Patrolling-Schmatrolling

CHAPTER 5

Buffy awoke from her brief respite with a start, jerking almost entirely off the ground. Spike placed a kiss into her hair, cooing softly to her until he felt her relax into him again.

Buffy stirred a little, urging her mouth up to his for a quick kiss and then moving across to his ear. "I'm hungry," she whispered.

"Well, luv, it's too early for coffee, but I might be able to ..."

"Not that kind of hungry," she said wa sma smirk and began licking his chest in long, slow strokes. Spike purred, the sensation was so delicious, and he gave himself over to her, letting her touch and taste him at her whim with no guidance or urging from him. She was incredible at this, adventurous, eager, passionate, pushing the envelope of "acceptable" into a divine mixture of pleasure and pain. She nibbled at him, even bit him a few times, as if she were trying to devour him all at once.

Buffy continued exploring him, massaging him, gently turning him over so that she could find more delightfully sensitive areas. She nibbled at his thighs, tickled the backs of his knees and slowly worked her way up to his buttocks where she sunk her teeth in with a playful hunger that sent a wave of passion through him. God, he loved thirl.irl. She straddled his backside and began tracing tiny circles with her tongue up his spine, stopping now and then to scrape her teeth along his shoulder blade. He moaned in approval. The slippery wetness between her thighs began to bathe him, moistening the backs of his legs as she slid her body around him. The scent of her arousal permeated the air like the enticement of fresh blood seducing him to feed. She was wonderful.

Her breath on the back of his neck hera oth other delights, her nipples, hard and aching pressed against him, tiny darts of sharpened flesh teasing the muscles of his back with what he could have if he could reach them. She knew what she was doing, he could feel her amusement and excitement at his reaction to her tiny, but powerful, movements. She began to rub his back, without using her hands but damned near every other part of her body. Her soft flesh, warm and supple and wanting on him. She reached for his wrists and pushed his arms up over his head, opening up his sides where she places whisper soft kisses and tickles of eyelashes until he writhed beneath her. She caressed him with the backs of her nails, softly at first, then turning her hands over and scratched his pale skin with sharper edges, leaving pathways of tiny welts. It was an incredible mix of feather softness and unexpected pain, neither intense, but an almost impossible contrast. Hardened nails were followed by her hungry tongue, lapping the flesh of his sides, tracing each rib.

His erection throbbed against the ground, urgent and unyielding and pulsing with each new dance step her body carried out. He didn't know if he wanted her to stop or never to stop, his mind void of thought when his body was so aroused. He wanted her so badly, had to have her, had no idea it could really be like this ... especially with her. This was so free of banter and animosity and ambivalence. It was Buffy, tenderly and lovingly doing these things to him ... and allowing him to do them back.

When he could take no more, he tried to turn over, quieting urging her to let him face her, but she wasn't having it. She enjoyed the torture. She enjoyed the power it gave her over him. So did he. She turned around, perched on his buttocks, her soft arse rubbing against his and grinding his groin into the ground as she ran her fingertips down the backs of his thighs, followed by her chest, letting her nipples tickle the back of his knees. Finally, she grasped his feet and pulled them toward her, sitting on his lower back once again. She rubbed the souls of his feet, pressing deeply into the arch. Tugging at his toes, she popped the joints, then massaged them one at a time. She started on his anklissiissing them, gnawing a little at the ankle joints and licking into the soft area just behind them.

Spike decided it was already a good thing he was dead because if he weren't already, he certainly would be now. What she was doing was exquisite and the titillation of it was even more erotic by the constant presence of her wet sex pressing relentlessly into his back.

Buffy began to draw invisible tattoos on his calves with her tongue, tugging at the tiny hairs with her teeth while her hands, seemingly independent of the rest of her, began running up the outsides of his thighs. She squeezed and kneaded the muscles there, then slid around him so that her hands were now on the tops of his thighs with their combined body weight pressing down on them. Curling her fingers, her nails bit into his legs. He cringed but followed that with a sigh of pleasure as he felt tiny drops of blood begin to run down her fingers into her palms. The smell of it startled Buffy but aroused her even more and she ground her pelvis further into his back, her warm, wet juices coating him, the scent of them both mingling and complimenting each other in the air like fine wine and cheese.

