Becoming Me
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
26
Views:
7,428
Reviews:
62
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
26
Views:
7,428
Reviews:
62
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Interlude
26: INTERLUDE
“Buffy!” she heard from downstairs, “Don’t forget to clean up your room! I thought you were more organized than that!” Buffy flipped on the switch and saw a pair of dirty jeans crumpled by the foot of her bed. On her dresser were toppled stacks of clean laundry, and hairbrushes, and makeup bags. Everything belonged somewhere that had been too out of the way for Buffy to bother putting it. She wasn’t disorganized, she was lazy. A small sigh escaped her lips.
The light bothered her. Not like a headache, but like it drained her and made everything dull and not worth doing. She flipped the switch again and watched the shapes and shadows of her room leap out, defined by the sunlit outlines amidst the dark. Buffy padded over to her dresser and stood in front of the mirror. Methodically she re-folded some clothing and put it back in its piles.
Her fingers brushed the satin of a bra. She extracted it from the pile and considered it. Then glancing back at the empty hallway, she reached up inside her silk camisole and unhooked the bra she was currently wearing. As she slid it off she felt the feather-light touch of the silk fabric graze her nipples and glide over the smooth skin of her breasts and stomach. She looked into the mirror and noticed how her hair fell about her shoulders, how the camisole hugged a body that was clearly bare beneath its supple fabric, how her eyes appeared full of something yearning and ancient.
Slowly, seductively, Buffy dragged the camisole up over her head and watched her breasts rise and fall as she moved her arms. She brought her hands to cup underneath them, bouncing them lightly. She wondered why she had been attracted to her own body, back in LA. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe she looked attractive, standing in bare skin with the sideways light of the setting sun defining her curves, but…somehow it was different.
On a whim, she grabbed the other bra and pulled it up over her breasts, adjusting it and letting the white cups draw her breasts together in a luscious display of volume and cleavage. The white satin stood out against her summer tan, golden-brown against white and orange light against shadows.
She wondered what Spike would say. She imagined him, standing up close behind her, breathing. Stupidly, unnecessarily, breathing on her neck.
She drew her hands up the soft, tanned skin of her stomach. His fingers dance upwards, a whisper of a touch. Her skin tingles as she feels each digit move up over her ribs. Her own hands felt the ridges of her ribcage as it expands upward, taking a sudden, unstable breath.
She slid her fingers over the satin cups until they come into shocking contact with skin. He graces the gentle swell of her breast with his cool touch… “Miss me, pet?”
“Hardly,” she whispered, dipping her fingers down inside her bra and causing her breasts to rise up even more. His callused, male thumbs rasp across her nipples as he chuckles like a purr deep inside his throat.
She gasped, and pulling her hands out of her bra, she found the button on her jeans, and watching her furtive face in the mirror, tugged them open. Her lips twitched into a smile when she heard the quiet “pop” of the fabric sliding past the button. “Like what you see?” she murmured.
He exhales in the way that means he’s grinning. In the mirror she watches as invisible hands slip just beneath her jeans, sliding burning trails of touch down her bare thighs as they push the jeans to her knees. Buffy scraped her nails lightly up her thighs and over her panties back to the gentle curve of her stomach, smiling coyly. He finds her intoxicating. Then gracefully, dramatically, she bent down and pushed her jeans past her knees into a pool at her feet and steps out of them. She peered back into the mirror. She saw her white satin push-up bra and her black cotton panties and thought it wasn’t perfect, it was mismatched and awkward, but then she imagined herself on the cover of a magazine, in the front of a room with Spike watching her, his eyes roaming up and down her barely covered body in hunger.
She stepped her legs wider apart like she was straddling a large piece of furniture and then cocked her hips at a ridiculous, ostentatiously provocative angle, firmly tugging the pads of her fingers up the front of her thighs and whimpering at the friction. He presses his pelvis into her ass, his entire front spooning up to her back. His hands slip around her thighs, gripping them and going almost halfway around, and slip up to press firmly at the apex. “Drowning in it,” he growls, lips on her neck. Buffy rocked sharply into her hand, feeling the shockwave roll over her body. ”Drowning in you…
“Buffy? Are you cleaning?”
