him, clutching at his shirt with her hands. A ripping sound fills the crypt, freezing them both.

“Sorry.” She doesn’t really sound that sorry, Spike decides.

“S’okay, luv. I’ve got more.”

“Good.” The ripping continues as she figures it is now the easiest way to get through the t-shirt and to his skin. More skin. The skin she needs to feel under her hands. Their hands fight each other as they struggle to get the other’s clothes off and quickly. “Only, don’t rip my shirt, okay? It’s new.” He chuckles.

“Won’t need to, pet. Thing’s only held on by gravity, I think.”

“Is not!” She pauses in her unbuttoning of his pants to protest indignantly. “I thought you liked this top?”

“Like it, true. Like what’s underneath a sight better, Buffy.” His words tickle her ear as he leans in to release the scrap of fabric from around her back and neck.

“Oh.” The blush is perfectly visible in his mind’s eye. He hears her heart rate begin to pick up again as his hands pull the top off her in one smooth motion. Immediately finding her heated flesh, he feels her nipples go hard in the cool night air as his thumbs graze them. She flinches, pressing closer to him, pinning him between her bare skin and the cold stone of the sarcophagus. Buffy traces his carved abdominal muscles with her fingertips as her hungry mouth grabs his, biting his bottom lip. She slowly pulls back, letting his lip go, a sound close to a growl emanating from her. It is too much for Spike. Grabbing her around the waist with one arm, he picks her off the ground, swinging around to deposit her on the edge of the tomb before she can react. The feel of his taut arm around her is incredible, sending her pulse racing even more. He has her mouth before she can catch a breath, devouring her, his tongue diving into her with fierce abandon. Spike pulls back sharply, leaving her gasping for air, the sound echoing in the chamber.

“Christ, Buffy, I want you.” His voice is ragged, choked with desire, his hands resting on her bare shoulders as he tries to look into here. e. It is dim, but he is adjusting, so he can just see her eyes, black and fathomless, but definitely staring at him.

“I know. Hurry.” Breaking eye contact, Buffy’s hands go straight to his jeans, ripping the fly down to finish her work from earlier. “Off, off. OFF!” He smiles slowly at her demanding voice, fighting his own craving for a few seconds just to hear that note in her voice. He works the jeans off a bit slower than necessary. “Spike, I swear, I will stake you right this second if you don’t get back up here now.” Still unable to see well in the dark crypt, Buffy is startled to feel his next words on her face.

“Right here, luv.” As he talks, his hands have dropped to her pants, gentle and agile, undoing them quickly. She leans back on her elbows, allowing him to undress her fully. The fabric slides down her legs quickly and is quickly replaced by his cool hands at her ankles. In a flash, his hands fly up her legs, grasping her hips and yanking her to him. Losing her balance, she gasps, throwing her hands out to hold onto his arms. The muscles are silken under her hands, rigid and tight as he clutches her low on her hips, fingers pressing into the warm flesh.

His mouth is on her neck, blunt teeth nipping at her soft skin, tender and then harder. In the dark, she can’t be sure, but she swears she feels the ridges of his game face against her neck at least once. She moans, feeling her own self-control slipping in time with his. Spike brushes her hair back, kissing and biting across her shoulder as one hand works across her thigh, gently brushing the sensitive skin on the inside. She spreads her legs further apart, lifting and draping them loosely around his waist. His hand pushes her soaked panties aside, finding her quite wet and ready for him. Ripping the lacy fabric away, his fingers dive in with no warning and she clutches her legs tighter, closing the small space between them suddenly. Her action forces his fingers deeper into her and she throws her head back in reaction. Supporting her back with his other arm, Spike drives his fingers into her relentlessly, fingers working a rhythm over her clit, swelling it further. She melts in his arms like warm clay, pliable from kneading.

