Five Servings A Day
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
4,251
Reviews:
43
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
4,251
Reviews:
43
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.
Chapter 4: All Tied Up and Nowhere to Go
* * * * *
Chapter 4: All Tied Up and Nowhere to Go
* * * * *
“She could have at least left me the remote for the telly.” Spike scowls at his tied hands and then the dark television across the room. He then yells, “You could have at least left me the remote for the telly!”
Buffy stomps to the opening into the living room and folds her arms over her chest. “If you yell one more time, I’m gonna…”
“What? Bore me more to death with your empty threats? Too damn late, Slayer.” Spike frowns at the extremely tense Slayer. He doesn’t understand why she has returned to her extra harsh treatment, but it’s a real drag. Poking fun at her is no fun if she doesn’t poke back. And he is really bored.
Buffy sighs and starts to turn away. Spike’s voice stops her. “Could I have the remote?” His voice is neutral. Not nasty, not pleading. She turns back, expecting him to be tricking her and following up with a snarky comment. Instead, she finds he is just sitting there, looking at her, waiting patiently.
Completely flustered, she grabs the remote from the coffee table and slaps it in his hands. Before anything else weird can happen, she escapes back to the kitchen.
Spike smiles, happy to both have the remote and to completely put the Slayer off kilter. It’s a right bit more fun to confuse her than be mean to her, he’s come to realize. She blurts out and does the most interesting things when thrown off-guard.
He flips on the TV, looking for something interesting. After checking over his shoulder to make sure Buffy is nowhere to be seen, he settles on a documentary on the life and works of Shakespeare.
Half an hour later, Buffy realizes it is much too quiet in the living room. No complaining, no yelling, no furniture tipping over as he tries to escape his ropes. She tiptoes out of the kitchen and towards the hallway, desperate for Spike not to notice her approach. She hears voices as she approaches and realizes the TV is on, very quietly. Murmurs of clipped, English voices reach her and she furrows her brow. What is he watching?
Her curiosity gets the best of her and she reaches the edge of the entrance to the living room. Her eyes go to the TV and she sees several people in unfamiliar costume, performing a play, speaking in a very formal English. Before she can suss out exactly what he has on, she turns to Spike. And freezes in place.
He’s sound asleep. Tied upright in the chair and hand still holding the TV remote, Spike’s head is back against the chair, lolled to the side slightly. The only light in the room aside from the faint glow of afternoon light through the closed blinds is the TV, which casts a bluish glow across his features. Cheekbones carved from shadow, lips full and just slightly open. Buffy is unprepared for how this scene makes her feel. She feels guilty, which is really uncomfortable. She knew full well that the daytime is his time for rest, but she tied him upright to a chair. She feels confused, as he appears to have been watching something on PBS. Something educational and cultural, two words she would have never associated with Spike. But the third feeling is the most unsettling by far.
She is completely turned on.
The telltale increase in her heart rate, the creeping of blood into her cheeks, Buffy knows these signs all too well. Not to mention the sudden wetness between her legs. He looks so vulnerable and yes, completely fucking gorgeous, in the dim light. Buffy’s inner dominatrix can’t help but drool at the hot vampire all tied up and helpless and so very unaware of her inspection.
Spike feels himself stir slightly in his sleep. Pushing aside his dreams of a naked Slayer riding him like a prized stallion, he rouses to a scent in the air. A heady scent, musky and tantalizing. Enough to make his cock twitch in his jeans. Without moving, Spike inhales, trying to locate and identify the scent. Like a ton of bricks, it hits him. It’s the Slayer. It’s Buffy. And she is highly aroused…and not far away. He keeps his eyes closed as he figures out how to handle this situation. If he wakes up suddenly, she will just dart away, probably make some lame excuse about hearing the TV on or something. Despite the high level of aggravation she gives him on a daily basis, she also makes his hands itch with the effort of not grabbing her tight little body and screwing her into the nearest flat surface. He does not want to make her run away. What he really wants to know is how far she will go. How tempted is she? He never gets to spend one-on-one time with the Slayer, so this weekend could get to be a lot more fun.
Spike makes a show of waking up slowly, and trying to stretch. He winces as his arms don’t move, firmly secured to his sides with the ropes. He cracks his neck back and forth, eyes on the TV, anywhere but the Slayer, who is still just behind him. By the scent and sound of her breathing, Spike realizes she must be just outside the room. He wants her to think she got away with the peepshow, see if it makes her bolder. With a loud clatter, Spike ‘accidentally’ drops the remote control to the floor. He mutters to himself, “Oh, bollocks,” before pushing at it with his foot. Pretending to realize it is futile, he slumps into the chair, as much as he can, with a dramatic and defeated sigh.
