Untouched

A/N: There’s more Buffy quotes in here. Just like the characters and some of the themes---they’re not mine. They are Joss Whedon’s.



Thanksgiving



“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! Everywhere I turn, she’s there. That nasty little face, that bouncing, shampoo-commercial hair. That whole holier-than-thou attitude.”



Spike threw up his hands in frustration as he paced back and forth of the back deck of the Giles/Douglas home. He lit a cigarette and breathed deep, the smoke soothing his irritation. How dare she try to insinuate that she’s above him. Little bitch was going to get a nasty awakening when she realized how dull and lackluster her entire life was. He could see it in her eyes---the same pained desire that fluttered through his when his father spoke of him following in his footsteps and running the popular book-store chain, The Magic Box. He didn’t want to run a bookstore chain or study law like his step-brother. He wanted to play in his band----make good music, bed lovely women, and travel the world.



“William?” Jenny stuck her head out the sliding glass door. “Will you help me with the mashed potatoes?” He nodded and followed her inside, stamping the cigarette underneath his boot before she could see.



“Thanksgiving---strange holiday you yanks have.” Spike clicked his tongue and grabbed the half mixed bowl of potatoes.



“But delicious, right?” Jenny smiled at him and he nodded. As much as he’d hated the move from England to New York and even more, the addition of a step-brother, he truly cared for Jenny. She was the only mum he’d ever really known, after all. His birth mother had died when he was a toddler and it had just been his father and him until Jenny and Rupert had met at a booksellers convention in New York almost ten years ago.



The heavy footfalls coming from the stairs warned Spike that Angel was approaching. The guy always walked as if he was trying to make some sort of announcement as to his arrival---nearly shattering the floorboards as he ambled around. Angel came into the kitchen, Buffy behind him. She was dressed in a tight pair of jeans and a thick, cranberry colored sweater. Her lips were the same color and Spike couldn’t help but stare.



“Morning.” Buffy said to Jenny. Her green eyes swept over Spike’s face and she furrowed her brows together.



“Mornin’.” Spike looked the pair up and down and then went back to his work mixing.



Jenny looked around the room frantically. “Oh, no. I forgot to bring up the box from the basement. The tablecloth and place settings are in it.” She smoothed her hands over her apron. “Angel, will you come to the basement with me and help me carry it up?”



“Of course.” Angel followed Jenny out of the kitchen, leaving Spike and Buffy to stare daggers at one another.







“Fancy yourself a cigarette?” Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out two Marlboros.



“A world of no.” Buffy crinkled her nose in disgust.



“Suit yourself.”



“I really don’t think you should smoke in here, you know.” Buffy narrowed her eyes at him and tucked her long blonde hair behind her ears. Spike ignored her.



“Those are nice,” he said, eyeing the diamond studs that adorned her exposed earlobes. “Gift from my step-brother, I presume? He keeps you all showered in expensive gifts and you spread your dimpled knees in return, eh?”



“Actually,” Buffy pushed her hair into a long curtain that hid the earrings. “They were a gift from my mother.”



Just as Spike was about to comment back with something cutting and extra-nasty, he heard the footsteps of Jenny and Angel climbing the stairs. He quickly put of his cigarette in the sink and tossed it in the trashcan.



“Is something burning?” Jenny sniffed as she walked into the kitchen with Angel in tow, carrying the gigantic box labeled “Thanksgiving.”



“No. Spike was smoking a second ago, maybe it’s that.”



“William!” Jenny pursed her lips together. “I’ve asked you about a thousand times not to smoke in the house.”



“Sorry.” He mumbled, shooting a deadly look at Buffy. She shrugged and smiled innocently.



Little bitch.



---------------------



Buffy lounged back against Angel and breathed deep. They were seated on the back deck, enjoying the crisp autumn air and the smells coming from the kitchen.



“Thanks so much for bringing me out here.”



“Of course. My family was dying to meet you.”



“You mean, Giles and Jenny were dying to meet me?”



“Yeah, I guess Spike doesn’t really care either way. You know, he and I used to get along back in the day, as much as he’ll deny it.”



“Yeah?”



“Yeah, we were best friends. Then we started high school, I joined the football team, and he started painting his nails black and playing the guitar. Things just went downhill from there.”



“That’s unfortunate.”