Spike couldn't take any more. He straightened his legs and parted them, smiling when he felt Buffy fall between them having lost her center of balance. He rolled over and sat up, grabbing her by the shoulders and dragging her between his legs across his now painful erection and into his arms. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing her roughly to his chest and holding her there with one arm while he wrapped her legs around his waist with the other. She struggled just a little, but the moment his hard prick pressed against the surging heat between her legs, she surrendered completely and instead wriggled around in an effort to get him inside her. He wouldn't allow it, staying just out to the side, making her whimper and beg for it.

"Spike ..... please ...... please, please, please, please, please......" she mewed at him with a pitiful, little girl voice.

"Naughty girl, you have to wait for it now. I'd like to paint a bit first." His eyes flashed as his clipped, British accent cut straight through to her heart like a stake. She even felt herself crumbling to dust around it, and she succumbed to his seduction with hardly a fight. She lowered her chin and looked into him, softening, showing the surrender in her eyes. Rather than speak, and break the still ringing sound of his voice in the air, she kissed him deeply, swirling her tongue inside his mouth first and then drawing his into hers. He released her when they were both ready yet he continued to hold her lower lip between his as he pulled away, stretching it, holding onto it as long as he could before releasing her mouth completely. She shivered.

"That's right, pet," and he began his artistry on her body. Dipping his fingertips into the blood on his thighs, he began to draw on her, eloquent patterns interwoven like Celsymbsymbols across her chest and over onto both her shoulders. Up her throat her placed interspersed dots and lines in a detailed pattern that seems to grow from the Celtic ones below it. He used her forehead for a bloody sun that rays beamed down onto her cheeks, at the edges of her eyes and vanished into nothing at her jaw line. Just above her breasts he painted a red sea, which undulated and moved as she breathed. Her arms were covered with more Celtic symbols and when he had finished she looked like a warrior, painted to go into battle. The blood, which was already dark, dried quickly, leaving dark patterns on her skin, and the scent of his blood on her skin nearly drove him to ess.ess. He had kept tight control while he worked, but now, admiring her, it was all he could not to engulf her entire body at once and swallow her whole.

He started at her breasts, which were noticeably pale and white, with few traces of the blood paint on them. He licked them hungrily, taunting her nipples and sucking on her skin as if there were something on it. He worked his way up her chest to her shoulders, swathing a pathway through the symbols to her throathat hat in itself was artistry, removing the blood in specific trails which left patterns within the patterns. He lingered at the hollow in her throat and she felt an involuntary guttural moan seep through her body as she let her head drop back. She wasn't sure if it had come from her or him, and at this point didn't really care. He licked a particular area of her neck completely clean and left the puncture scar from Angel and Dracula covered with his blood. He took the blood sunrays one by one with long strokes of his tongue from chin to forehead. Whenever he passed her lips, he would pause and reward her for being his canvas with deep, probing kisses which made his still hard cock twitch against her, thrilling them both. He left the detailed drawings on her arms and chest and the scarred part of her neck for her to see later. An odd remembrance of their first time together, a picture she might see in the mirror when she got home. His heart cringed at the thought. The last thing he wanted to think about now was this ending. Ever.

His hands began to explore her body again, touching and caressing the spots he had already marked as her favorites. He learned quickly. Decades of experience. He shifted her up slightly and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking on it almost savagely until she cried out and then bringing her down onto him, filling her to the core with his cold, hard shaft. He held tight control over both of them as he pushed into her fiercely then withdrew slowly, achingly until she whimpered when he would plunge in again. He suckled her, biting her lightly, suckled more until she was screaming for release. He moved to her neck, the clean spot, far away from other bite marks, this was his spot, when she was ready, this would be just for him. But she would have to ask him for it, beg him for it. When she was ready.

As he drew her flesh into his mouth once more she bucked againsm, hm, hng ang and desperate to finish, to peak and rush all over him, to feel him filling her and devouring her at the same time. Once more. Twice more, and they came together in a fierce tumble of uncontrolled passion. He claimed her mouth as he spilled into her, her cream mixing with his as they convulsed in a tangle of limbs and lips and collapsed intertwined together on the leaf-strewn floor of the woods, all but unconscious.