He hears her hesitate, probably wondering what his reaction will be if she appears so suddenly. Moments later, decision made, she backs up a few steps and then enters the room, making as much noise as possible.
“Spike! Can you – oh, what happened?” Buffy’s eyes go from the TV to the remote on the floor and back to Spike’s face. He puts on a look somewhere between pissed off and pained.
“Dropped the remote, if you must know, Slayer.”
“Oh, is that why you are watching…this?” Buffy gestures at the TV with a grin as a young man makes an impassioned speech to a girl on a balcony.
“It’s bloody Shakespeare, Slayer. If you stopped watching soddin’ reality shows for five minutes, you might know that.”
Buffy is surprised. She knew he was watching the show on purpose, but didn’t expect him to defend it to her. Without another word, Buffy moves forward into the room and towards Spike. She tries not to maintain eye contact with him, but finds herself unable to look away as he observes her approach. Finally, she is next to his chair and starts to bend down, hand reaching for the remote. In the process, her face moves down his body, dangerously close to his crotch. Buffy realizes this right as Spike does and grabs the remote quickly, standing back up, cheeks pink. She holds it out to Spike without really looking at him, but he doesn’t take it. She looks down to realize she is holding it just out of his reach. “Oh, sorry.” Buffy puts it into his hand, fingers just grazing his cool skin. She shivers, the sensation taking off down her spine at lightning speed.
Just then, as she tries to remain calm and show none of this on her face, she notices something. In the half-light of the TV, it’s hard to be certain, so she turns on a lamp near the chair. In the brighter light, Buffy frowns and leans down to look more closely at Spike’s hands. Which just so happen to by laying near his crotch.
“See something you like, luv?” Spike’s voice is so low, Buffy jumps.
“What? No! Not looking at – No!” Buffy’s face flames red and Spike grins at her, tongue caught between his teeth. “I was looking at your hands, you perv!”
“Hey, I never mentioned anything else, luv. Seems you had it on your mind, though, eh?”
Buffy shakes her hands, trying to get Spike to stop talking. She frowns again, reaching for his hands, lifting them from his lap more gently than he would have expected. Ever.
“This is awful. Oh god, Spike. I’m really sorry.” Buffy’s voice is strained.
Spike winces as her fingers lightly touch his wrists. She jerks back at his indication of pain. The ropes at his wrists have cut into his skin, leaving welts and raw skin. Spike had ignored the discomfort. She was so mad when she tied them, he didn’t think she would come back and loosen them. It’s not like it was the first time he had ever been tied up a bit too tight – Dru didn’t always know her own strength. He looks up at the Slayer and her expression is so distraught, he feels a strange compulsion to soothe her.
“’S alright, Slayer. I’ve had worse done to me.”
“Yeah, but I did that. It was careless. I wasn’t paying attention. Let me…” Buffy tries to undo the knots without hurting him more, but every tug bites into his skin further. “I’ll get a knife…”
“There’s a knife in my pocket. Front left.” Spike looks at the Slayer when she hears his words, and the reaction is priceless.
Her face goes completely blank and there is a definite hitch in her movements. Buffy chants to herself. I can do that. I can reach into his pocket. It’s not all dirty. Just getting the knife. That’s all. Not copping a feel. Nope. No feeling.
“Oh, good.” Buffy’s voice has all the practiced nonchalance she can muster on such short notice. Facing him, she reaches into the pocket on her left. It’s not easy with his tight jeans, so she has to force her fingers further in. Screwing up her face, she looks at Spike. “I don’t feel a knife. Are you sure?”
Spike smirks. “I’m sure, pet. Also sure it’s the other pocket. On my left?” Buffy jerks her hand back out of the wrong pocket like she’s been burned.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Buffy is panting, realizing she now has to reach into his other pocket. If she runs off now, he’ll know she has a hard time touching him like this.
“Felt pretty good, luv. Didn’t want you to stop.”
“OH! Oh, you are so - ! I can’t – You!”
“Guess eloquence is not one of the Slayer’s powers, huh?” Spike’s blue eyes dance in amusement as he looks up at the sputtering Slayer. She jabs her hand into his other pocket, yanking the knife free. “Whoa! Watch the delicates there, Slayer.”