“No no no!” Jenny’s frantic voice could be heard from the kitchen as a cloud of smoke suddenly billowed out from the window. The pair jumped up and ran inside. Jenny and Giles were standing next to an open oven, black smoke surrounding them. In Jenny’s pink oven mitts, she held a charred turkey.



“This is the first year I decide to send Marguerite home and cook for myself, and look where it gets me.”



“Don’t worry, I’ve got a solution.”



“Everyone eat burned turkey for dinner?” Jenny smiled at him weakly.



“No. I put in a call to Dinner Delight last night and had them prepare a turkey just in case.”



“So you knew I was going to do this?” Jenny said shrilly.



“Not exactly, dear, but you do have a tendency to…” Giles took off his glasses and began to clean them, “burn things. I just wanted to have a backup.”



“Well it’s a good thing you have no faith in me.”



“It’s not that.” Giles put an awkward arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Come on, I’ll drive. If we leave right now, we can have it back right in time for dinner. The rest of the food is done, isn’t it?” Jenny nodded.



“I guess. Kids, we’ll be back in about a half an hour.”



---------------------



“Half an hour? It’s been at least an hour and a half.” Angel looked up at the clock, frowning. “You want a wine or something?”



“Sure.” Angel stood up and grabbed the bottle of 1998 Merlot, pouring it into a kiddy cup.



“Are you serious?” Buffy asked as he handed it back to her.



“You tend to break things.” He patted her shoulder.



“Jesus, she’s not seven years old, Nancy boy.” Spike said from his spot across the room. He was leaning against the far wall, nursing a Stella Artois. Angel ignored him. Buffy watched in shock as Spike pulled a silver flask from his duster pocket (it seemed to have an infinite amount of space, she mused) and took a swig.



“You’re going to be wasted by the time they get back.” Buffy said, taking a sip of her wine.



“And judging by how you acted the other night, I’d say you’ll be in the same boat, love.”



Suddenly Angel’s cell-phone began to ring and he picked it up quickly.



“Mom? Are you guys okay?” Buffy could hear a frantic voice on the other end. “It’ll be all right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”



“What’s wrong?” Buffy asked, as Angel hung up the phone, a worried look in his eyes.



“My mom and Giles got into a car accident. Totaled the car. They’re both okay, but they’re sitting outside freezing so I’m going to take my car and wait with them for the police to come and then give them a ride back here.”



“Oh no! Do you need me to come with you?”



“I would, Buffy, but there isn’t enough room for the both of you.” Angel’s eyes darted back to look at Spike and she suddenly remembered he was there. “Look, I shouldn’t be too long,” he pulled on his jacket and grabbed his keys from the hook on the wall. “I’ll call you as soon as we’re filing the report.”



“Ok.” Buffy smiled nervously and watched her boyfriend stalk out of the room in a hurry.



The two sat in silence for what seemed hours. She was off in her own little world, a day dream occupying her thoughts, when Spike slid into the chair at the table next to her.



“Drink?” He shoved the flask in her direction. She shrugged and took a swig of the bitter liquid. “You’re a real treat, Summers.”



“My name is Buffy. And why is that?”



“Half the time you’re staring up at dear ol’ Liam with moon eyes, all strung up on virtue, and the other half you’re drinking hard liquor and grindin’ up on me.”



“I have never ground up on you.”



“You tell yourself that.”



“Fine. I will. Good thing it’s true.” Buffy downed the last of her wine.



“So tell me, pet. What’s Angel like in the sack? Does he cry?”



“What? No!”



“I don’t believe it. He cries, doesn’t he?”



“He doesn’t cry, Spike. He’s very manly….and has lots of--um--stamina. And skills. Yeah, he’s very skillful.”



“You’ve never even fucked him, have you?” Spike’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Oh, this is rich!”



“I so have---fu--slept with him.” Buffy folded her arms in front of her.



“So why not, Summers? Not attracted to him? Afraid he can’t compare to all the others who have warmed your bed? I could see why. He’s a bit of a dead fish, isn’t he?”



“Isn’t it my turn to ask a question?” Buffy took another swig from his flask---anything to calm the thumping heart currently having a party in her ribcage.



“Fine. Ask away. I’ve got nothing to hide.”



“What’s with the attitude? Why are you always stomping around all doom and gloom? Your life can’t be that bad, Spike.”



“Touché. I spose’ the ladies like it.” He licked his lower lip. “Now answer mine---why haven’t you let Angel spread those dimpled knees.”