Spike smiles as the silver moonlight catches her body, splayed out in front of him. Neck and chest thrust up as her head lolls back, hair grazing the stone below her. Buffy pants, words floating to him, swallowed in half moans and sighs. Tightening his grip around her back, he leans down, kissing her navel and the delicate skin of her lower belly. Peeking up, he sees that she is still gazing to the heavens, drowning in the sensations cascading through her. He can hear the word, “More...” drop from her lips. The smile on his face turns into a devilishly naughty smirk, edges curling up. Her wish is his command. He returns to her skin, kissing gently. Meanwhile, his other hand slides out of her and then guides his cock to her entrance before she can miss the movement. With one quick thrust, he fills her, stretching her as he drives all the way to the hilt. Her half-gasp, half-scream pierces the darkness as her body convulses, arms flailing to grasp anything, finally finding herself sitting up again, hands on his shoulders. After the one thrust, Spike remains still, waiting for her response, though it is killing him. He feels her breasts against his chest, slick with sweat as she presses into him. Buffy’s eyes, dark and deep, search his, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her kiss is hard and rough, bruising his lips. If he could be out of breath, he would be when she pulls back.

“Don’t stop now.” He has never heard a tone of such delicious darkness from his Slayer. Her movements languid in the moonlight, she lets him go, melting back onto the sarcophagus. Her arms fall above her head and he can see the muscles tightening as she takes a grip on the far edge. She wants it. Just like this. Hard and furious. The time apart since last night has driven them past simple wanting to desperate need.

“Don’t think I could, pet.” Hands grasping her waist, Spike slides back out and in again, one rough movement that rattles her bones. He can see the grip tightening as she bites her lip. His self-control just about used up, Spike thrusts, harder and harder, lifting her off the stone surface with each drive.

Buffy feels the cool stone beneath her, scraping her back every time he pounds into her. She can’t believe how bad she wants him, how good it feels when he fills her. The sensation starts between her legs and spreads like wildfire through her, dissolving her limbs with its heat. He is moving faster and faster, his strength matching hers, his body unrelenting in its assault. Even in this cool darkness, she can start to make him out. The gentle light from the windows casting shadows on his carved torso, making him seem even more like a marble god than ever. Her mind starts to go in circles as she feels the building inside her, each thrust driving her one step closer . He senses it too and redoubles his efforts. The time for slow and gentle is past. Lifting her eyes to his face from her reclining position, she sees the flicker of his game face, the gold of his eyes catching the light. She smiles at her ability to drive him down that path. Buffy would never admit it out loud, but drawing out his demon like this has made her feel powerful, the mighty Slayer vixen.

Spike feels the bones in his face shifting and starts to panic, afraid Buffy won’t like it. As he fights the change back, he catches the small smile on her face and hesitates in mid-thrust.

Buffy notices the change in movement and meets his gaze. Her eyes have adjusted enough to find his eyes with her own. His brows knit together in slight confusion. She squeezes him tight, forcing his cock as deep as can be and pulls herself back to a sitting position suddenly.

He growls, low and guttural, as her viselike grip pushes him teetering back to the edge of self-control. The flash of yellow in his eyes does not go unnoticed.

“Don’t you dare hold back.” She is not asking him, she is telling him. Neither seeking permission nor waiting for it, Buffy grabs his head with both hands and bites his neck with her blunt teeth. A split second after he feels the dull pain of her incisors press against his unbroken flesh, he drives his fangs into her neck without hesitation. She lets go of his neck, her hands going around him, grasping his butt and ripping her nails up his back, drawing blood. He thrusts a few more times, fangs still buried and then, with little warning, they shatter into countless pieces. Buffy claws at him, her body clutching around his cock, drawing every last bit of his seed into her. Spike pulls away from her neck, hands tangled into her hair, hard, as he pumps deep into her superheated core.

Finally, the shockwaves begin to dissipate and they slowly release their violent grip on each other. Momentarily sated, Buffy falls back onto the sarcophagus, body limp. She feels no pain, though she knows her body will be bruised, her neck sore. All of it seems rather irrelevant. A small shiver runs through her, from the damp cold or something else, she’s not sure. It’s not the first time her body has reacted to him this way.