“I did not touch your – delicates, Spike.” Buffy pops the pocketknife and Spike decides to not say what he was going to concerning his ‘delicates’ and her touching of them.
“Now, now. Watch the knife, Slayer. Don’t do anything rash.”
“You mean, something near your delicates?” Buffy lowers the knife towards his lap, turning it into the ropes and yanking upwards, cutting through one strand. “Now, hold still.”
“Still as the dead, luv. Well, you know…”
Buffy rolls her eyes as she saws through the rest of the ropes. She tries desperately to ignore the tinglies touching him gives her and also avoids eye contact while she is so close to him. Buffy remembers why she was removing the ropes when they are finally all severed. With slightly trembling fingers, she brushes across the harsh pink welts on his wrists, flinching when he does. Under her breath, she whispers, “Sorry, Spike. That wasn’t right.”
Spike fights his tendency to give her a hard time for this one. “No worries, luv. I’m alright. Looks bad, but it will be all gone in no time. Fast healer. Some fresh blood and I’ll be right as rain.”
Buffy realizes she has taken Spike’s hands into hers to get a good look at his raw wrists. The tinglies are getting more and more prolific. Time to stop with the touching. “Good. I’ll - that’s good. I’ll get you some blood.” Back to business, Buffy puts his hands down, looking away from Spike’s questioning eyes. “Okay, well, if you stay in here and don’t break anything, I’ll untie you. For now. Got it?” She puts her hands on her hips, trying to look firm and unbending.
e loe look into soft, dark eyes and she is undone once again. “Thanks, Slayer.” God, it pisses her off when he is nice to her. What the hell is he thinking? Going around behind him, she slashes through the ropes with one vicious upswing of the knife. Spike is suitably impressed as he takes the now folded knife from her hand.
“Uh yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Buffy, flustered as ever, turns to leave the room. On her way to the hallway, she asks, “Sure you’re okay?” She kicks herself for it, but also holds her breath, waiting for the answer. Why does it matter? He’s evil and a pain in the butt and –
“I’m fine, Buffy.” - and he called her Buffy. He never does that. Argh.
***********
Author's Note: Thanks very much for the lovely feedback so far. The next chapter could be longer coming as I've got three fics in the works. I have to rotate through them with updates and the others are due! Reviews make me work faster, tho' *wink* -Ti
Chapter 4: All Tied Up and Nowhere to Go
* * * * *
“She could have at least left me the remote for the telly.” Spike scowls at his tied hands and then the dark television across the room. He then yells, “You could have at least left me the remote for the telly!”
Buffy stomps to the opening into the living room and folds her arms over her chest. “If you yell one more time, I’m gonna…”
“What? Bore me more to death with your empty threats? Too damn late, Slayer.” Spike frowns at the extremely tense Slayer. He doesn’t understand why she has returned to her extra harsh treatment, but it’s a real drag. Poking fun at her is no fun if she doesn’t poke back. And he is really bored.
Buffy sighs and starts to turn away. Spike’s voice stops her. “Could I have the remote?” His voice is neutral. Not nasty, not pleading. She turns back, expecting him to be tricking her and following up with a snarky comment. Instead, she finds he is just sitting there, looking at her, waiting patiently.
Completely flustered, she grabs the remote from the coffee table and slaps it in his hands. Before anything else weird can happen, she escapes back to the kitchen.
Spike smiles, happy to both have the remote and to completely put the Slayer off kilter. It’s a right bit more fun to confuse her than be mean to her, he’s come to realize. She blurts out and does the most interesting things when thrown off-guard.
He flips on the TV, looking for something interesting. After checking over his shoulder to make sure Buffy is nowhere to be seen, he settles on a documentary on the life and works of Shakespeare.
Half an hour later, Buffy realizes it is much too quiet in the living room. No complaining, no yelling, no furniture tipping over as he tries to escape his ropes. She tiptoes out of the kitchen and towards the hallway, desperate for Spike not to notice her approach. She hears voices as she approaches and realizes the TV is on, very quietly. Murmurs of clipped, English voices reach her and she furrows her brow. What is he watching?
Her curiosity gets the best of her and she reaches the edge of the entrance to the living room. Her eyes go to the TV and she sees several people in unfamiliar costume, performing a play, speaking in a very formal English. Before she can suss out exactly what he has on, she turns to Spike. And freezes in place.