“It’s not a matter of letting.” She admitted, her face turning a brilliant shade of red.



“What? You mean, it’s him doing the refusal?” Spike laughed again. This was all too much. He imagined the girl in front of him trying to tempt his step-brother. How could he refuse such a delicious little thing? “But…why?”



“He likes my virtue.” The confession came out before Buffy could stop herself. Spike’s jaw dropped. He looked her up and down, all hot and tempting, her adorable face screwed up in embarrassment. She was a virgin? An untouched, perfect, virtuous little piece of fire? He could barely contain himself. The very idea that she knew nothing of his favorite activity---oh God, it would be fun to teach her--was enough to make his entire body stiffen in excitement.



“Don’t you dare tell Angel I told you that.” Buffy stood up.



“Wait. Wait. Sit down.” Spike grabbed her hand and tugged her down. Much to his surprise, she complied. “No wonder you’re always such a bitch.” Spike stroked a hand down her flaming cheek, unable to conceal his smile. “All that pent up tension.” He dropped his hand to her jean clad knee and began to massage it, his fingers climbing dangerously up her thigh.



“Stop it.” Buffy breathed, her plea unconvincing.



“I want to kiss you.” Spike scooted closer, taking her face in both hands.



“Don’t.” She said it, but she didn’t make any effort to move his hands from her cheeks.



“Stop me.” Spike leaned forward, his lips only centimeters from her own, and lingered. She did nothing to move away. He took this as permission and crushed forward, pressing his eager lips against hers. He felt her entire body loosen up and she moved into the kiss as well, her tongue coming to meet his and his hands fell from her cheeks. He ran them down her shoulders, under the hem of her sweater, tickling his fingers against the smooth skin at the small of her back. She tasted delicious. Her mouth was hot, wet, tempting, breathing him in, consuming him. Just the taste of her lips was making him more aroused than he’d ever been---more so, when she let a little mewl of desire escape from her lips. He moved his lips to her neck and began to lick, bite, and suck up the channel of skin, one hand running through her soft hair, the other delving up her sweater to play with the tiny belly button ring that adorned her middle. Her whole body was responding to his---her heart thumping, blood pumping, her hips grinding upward, aching for contact.



“Fuck, pet.” He pulled away, breathing hard, and looked her deep in her sleepy-eyes.



“Oh, God.” Her eyes went from dreamy to awake in seconds. “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. Why did you do that?” She stood up angrily, smoothing her hair and wiping her face. “Ugh--lips of Spike!”



“Don’t pretend you weren’t there just as much as I was.” He stood as well and grabbed hey by her narrow hips.



“Stop. Just stop.” She lowered her head.



“Can’t. Won’t.” Spike mumbled. He tipped her chin upwards and kissed her once, gently. He kissed each cheek, her nose, her forehead, her chin. He bent at the knees and kissed her neck--once, twice, three times. He dropped to his knees and kisses the sliver of skin between her jeans and sweater. His hands moved to the hem and scrunched it up, over her stomach, over her chest, over her head, leaving her in only a tight, white tank top that easily showed the outline of her bra. He stood, kissed her collarbone, her shoulders, her forearms, her wrists. He backed up and looked her in the eyes. Her face was dazed with lust, her lips parted only so---her face a perfect replica of the vision he’d had earlier. “Follow me.” His voice was low and dangerous as he grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her behind him.



Buffy swallowed, her heart pumping. What was she doing? She allowed Spike to tug her out of the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hallway and into his room. He shut the door behind them and she looked around. The bed was covered in a thick black comforter, the windows covered with black curtains. The walls were painted a deep, blood red and a guitar was propped against his nightstand. She watched in awe as he shrugged off his duster, tossing it onto the leather chair next to his bed. Was this really about to happen? She couldn’t help it---her entire body was buzzing with a kind of lust she’d never experienced---a need, a desire. It was Angel’s fault, she reasoned. He’d been denying her too long. But she couldn’t do this. Not to Angel. Not with Spike.



“I--I can’t do this, Spike.” She turned. He grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around, kissing her deeply once more. And she was putty in his arms once again. He lifted his black tee-shirt over his head, revealing a body as toned, taut, and smooth as an underwear model. She bit her lower lip.