“Yeah, Mom!” she called, watching her cheeks flood with pink. She crossed her room, walking slinkily and sexily and putting on a show for Spike, and closed the door. She feverishly drew a hand up between her legs and onto her stomach, rolling her hips around in a wide and tempting circle. She looked across the room into the mirror, and watched herself through Spike’s eyes as she snaked her hands up her body and yanked her bra over her head without unclasping it, causing her breasts to fall free and exposed to the entire room. “Come and get me,” challenged, and pounced onto the bed. The springs squeak and bounce as he lands beside her and rolls to stand over her on all fours. He has stopped breathing, and he crouches in predatory silence.
Buffy wriggled out of her panties and felt the cold air of the room rush in on her damp skin, reminding her of how out in the open she is. It felt dirty and dangerous and liberating and essential. “Spike!” she gasped, as fingers grated over her clit. Broad fingers ghost up and down her inner thighs and flick her clit in brief fiery bursts, teasing her, baiting her… “God…”
”He’s got nothing to do with this…” he purrs, drowning out the rest of the world…
“Spike…Please…”
”Please what?” he mimics, whining. Buffy whimpered. His large, stiff shaft hovers close, teasing her, baiting her… She wriggled fiercely under the sudden, painful pressure she put on her nub, ”Miss me yet, pet?”
“Spike…I need…I…want…” she choked. Suddenly he grins and slams into her, pumping fiercely – fingers slipping into her slick pussy - pounding her back into the bed. He is no longer teasing; the two struggle to give and get what they violently yearn for, and he rubs against her clit with every stroke…
Buffy’s sweaty back stuck to the sheets as she lifted her hips up from the bed, digging her fingers deep inside her moist core. Her hair stuck to her forehead and to the drips on her neck. Spike hovers above her, grinning ferally, challenging her to admit it… She held her breath as intense pleasure rocked her body, and then collapsed on top of her sheets in the sticky heat of her summer room, breathing heavily.
“Yes.”
“Buffy!” she heard from downstairs, “Don’t forget to clean up your room! I thought you were more organized than that!” Buffy flipped on the switch and saw a pair of dirty jeans crumpled by the foot of her bed. On her dresser were toppled stacks of clean laundry, and hairbrushes, and makeup bags. Everything belonged somewhere that had been too out of the way for Buffy to bother putting it. She wasn’t disorganized, she was lazy. A small sigh escaped her lips.
The light bothered her. Not like a headache, but like it drained her and made everything dull and not worth doing. She flipped the switch again and watched the shapes and shadows of her room leap out, defined by the sunlit outlines amidst the dark. Buffy padded over to her dresser and stood in front of the mirror. Methodically she re-folded some clothing and put it back in its piles.
Her fingers brushed the satin of a bra. She extracted it from the pile and considered it. Then glancing back at the empty hallway, she reached up inside her silk camisole and unhooked the bra she was currently wearing. As she slid it off she felt the feather-light touch of the silk fabric graze her nipples and glide over the smooth skin of her breasts and stomach. She looked into the mirror and noticed how her hair fell about her shoulders, how the camisole hugged a body that was clearly bare beneath its supple fabric, how her eyes appeared full of something yearning and ancient.
Slowly, seductively, Buffy dragged the camisole up over her head and watched her breasts rise and fall as she moved her arms. She brought her hands to cup underneath them, bouncing them lightly. She wondered why she had been attracted to her own body, back in LA. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe she looked attractive, standing in bare skin with the sideways light of the setting sun defining her curves, but…somehow it was different.
On a whim, she grabbed the other bra and pulled it up over her breasts, adjusting it and letting the white cups draw her breasts together in a luscious display of volume and cleavage. The white satin stood out against her summer tan, golden-brown against white and orange light against shadows.
She wondered what Spike would say. She imagined him, standing up close behind her, breathing. Stupidly, unnecessarily, breathing on her neck.