He’s sound asleep. Tied upright in the chair and hand still holding the TV remote, Spike’s head is back against the chair, lolled to the side slightly. The only light in the room aside from the faint glow of afternoon light through the closed blinds is the TV, which casts a bluish glow across his features. Cheekbones carved from shadow, lips full and just slightly open. Buffy is unprepared for how this scene makes her feel. She feels guilty, which is really uncomfortable. She knew full well that the daytime is his time for rest, but she tied him upright to a chair. She feels confused, as he appears to have been watching something on PBS. Something educational and cultural, two words she would have never associated with Spike. But the third feeling is the most unsettling by far.
She is completely turned on.
The telltale increase in her heart rate, the creeping of blood into her cheeks, Buffy knows these signs all too well. Not to mention the sudden wetness between her legs. He looks so vulnerable and yes, completely fucking gorgeous, in the dim light. Buffy’s inner dominatrix can’t help but drool at the hot vampire all tied up and helpless and so very unaware of her inspection.
Spike feels himself stir slightly in his sleep. Pushing aside his dreams of a naked Slayer riding him like a prized stallion, he rouses to a scent in the air. A heady scent, musky and tantalizing. Enough to make his cock twitch in his jeans. Without moving, Spike inhales, trying to locate and identify the scent. Like a ton of bricks, it hits him. It’s the Slayer. It’s Buffy. And she is highly aroused…and not far away. He keeps his eyes closed as he figures out how to handle this situation. If he wakes up suddenly, she will just dart away, probably make some lame excuse about hearing the TV on or something. Despite the high level of aggravation she gives him on a daily basis, she also makes his hands itch with the effort of not grabbing her tight little body and screwing her into the nearest flat surface. He does not want to make her run away. What he really wants to know is how far she will go. How tempted is she? He never gets to spend one-on-one time with the Slayer, so this weekend could get to be a lot more fun.
Spike makes a show of waking up slowly, and trying to stretch. He winces as his arms don’t move, firmly secured to his sides with the ropes. He cracks his neck back and forth, eyes on the TV, anywhere but the Slayer, who is still just behind him. By the scent and sound of her breathing, Spike realizes she must be just outside the room. He wants her to think she got away with the peepshow, see if it makes her bolder. With a loud clatter, Spike ‘accidentally’ drops the remote control to the floor. He mutters to himself, “Oh, bollocks,” before pushing at it with his foot. Pretending to realize it is futile, he slumps into the chair, as much as he can, with a dramatic and defeated sigh.
He hears her hesitate, probably wondering what his reaction will be if she appears so suddenly. Moments later, decision made, she backs up a few steps and then enters the room, making as much noise as possible.
“Spike! Can you – oh, what happened?” Buffy’s eyes go from the TV to the remote on the floor and back to Spike’s face. He puts on a look somewhere between pissed off and pained.
“Dropped the remote, if you must know, Slayer.”
“Oh, is that why you are watching…this?” Buffy gestures at the TV with a grin as a young man makes an impassioned speech to a girl on a balcony.
“It’s bloody Shakespeare, Slayer. If you stopped watching soddin’ reality shows for five minutes, you might know that.”
Buffy is surprised. She knew he was watching the show on purpose, but didn’t expect him to defend it to her. Without another word, Buffy moves forward into the room and towards Spike. She tries not to maintain eye contact with him, but finds herself unable to look away as he observes her approach. Finally, she is next to his chair and starts to bend down, hand reaching for the remote. In the process, her face moves down his body, dangerously close to his crotch. Buffy realizes this right as Spike does and grabs the remote quickly, standing back up, cheeks pink. She holds it out to Spike without really looking at him, but he doesn’t take it. She looks down to realize she is holding it just out of his reach. “Oh, sorry.” Buffy puts it into his hand, fingers just grazing his cool skin. She shivers, the sensation taking off down her spine at lightning speed.
Just then, as she tries to remain calm and show none of this on her face, she notices something. In the half-light of the TV, it’s hard to be certain, so she turns on a lamp near the chair. In the brighter light, Buffy frowns and leans down to look more closely at Spike’s hands. Which just so happen to by laying near his crotch.
“See something you like, luv?” Spike’s voice is so low, Buffy jumps.
“What? No! Not looking at – No!” Buffy’s face flames red and Spike grins at her, tongue caught between his teeth. “I was looking at your hands, you perv!”
“Hey, I never mentioned anything else, luv. Seems you had it on your mind, though, eh?”
Buffy shakes her hands, trying to get Spike to stop talking. She frowns again, reaching for his hands, lifting them from his lap more gently than he would have expected. Ever.