Spike watched the array of emotions that passed over the blonde’s face--lust, confusion, fear, attraction. It was gorgeous. He moved forward and in a flash, had pulled her tank top over her head. There she was, clad in only jeans and a flimsy black bra, her face red with desire. He closed the unbearable gap between them, kissing her lips, her face, her neck, his body tensing up with want as delicious shudders ran through her body, accompanied by tiny moans and pants. He had her against the wall, pressing his erection against her stomach as he bit her neck gently. He removed the offending bra and tossed it to the ground, then slid his hands up to cup her breasts, stiff with her desire.



“Spp-Spike,” Buffy pushed his hands away from her naked chest, “What are you doing? We can’t do this. We can’t. It’s wrong.”



“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell you haven’t been dreamin’ of it since before you met me--before you met Angel.”



“That doesn’t make it okay.” She crossed her arms around her naked breasts self-consciously.



“Fine. Leave. But you know I’m not lyin’. I can see it in your eyes---a big fire, all dampened out, just dying to burn…” Buffy watched his face intently. How did he manage to make her problems sound like poetry? She was tired. Tired of being suffocated…of being expected to be perfect…of being treated like a porcelain doll by her boyfriend. “Give me five minutes, pet. If you still want to leave when time is up, I’ll let you go, no questions asked.”



“Three minutes.” Buffy dropped her arms to her sides and looked up at him, defeated. “You have three minutes.” Spike smiled deliciously and brought his head down, taking one rosy nipple into his mouth. Buffy gasped out loud, realizing that a man had never seen, let alone touched this part of her body before. But God…it felt nice. She arched her back upwards, her tiny fingers threading themselves into his peroxide hair, tugging his face closer. He resurfaced, grinning and then unbuttoned her jeans in one swift movement.



“What are you doing?”



“Still got two minutes.” He grinned and shoved her jeans down, revealing a pair of lacy black panties. “Pretty sexy underwear for a virgin.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and smiled, loving the torture he knew she was experiencing. He picked her up and placed her on the bed, making sure to prop her head up on the pillows. Once on top of her, he began to kiss her again. She was amazing. Irritating, bitchy, prim, stuck-up…but God, she was sexy. He rolled onto his side and slid one hand beneath the waistband of her underwear, finding the warm center beneath the fabric.



“Fuck, you’re wet, Buffy.” He slid his pointer finger against her folds and she bucked upwards. Then he pulled his hand out and placed it delicately next to her head.



“Why did you stop?” Her eyes were practically bulging out of her skull as she said this.



“Three minutes was up.” He flashed her a toothy grin.



“Don’t. Stop.” She ordered and he found himself swelling with pride. He slid his hand back underneath her panties and found her clitoris, pressing his thumb against it.



“Oh. My. God.” Buffy’s eyes flew shut and her words became a mumbled mess. Suddenly Spike understood.



“You’ve never even been fingered before, love?” She opened her eyes and shook her head. “How could Angel refuse you this?” He slid one fingers within her and felt her walls tighten around him. “God, you’re tight.” He added a second finger and began to pump. Buffy moaned.



She had never felt anything like this before in her life. Of course she had heard of it, from her friends and the internet---but she never could have imagined how good it would feel. Did it feel this good because of Spike? Or did it always feel this amazing? A million questions were running through her mind, but one by one, they melted away, her body becoming a slave to the immense pleasure she was feeling.



Spike delved his fingers within her, his other hand moving to play with her clit. Her hips were bucking, sucking him in, begging him to continue. And that he did. Suddenly, her entire body began to shiver, the muscles in her calves rippling.



“Oh, God. Oh, God. Fuck.” The explicatory coming from her mouth was enough to send Spike into convulsions, but he held his ground. She was close---he could feel it. Her moans lengthened, her hands grasping at his comforter--and then she came, her mouth babbling nonsensical things and her core tightening around his fingers. She slumped back against the bed and Spike withdrew.



“How do you feel?” He kissed the length of her neck, massaging her stomach.



“Mmmm.” That was all Buffy could muster as she turned her head and smiled at him, her face sleepy with satisfaction. Spike found himself thinking she looked absolutely adorable like that---face red, hair mussed, lips swollen from his kisses. Those sleepy green eyes looking at him like he was some kind of god. And then suddenly she shot upwards. “Oh no.”



“What’s the matter, pet?”



“Don’t call me that. What the heck did I just do?”