Buffy feels the taut arms wrap around her, pulling her up and off the stone. Her body, damp from exertion, meets his skin as he lifts her from the tomb. So gently.

“You’re cold. I’ve got blankets over here...a sleeping bag.”

She mumbles her assent to this idea. His gentle concern is disconcerting, his voice subdued, but she is grateful for the soft plush under her as he lays her down. He folds his body to the ground, stretching out with her, their bodies fitting back together like hand and glove. Spike reaches for the blankets, tucking them into the snug cocoon, his arms working their way around her again. The darkness in this part of the crypt is all-encompassing.

In the halfway space between wakefulness and orgasm-induced sleep, Buffy tries to think. Her mental calculations tell her it has been 48 hours since the night they lost control and attacked each other in her house. In that strange second wave of lust. And yet, she still feels that burning deep inside. Could Willow be wrong? About the time limit, about the spell, about...everything? Willow is so rarely wrong. Surely by tomorrow things will be different. Her addled mind wants to enjoy tonight and her body positively demands it. Other parts of her, like her heart, have yet to let their feelings be known. But for now, just a little rest and recovery.

Spike lies very still, waiting for her breathing to even out. It doesn’t take long. He feels her body grow relaxed and heavy in his arms. When he is sure she will not know it, he quickly wipes his eyes with the back of one hand. S’posed to be bloody evil, not breaking into tears while shagging the Slayer. But the look she gave him, the accepting of his demon, the intoxicating taste of her blood. It was a bit too much in conjunction with his rampant desire and the pleasure she offered. He smiles. He may be a vampire, but he’s never pretended to be unfeeling. He figured the one time she let him bite her in the kitchen was just that, a one time deal. He never thought she would let him...and in the middle of... The smile only broadens. Spike knows this is probably the end of the road. Red says the spell will end tonight and the little Wicca is almost never wrong. But god, what a trip it was...

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“Too dark! Honey, I can’t see, it’s too dark!” Psyche’s voice turns into a whine as she pouts prettily at her love. Cupid grins, returning to her side, his eyes dropping to the scene below. He can make out the two blond heads next to each other, their limbs overlapping under the cover of a few blankets.

“Well, darling, it is nighttime.” His eyes twinkle, knowing he is teasing her.

She gives him a playful, dark look, but then lights up again. “Sweetie, it’s over! The spell of the arrows...BOTH sets of arrows is over. Three days since the first arrow, two days since the second. But look at them!” She gestures emphatically at the knotted tangle of bodies.

“Their powers of denial are formidable, eh?” His grin widens at his mate.

“You’re not kidding! I know it’s over, you know it’s over, the witch knows it’s over and even THEY should know it’s over, but still...”

He does not reply, his eyes focused on the cozy scene in the crypt. She looks up at him, waiting for a reply.

“What are you going to do? When they wake up, they HAVE to admit it’s not the lust anymore...even these two can’t hide from the truth forever. Do you think there is any chance it will fade, that they won’t want...”

“No.” Cupid cuts her off, his voice unwavering. “Darling, I’ve seen untold thousands of couples in love and caused a great deal of them. This is not going anywhere. And I can take no credit for the emotion present. I was merely the spark that set this fire blazing.”

He locks his hands behind his back, his brow knit in consternation. “I’ve made a decision, my sweet.”

Psyche hesitates, glancing from the couple to her lover’s chiseled face. “What is it?”

“I will not loose the arrow of love.”

“Wh-what? But...that’s what you do...” Psyche is confused. She has never known her lover to miss a chance to alter the course of a relationship with his power. It is what he lives for.

“I can’t bring myself to it. I want to see it develop on its own. See if the world can still produce a true love without my help. My dear, I am the world’s strongest believer in love. I don’t always have to cause it to enjoy it. Let us watch some more. Perhaps I can be of help in some other way. But no, the arrow of love will stay in its quiver.”

Her look of confusion softens into tenderness. She remembers why she fell in love with this god. Why she chose him above all mortal men. He often wields his great power with impunity, but it is in moments like these that she sees his true strength. He is, after all, the god of love.