The Story of B

Part Four
Succubus

She'd cut her hair.

And she'd done a really bad job of it.

She put her head in her hands, staring at the thick hanks of hair.

All his fault, of course. As usual.

She'd had to be really careful not to laugh when he came barreling into her kitchen that morning. He'd looked so cute with the smoke rising off, stomping on the smoldering blanket with his big bad Docs. She'd deadpanned, just because - well, just because!

"Yeah, well, the fact is my lighter's gone missing. Thought it might have, uh, ded oed outta my pocket the last time I was here."

She'd loved his lame excuse, loved his rumpled shirt, the just up-and-out-of-bed look he had.

Of course, then she'd remembered that he shouldn't even be here. And that his excuse was *really* lame. And what could Willow be thinking at that moment, because he'd walked in like he lived there.

Or at least slept there sometimes. Which he most certainly *did* not! And wouldn't. Ever. Because she was *never* having sex with him again.

Once Willow had gone upstairs, leaving her alone with the evil undead thing with the gorgeous blue eyes, her resolve wavered between passive resistance and just plain passive. No, she had *tried* to shut him down. She really had. Tried her hardest.

That slow saunter as he approached had made her stomach drop.

And the thrills and chills went all through her when he came in for the kill, talking that sweet talk all low and soft, flirting with her just like a boyfriend, like someone she was sleeping with -

Hello? Not ever doing that again. Remember? Remember what? Bad Buffy. Very, very bad.

"My, uh ... little goldilocks? You know I love this hair. The way it bounces around when you-"

Then Xander had walked in and caught them.

*Caught* them? 'Caught' implied that someone noticed that *something* was going on. Buffy and the evil temptation called Spike been seen in a very compromising position (Spike's hand had actually been on her hip and was thinking about doing some traveling) and Xander was absolutely clueless.

What would it take to give Xander a clue?

Bad Buffy. Bad, bad.

Then, it had all fallen apart.

The evil vampire had not left when instructed to.

The evil woman from Social Services had arrived unannounced (Okay, so Buffy had forgotten she was coming - or she'd forgotten what day it was - or something) to meet about Dawn.

The evil vampire had taken up residence in the living room (Ready to 'chat it out').

The evil S.S. minion had looked at him with her nose in the air (And a stick up her ass).

And suddenly, the sexy vampire slouching in the chair became even more of an embarrassment than usual - and a real liability. Although to give the devil his due, he didn't have a lot of practice in social interaction with the living.

Obviously, Buffy didn't have much experience with it either. The minion shut Buffy down, in the midst of her bid for parental approval.

Everything that could go wrong did. When Social Services had finally left, pissed off, she'd had one chatty vampire in line to take her place. As if she hadn't already had the shock of her life: an authority figure (the type Buffy already had problems with anyway) telling her that she'd be keeping a close watch on Dawn.

Which meant a close watch on Buffy.

Which meant -

She'd been shaking by the time she - Doris, was her name, Doris? Doris had left.

And *he* was still there. The James Dean of Ready-to-Slay Vamps. All set to be her rock. Her anchor. Her port in the storm. Her guiding light.

And she wasn't having any of it! He'd just made it all worse. Gotten everything off on the wrong foot where it had stayed, limping along until the woman left.

So she'd pissed him off. Again. And he'd come flying across the room, hard fingers digging into her pocket.

His eyes bored into hers, white hot and hard. She closed her eyes as he very deliberately pushed his fingers into her front pocket.

Don't look. If you look at him, he'll know you're melting.

And she was - melting into a puddle of desire. She thought she might have gasped just a little.

"Just getting what I came for, luv."

He held the lighter up in front of her eyes.

Whoops!

"So long, Goldilocks."

How the hell could he make her so hot with that fire blazing out of his eyes like that? Screw Resolve and the horse she rode in on. She'd have gone down on her back right then and there.

Well, no chance of that. Or even a resounding slap to wipe that look off his face. He'd flounced out without another word.

Flounced.

Yes, flounced. He had definitely flounced.

Bastard. Not that she was ever sleeping with him again anyway She She'd run upstairs, shaking even more violently than she had been when social services had left.

And soon thereafter, she had been staring at a pound of hair that was no longer attached to her head. It went downhill from there.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

She was just stopping by to mess with him a little. Pay him back for the way he'd left her house that morning - or rather, wouldn't leave. That was all. Really.

And now she was watching (yes *watching*) him disappear, the whole length of him, inside her.

Literally.

Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips as her eyes followed the upward sweep of his body. Looked at his groin, his stomach, chest, then face. She felt distanced from him even as she felt herself clench around him. She was a peeping tom, a voyeur. She felt free, free from his searching eyes that asked questions and demanded answers. She didn't have any answers.

His eyes were closed in concentration. She wished he would open them, but it seemed to put him off his rhythm to feel her under him and not be able to see her. He'd taken control again, but that was how the dance was done. The inside of her legs were damp halfway to her knees and there was a wet slap whenever his cool, hard body slammed into hers. They were both slippery with her sweat. All of that was her sweat? They were swimming in it.

They were way past foreplay. They were way past anything but pounding penetration. The kind of hot, hard sex that drives sound from the gut and out swollen lips: whimpers, moans, sucking gasps for air, groans, screams.... She was hanging on to the headboard for dear life.

Having the luxury of watching his biceps flex as he lowered himself onto her and lifted himself off, his whole upper body weight resting on his arms, well, that was - erotic. His shoulders rippled with the effort. She wished she could see his back. She liked his back.

Oh, yes, he was definitely in control now. She was ready to scream, her climax building into something that would erase all thought. She liked that, too. She didn't want to think about what she was doing.

Of course he might be in control now, she thought, gloating for a moment, but it hadn't started out that way.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Oh, the look of him when she'd entered the crypt! The way his eyes narrowed, the Big Bad in tune with the forces of the supernatural. Not!

He'd immediately gone on alert. Wary, but not afraid. Not him. He sauntered toward the door, toward her, all balls and testosterone. Big Bad vampire.

But he couldn't see her now, could he, she remembered. She could see him though. He was all coiled up, ready to pounce. Oh, yes, he looked relaxed, but that was deceiving. *He* was deceiving. Even InvisiBuffy had to be careful. He could be on her before she could react. He was very dangerous when he felt threatened. She liked that.

Playing with him, she darted over and turned off the television with a flick. He gave a disgusted sigh.

She circled around him, taking her time, taking him *in*, watching him turn smoothly with her, a half-step behind in the dance.

'That's all we've ever done.'

She shook off her daze. What? He was talking and she'd missed most of it. Oh, well. All he did was talk anyway. Usually about things she didn't want to talk about. She was getting very good at tuning him out. It all sounded the same anyway.

"I hurt beasties -- "

She almost giggled. A beastie? Okay, she could be a beastie, if she could just take her eyes off of him long enough to do something - beastie-ish?

She wanted to throw him up against the wall and rip his clothes off. She felt her face get hot as she remembered that lightning move this morning in her living room. He'd pinned her to the door with the weight of the air alone as he'd charged toward her, slamming his hands on the wall on either side of her head, eyes burning with anger and disdain.

'You're one step away, missy!' The words bubbled up out of long ago memory.

And then there had been the sure thrust of his hand into her tight front jeans pocket as he let his fingers do the walking, looking for that damn lighter. And taking his sweet time about it! She remembered how she felt --

And flushed at the memory all over again. There was a clenching between her legs and her stomach dipped, as her breathing audibly rasped out.

Startling herself with the noise, she moved. And she chose to distort his earlier attempt at dominance this morning by slamming him up against the wall of the crypt. She drove his back into the hard unyielding surface.

Slam.

Oooh. Very satisfying. Savoring her control over him, she held him there with his arms outstretched like a parody of Jesus on the cross. Long suffering Spike who was going to help her pay for all her sinful, wicked thoughts. She ripped his shirt open and fastened her mouth on his exposed neck.

"Buffy -- ?"

Well, that took him long enough.

"I told you," she said sternly, "stop trying to see me."

And she couldn't get him to a horizontal surface fast enough. Or at all, as they knocked things across the crypt, into the floor. Where had all this stuff come from anyway? Her house had less in it than his place did!

Oops! Table. Ah, there's the floor.

She pinned his arms to the ground with her knees, straddling him. She was flushed with exertion and desire. She saw him looking searchingly at where his body told him she was. He tentatively reached up, accidentally brushing the hem of her shirt, and grasped it, then ripped at it, struggling to get it off of her.

She did it for him. He settled back, feeling the stirring of the air as she took off her clothes. He opened his mouth to speak and felt her fingers, like rough ghosts, on his mouth.

"Shh," she demanded sharply. He closed his eyes, wondering how the hell he had ended up in the floor of his crypt being molested by the very air. And why he was letting it happen.

"Look at me!" she growled.

His eyes flew open in confusion. He opened his mouth again to speak, but suddenly she was pulling off his shirt, grabbing at his belt with savage single-mindedness. Oh, yes, definitely Buffy. She'd almost ripped his clothes off his back to get her mouth on him. And she was sucking at his mouth, biting an ear here, a hard nip to his neck there, always away before he could grab onto her.