“Had yourself a little fun for once, I’d say.” Spike tugged her hair behind her ear, smiling. His mind was overjoyed, but at this very moment, his body was begging for release. He needed her.



“I cheated on my boyfriend with his step-brother. I’m a hussy! I’m a good-for-nothing hussy!” She stood, pulled on her jeans and turned back to face him. “I have to go.”



“Go where? You’re in my house, love.”



“Away! Away from this…and you!” She fastened her bra and pulled on her tank top.



“Come on. You just had the best half hour of your life. I know it. And I can’t lie, I had some fun myself---I’ve got to compliment Angel on his taste in women.”



“So that’s what this was about? Doing your hated step-brothers girlfriend? One-upping him for the final time?”



“That’s not what I was saying, love.”



“If you tell anyone about this Spike, I’ll kill you. I will ruin your life.” Buffy gave him one last hardened look before she tore out of the room, almost in tears.



She grabbed her cell-phone out of her jeans pocket---one missed call. She dialed her voicemail and listened carefully.



“Hey Baby,” Angel’s voice said over the grainy recording, “I’m with my mom and Giles. They’re okay, but on our way back we got caught in a jam. I think a semi overturned a couple miles ahead---we could be here for a while. I’ll call you when traffic starts moving again.” Click.



Buffy sighed. Great. Another God-knows-how-long alone in the house with Spike---the guy she’d come thisclose to having a torrid one-night stand with.







-------------------------



Three hours had passed. Buffy had completely avoided Spike by staying in her room, though he’d made no effort to talk to her. Angel had called an hour after she got his message to say that the traffic jam wasn’t letting up and that he, Jenny, and Giles were turning around to go hunt for some other way to get home. Since then, she’d heard nothing.



To be honest, Buffy was frustrated. Even though she felt horrible for what she’d done with Spike, her body had never felt so good. It was like he’d awoken a whole new avenue of her personality---Nympho!Buffy. She just knew that if Angel came home and she could sleep with him, she’d erase all the guilt of what had happened. She’d been giving him her virginity, wouldn’t that prove she really loved him? She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like with Angel. He was different than Spike---broader, beefier, less delicate. Would he touch her the way Spike had, or would he cut straight to the chase? She imagined Angel taking off his clothes, standing over her, kissing her. She imagined him touching her---but suddenly the image of him changed to a leaner, more muscular one. Spike.



--------------------------



Spike could hear Buffy. Who was she talking to? He got up from his bed and went out in to the hall, listening closer.



“Uhh…” Spike peered through the ajar door to the guestroom. His whole body flooded with warmth. Buffy Summers was spread about against her bed, her jeans unbuttoned and pulled down to her knees, her hand inside of her black panties, her eyes closed. Christ---she was touching herself. He couldn’t look away. He watched in fascination as she slid the jeans the rest of the way off, and removed her underwear. She spread her knees apart and began to finger herself, her teeth playing with her lower lip. Spike had never been so hard in his life. He slid his hand beneath the waistband of his jeans and gripped his erection, sliding a fist over it. He moved his thrusts in time with her own, listening to the sexy mewls and moans she was making.



“Spike…” he heard her say his name as he watched her pleasure increase, her fingers moving with more intent than before. “God…Spike.” The experience of hearing her moan his name while she brought herself to orgasm was too much for him. He came, grunting and falling forward, the door slamming open to reveal Spike on his knees, his hands trapped in his pants. Buffy jumped up.



“What the…?” She grabbed her jeans, sliding them on without even going for her underwear. “What are you doing, pervert?” Spike collected himself, removing his hand from his jeans, wiping it off on the pant leg. He stood up.



“Just catching the show.”



“You are disgusting.”



“You were thinking of me.” She brought a hand to her mouth, covering the expression.



“That’s none of your business.”



“It is when you’re moaning my name.” Buffy’s eyes widened. Had she really said that out loud? She was so lost in the moment that she must have let that dreaded name slip from her lips. Her face fell forward. “Don’t be embarrassed, love. It’s perfectly natural.”



“Just go away, Spike.” She sniffled. He watched in amazement. Tears were slipping down her cheeks. Part of him felt annoyed at this development---an even larger part felt guilty.



“Fine. Fine. I’ll go.” Spike closed the bedroom door, leaving a now-sobbing Buffy to turn her face into the pillows.



“What have I done?”