An Englishman in New York

A/N: Some of you (like you, Mimi) will recognize the title of this chapter as the title of yet another Doors song. This is my first attempt at writing smut, be gentle with me!
Susan, I included your little twist, thanks for the idea. (You'll know it when you see it, trust me.)

Touch Me


Spike had a very serious problem, and if Buffy woke, she was certain to discover said problem pressed against her stomach. Why he had allowed her to fall (and stay) asleep on top of him was beyond his comprehension, and now he regretted it. Yet if he woke her, it would only alert her to the prominent bulge straining against the confines of his jeans. As he silently thanked God that he wore tight jeans rather than something less constricting like sweatpants, the blonde stirred.

“Oh, fuck,” he murmured.

“Mm?” Buffy replied sleepily.

“Nothin’. Should get back to your room, y’know, in case your mum wakes up and sees the bed empty.” Yes, good thinking. Surely the idea of being caught out of bed by her mother would persuade her to leave – hopefully before she noticed his erection.

“Don’t care,” she muttered, shifting in an attempt to get more comfortable. Her eyes flew open when she realized what was pressed against her stomach.

“I-I’m sorry, pet,” he stammered, catching her by the waist to ease her off of him and spare the both of them further awkwardness. To his surprise, she shook her head and stilled the movements of his hands with her own. “Buffy?”

“I can’t leave you in this condition, can I?” she asked lightly, finally consenting to move. Stretching out between his side and the wall, she stroked his cheek lightly. She felt a sudden urge to make him forget his pain, even if it was only for a few brief moments.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” he asked incredulously, capturing her wrist in his hand when her fingers began tracing lazy circles on his throat.

“Have you slept at all?”

“No, and what the fuck’s that got to do with any of this?” He tightened his grip on her wrist somewhat in demonstration.

“I think I know why,” she said, her voice suddenly husky as she wrenched her hand free of his hold.

“Buffy, pet, you don’t know what you’re doing,” he protested almost pleadingly.

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Best friends, an-and best friends help each other when they’re in need and –”

“Bleeding, fucking Hell, is that what this is?” he snapped, turning his face to the side to avoid looking at her.

“N-no, of course not,” she insisted.

“Then what, hmm? A pity fuck?”

“God no!” She looked appalled by his suggestion.

“Then what?!” he hissed, still refusing to meet her gaze.

“I want you.”

Three simple words; that was all it took to break the ill-constructed walls surrounding his self-control. Wordlessly, he caught her by the arms and drew her firmly against his chest for a heated kiss. When she responded by parting her lips in invitation, he plundered her mouth furiously, his fingers curling in her honeyed locks.

Buffy knew that she should stop this; Hell, she knew that she never should have started it – but she was too floored by the passion in his kiss. It was the exact opposite of the way Angel and Riley kissed, possessive and fiery rather than gentle and tentative. It was precisely what she needed, and White Bread – bad Buffy! – Riley was quickly forgotten.

They kissed for what seemed like an eternity, hands roaming freely. As Spike slipped his hands under Buffy’s shirt to splay over the creamy expanse of her back, her nimble fingers slid beneath the fabric of his t-shirt and kneaded his chest. When her nails gently raked across one of his nipples, he remembered what he needed to tell her and reluctantly broke the kiss, taking a moment to breathe.

“What?” she panted. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that… Bloody Hell, this is humiliating… I told about Dru, that she was my only girlfriend and she sick all the time, and –”

Buffy cut his rambling short by pressing a finger against his lips. It was unbelievable, yet somehow she knew exactly what he was going to say. “You’ve never done this before?”

He shook his head and found a fascinating spot on the blanket to stare at. He was more than a little surprised that she believed him. With his calculated swagger and knowing glances, everyone assumed that he was, well, a man-whore. He perpetuated the myth rather than dispelling it, which would have ruined his bad-boy image entirely.

“You’re absolutely wonderful,” Buffy praised, finding his sudden revelation endearing. Rather than betraying Drusilla and slaking his lust, he had remained faithful, even after all this time. The remaining question was, “Do you want this?”

Spike was stunned; after he’d confessed the truth, that he’d never been with anyone, she still wanted him, but, “What about Riley?”

“This isn’t about Riley,” she said firmly. “Riley isn’t here. I could have gone with him, remember? I’m here with you. I’m here, Spike, so I’ll ask again: Do you want this?”