She drew her hands up the soft, tanned skin of her stomach. His fingers dance upwards, a whisper of a touch. Her skin tingles as she feels each digit move up over her ribs. Her own hands felt the ridges of her ribcage as it expands upward, taking a sudden, unstable breath.
She slid her fingers over the satin cups until they come into shocking contact with skin. He graces the gentle swell of her breast with his cool touch… “Miss me, pet?”
“Hardly,” she whispered, dipping her fingers down inside her bra and causing her breasts to rise up even more. His callused, male thumbs rasp across her nipples as he chuckles like a purr deep inside his throat.
She gasped, and pulling her hands out of her bra, she found the button on her jeans, and watching her furtive face in the mirror, tugged them open. Her lips twitched into a smile when she heard the quiet “pop” of the fabric sliding past the button. “Like what you see?” she murmured.
He exhales in the way that means he’s grinning. In the mirror she watches as invisible hands slip just beneath her jeans, sliding burning trails of touch down her bare thighs as they push the jeans to her knees. Buffy scraped her nails lightly up her thighs and over her panties back to the gentle curve of her stomach, smiling coyly. He finds her intoxicating. Then gracefully, dramatically, she bent down and pushed her jeans past her knees into a pool at her feet and steps out of them. She peered back into the mirror. She saw her white satin push-up bra and her black cotton panties and thought it wasn’t perfect, it was mismatched and awkward, but then she imagined herself on the cover of a magazine, in the front of a room with Spike watching her, his eyes roaming up and down her barely covered body in hunger.
She stepped her legs wider apart like she was straddling a large piece of furniture and then cocked her hips at a ridiculous, ostentatiously provocative angle, firmly tugging the pads of her fingers up the front of her thighs and whimpering at the friction. He presses his pelvis into her ass, his entire front spooning up to her back. His hands slip around her thighs, gripping them and going almost halfway around, and slip up to press firmly at the apex. “Drowning in it,” he growls, lips on her neck. Buffy rocked sharply into her hand, feeling the shockwave roll over her body. ”Drowning in you…
“Buffy? Are you cleaning?”
“Yeah, Mom!” she called, watching her cheeks flood with pink. She crossed her room, walking slinkily and sexily and putting on a show for Spike, and closed the door. She feverishly drew a hand up between her legs and onto her stomach, rolling her hips around in a wide and tempting circle. She looked across the room into the mirror, and watched herself through Spike’s eyes as she snaked her hands up her body and yanked her bra over her head without unclasping it, causing her breasts to fall free and exposed to the entire room. “Come and get me,” challenged, and pounced onto the bed. The springs squeak and bounce as he lands beside her and rolls to stand over her on all fours. He has stopped breathing, and he crouches in predatory silence.
Buffy wriggled out of her panties and felt the cold air of the room rush in on her damp skin, reminding her of how out in the open she is. It felt dirty and dangerous and liberating and essential. “Spike!” she gasped, as fingers grated over her clit. Broad fingers ghost up and down her inner thighs and flick her clit in brief fiery bursts, teasing her, baiting her… “God…”
”He’s got nothing to do with this…” he purrs, drowning out the rest of the world…
“Spike…Please…”
”Please what?” he mimics, whining. Buffy whimpered. His large, stiff shaft hovers close, teasing her, baiting her… She wriggled fiercely under the sudden, painful pressure she put on her nub, ”Miss me yet, pet?”
“Spike…I need…I…want…” she choked. Suddenly he grins and slams into her, pumping fiercely – fingers slipping into her slick pussy - pounding her back into the bed. He is no longer teasing; the two struggle to give and get what they violently yearn for, and he rubs against her clit with every stroke…
Buffy’s sweaty back stuck to the sheets as she lifted her hips up from the bed, digging her fingers deep inside her moist core. Her hair stuck to her forehead and to the drips on her neck. Spike hovers above her, grinning ferally, challenging her to admit it… She held her breath as intense pleasure rocked her body, and then collapsed on top of her sheets in the sticky heat of her summer room, breathing heavily.
“Yes.”