And finally, she got her small, strong hands on the 'root' of her problem. And God, it was pretty, all hard like that! For a moment, he was perfectly still, looking down, then looking up at nothing.

He groaned as the 'succubus' put him in her mouth, one hand traveling his stomach, the other wrapped tightly around the base of his shaft. She pulled him in deep and freed three of her fingers, cradling his balls with them. She eased back, using her tongue to flick the knob, and gazing at him from beneath her lashes. Looking at his face, tight with pleasure and a growing frustration at his circumstances, she almost laughed

Almost..

"Buffy, what -- "

"I'm not really here, you know," she whispered teasingly. And she took him back into her mouth.

She would have never done this, with the light of day filtering into the crypt, if he could actually *see* her doing this to him and enjoying it. But she was in control, total control. She liked that.

Her thoughts and tactile sensations catching up with her, she moaned in the back of her throat. His growl answered back.

Now he was watching too. With clouded heavy-lidded eyes, he was watching his dick disappear as she slowly drew it back in to her mouth, then reappear as she eased back and slid her lips to the tip. At first, he gulped with discomfort. Castrated much, she thought spitefully. But when he finally opened his eyes again, she saw him become mesmerized with the whole impossible visual sensation of it. She slid him in and out of her mouth, doing different things, but staying with the same rhythm. Her own wetness was running down her leg.

"Christ, Buffy -- " he whispered hoarsely.

Her fingers felt him tighten, beginning to spasm, as he bucked into her mouth violently. She felt herself dissolving into a quivering puddle and quickly impaled herself on him, her saliva lending an odd friction as she slammed herself down, riding the waves of something that was becoming more mind- and body-numbing by the second.

And suddenly, he was absolutely certain where to put his hands. One behind her pressing against the small of her back, the other splayed across her abdomen, pushing. She gasped at the pressure. Then his hips ground up against her, even deeper. He cried out as she screamed in pleasure, both surrendering to the final crest.

She collapsed on top of him, covering him, sweat rapidly cooling her against him, as he clutched at her as if he'd captured some will o' the wisp.

"What have you done?" he panted.

She gasped for breath, unable to speak. "I --" She couldn't catch her breath.

He recovered first, trapping her with one leg and rolling her over on her back. He wildly grabbed for where her face should be and finally caught her chin, eyes bright blue with the remnants of desire and a little fear.

"What.Have.You.Done." he said angrily.

"Nothing," she said between breaths. "In town. One minute -- walking. Next -- no Buffy."

He rolled over and got to his feet. God, he was gorgeous naked. All unmarked white skin and rippling muscles.

"Get up," he demanded. Then he grimaced, realizing his mistake in letting her go. He looked searchingly. "*Are* you up?" he asked uncertainly.

She giggled and hooked his ankle with one hand, bringing him back down to her level with a muffled thud.

"Ow. Buffy -- "

She crawled over him, covering as much territory as possible, watching his brow furrow as he tried to stay focused on coherent thought.

"Shut up, Spike," she said silkily. She brought her mouth down on his, glorying in the freedom of being there, but *not* being there. At least, not to the casual observer.

Spike desperately seized her head with his hands, desire warring with the exasperation he felt. He was trying to decide whether to kiss her or kill her. His tongue made the decision for him as her lips assaulted his. He pulled her even closer, shutting his eyes tightly.

She could feel him getting hard.

Burying her face in his neck, she bit him again. No 'love' bite either.

"God, Buffy..."

She broke away to look at him. His eyes snapped open, seeing nothing but the ceiling of the crypt. She reveled in it.

Yep. She was in control. She could look at him all she wanted, delve into his face, his eyes, but his prying eyes were blinded to her.

She liked that!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Okay, maybe the playing around while Xander had been there had been a mistake. After all, it had gotten her kicked out of the crypt.

And for Spike to kick *her* out? Well, that defied all logicky things.

Found one shoe and her shirt. Period. No jeans, no underwear. She hoped Spike would trip over them and stake himself. Or cut his own head off on some sharp ax he might have lying around.

She'd had to come home, go upstairs and get dressed, just to go after Willow and the nerds.

Something really must be 'wrong' just like he'd said. The things she'd done today where totally irresponsible and not the actions of a 'nice girl.'

But maybe she was tired of being a nice girl. All it had ever gotten her was dead. Twice.

Like he'd said, things were different.

Different sounded good. She liked it.