“More than anything,” he said quietly, and he knew that this was no betrayal of Drusilla – she had given him permission and encouragement with her dying breath. Buffy was the sunshine his dark goddess had spoken of.

“Then no more thinking; just lay back and feel.” With that, she grasped the hem of his shirt and urged him to lift his arms, pleased when he immediately complied with her silent request. She took a moment to peruse his form, and then she lowered her hands to his jeans, unbuckling his belt and unfastening the denim.

“You don’t have to –”

“William. Shut. Up.” She tugged his jeans down his hips in a fluid movement, quirking a golden brow when he opened his mouth again, presumably to object again.

The rare use of his first name silenced his dissent, and he nodded his permission, watching her as she studied his body as though it were the most fascinating thing in God’s creation. He knew he was in good shape, but the way she was looking at him made him feel like a god.

“I’ve never said it, but… you’re beautiful,” she murmured as her lips found the hollow of his throat while her hands explored the breadth of his chest. She smiled when her efforts were rewarded with a throaty growl and his fingers curling in her hair. She twisted one of his nipples lightly, smiling against his collarbone when he hissed. Moving lower, she soothed her rough treatment of her fingers with a flick of her tongue, feeling very pleased with herself.

He was going to die; he was going to melt into a puddle, and then he was going to die… and she had only begun touching him. He gasped as the tips of her fingers brushed along the jut of his hipbone before moving lower, and a strangled moan escaped him when her hand closed around his shaft.

As her tongue laved his nipple in a teasing manner, her fingers traced the underside of his erection, following the veins until she reached the sensitive area beneath the head. His eager moans gave her all the encouragement to continue, and she slid lower to gently rake her teeth over the inside of his thigh. Without warning, she ceased all movement.

“Buffy?”

“Hmm?” When her eyes locked with his, they were a brilliant shade of emerald.

“Pet… please,” he begged shamelessly. The irony that he had been trying to stop her only moments before and was now beseeching her wasn’t lost on him.

A delighted sound that was almost a purr escaped her when she got him to beg, and she flicked the tip of her tongue over the head of his cock for the barest of seconds before taking him into her mouth.

This was something she had never done before, and she felt more than a little nervous. Though theirs had been a hurried and desperate union, Angel had been a wholly selfless lover, and Parker, while experienced, had all but skipped foreplay entirely and gone straight to the intercourse; then there was Riley, shy, corn-fed Riley, who had turned a rather nasty shade of red and halted her at the first kiss to his stomach.

Now, she had free reign, and she was going to enjoy it. Her tongue swirled around the head several times, and he moaned with increasing volume at each riot of sensation that passed through him. She caressed his hipbone reassuringly while carefully nibbling his sensitive flesh.

“Fuck… Oh, God, yes…” he moaned, his fingers tightening in her hair of their own accord. He vaguely wondered how it was humanly possible to survive such pleasure, and if it were fatal, he knew that he would have died willingly and with no regrets; anything, so long as she didn’t stop.

Continuing her earnest ministrations, she cupped his balls and fondled them gently, fascinated by the softness of the skin there. When she located a small area between his balls and anus and caressed it lightly, she felt him tense and stiffen further in her mouth, and she squeezed his hand when he grabbed hold of hers.

“Love you…” he panted, so lost to that moment of ideal vulnerability that he was completely unaware of what, if anything, he had said. It was only once she clutched his hand in return that he came, arching and moaning helplessly. It was perfection; it was Heaven; it was… way too much for him to handle and remain conscious.

So surprised why she by his sudden declaration of love, she almost stopped her ministrations, but it was too late. Swallowing his seed, Buffy crawled up the length of his body and kissed his cheek. After a moment, she noticed that, in spite of his ragged breathing, he seemed to be asleep. It abruptly dawned on her that he had fainted, and a truly proud smile graced her lips.

Of course he said he loves you, stupid. A lot of men say that when they’re coming. It doesn’t man anything.

And yet it meant something to her. Secretly, she hoped that he had meant it, and as she watched his stir, she realized that she really cared for him – a lot more than she should.

“Bloody Hell.” Spike announced his return to the world of the wakeful with that trademark phrase.

“It lives!” Buffy teased, kissing him gently. “Think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

“What about you?”

“What about – oh! No, this was for you. Sleep,” she insisted.

“Stay.”

“Okay.” Settling down beside him, Buffy drew the blanket over them and draped one of her denim-clad thighs between his bare ones. She was asleep a few moments later.

“I love you,” he whispered to her sleeping form before joining her in slumber.