“This is awful. Oh god, Spike. I’m really sorry.” Buffy’s voice is strained.
Spike winces as her fingers lightly touch his wrists. She jerks back at his indication of pain. The ropes at his wrists have cut into his skin, leaving welts and raw skin. Spike had ignored the discomfort. She was so mad when she tied them, he didn’t think she would come back and loosen them. It’s not like it was the first time he had ever been tied up a bit too tight – Dru didn’t always know her own strength. He looks up at the Slayer and her expression is so distraught, he feels a strange compulsion to soothe her.
“’S alright, Slayer. I’ve had worse done to me.”
“Yeah, but I did that. It was careless. I wasn’t paying attention. Let me…” Buffy tries to undo the knots without hurting him more, but every tug bites into his skin further. “I’ll get a knife…”
“There’s a knife in my pocket. Front left.” Spike looks at the Slayer when she hears his words, and the reaction is priceless.
Her face goes completely blank and there is a definite hitch in her movements. Buffy chants to herself. I can do that. I can reach into his pocket. It’s not all dirty. Just getting the knife. That’s all. Not copping a feel. Nope. No feeling.
“Oh, good.” Buffy’s voice has all the practiced nonchalance she can muster on such short notice. Facing him, she reaches into the pocket on her left. It’s not easy with his tight jeans, so she has to force her fingers further in. Screwing up her face, she looks at Spike. “I don’t feel a knife. Are you sure?”
Spike smirks. “I’m sure, pet. Also sure it’s the other pocket. On my left?” Buffy jerks her hand back out of the wrong pocket like she’s been burned.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Buffy is panting, realizing she now has to reach into his other pocket. If she runs off now, he’ll know she has a hard time touching him like this.
“Felt pretty good, luv. Didn’t want you to stop.”
“OH! Oh, you are so - ! I can’t – You!”
“Guess eloquence is not one of the Slayer’s powers, huh?” Spike’s blue eyes dance in amusement as he looks up at the sputtering Slayer. She jabs her hand into his other pocket, yanking the knife free. “Whoa! Watch the delicates there, Slayer.”
“I did not touch your – delicates, Spike.” Buffy pops the pocketknife and Spike decides to not say what he was going to concerning his ‘delicates’ and her touching of them.
“Now, now. Watch the knife, Slayer. Don’t do anything rash.”
“You mean, something near your delicates?” Buffy lowers the knife towards his lap, turning it into the ropes and yanking upwards, cutting through one strand. “Now, hold still.”
“Still as the dead, luv. Well, you know…”
Buffy rolls her eyes as she saws through the rest of the ropes. She tries desperately to ignore the tinglies touching him gives her and also avoids eye contact while she is so close to him. Buffy remembers why she was removing the ropes when they are finally all severed. With slightly trembling fingers, she brushes across the harsh pink welts on his wrists, flinching when he does. Under her breath, she whispers, “Sorry, Spike. That wasn’t right.”
Spike fights his tendency to give her a hard time for this one. “No worries, luv. I’m alright. Looks bad, but it will be all gone in no time. Fast healer. Some fresh blood and I’ll be right as rain.”
Buffy realizes she has taken Spike’s hands into hers to get a good look at his raw wrists. The tinglies are getting more and more prolific. Time to stop with the touching. “Good. I’ll - that’s good. I’ll get you some blood.” Back to business, Buffy puts his hands down, looking away from Spike’s questioning eyes. “Okay, well, if you stay in here and don’t break anything, I’ll untie you. For now. Got it?” She puts her hands on her hips, trying to look firm and unbending.
e loe look into soft, dark eyes and she is undone once again. “Thanks, Slayer.” God, it pisses her off when he is nice to her. What the hell is he thinking? Going around behind him, she slashes through the ropes with one vicious upswing of the knife. Spike is suitably impressed as he takes the now folded knife from her hand.
“Uh yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Buffy, flustered as ever, turns to leave the room. On her way to the hallway, she asks, “Sure you’re okay?” She kicks herself for it, but also holds her breath, waiting for the answer. Why does it matter? He’s evil and a pain in the butt and –
“I’m fine, Buffy.” - and he called her Buffy. He never does that. Argh.
***********
Author's Note: Thanks very much for the lovely feedback so far. The next chapter could be longer coming as I've got three fics in the works. I have to rotate through them with updates and the others are due! Reviews make me work faster, tho' *wink* -Ti