Torrid Immortality

Title: Trading Intimacies

Authors: Amber Kupy and Daquiri Seffib

Email: amber_daquiri@hotmail.com

Rating: PG to NC-17 depending on chatper

Summery: Buffy and Spike complete their night of passion.

Spoilers: Up until ‘Hells Bells’

Pairin: B/S

Disclaimer: We don't own the characters, we're just borrowing them.

Authors’ Notes: To the people on the island: This is dedicated to you. Thank you all for your patience - we didn't mean to leave you (not to mention Buffy and Spike) in suspense for that long. Keep smiling and buying those lottery tickets.
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Trading Intimacies


Caught off guard, she blinked in surprise. "What...?"

"Be back in a jiff, pet."

With that, Spike left her room, his footsteps disappearing down the steps. A cool breeze rippled across Buffy's heated skin in the empty room.

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Buffy lay still and strained her ears to catch a hint of what Spike was doing downstairs, but after she heard the fridge open and close, there was nothing.

It seemed like an age passed before Spike reappeared in the doorway. A geological age. Or possibly an astronomical age. Buffy was pretty sure those were bigger.

In his left hand he held a steaming mug and in his right, a glass of icewater. There was a white scarf draped over his wrist -- if she was not mistaken, the one that she had used to hide her bite marks from the Scoobies and White Bre-- Riley. Damn, he had her doing it too, now. Must not mentally insult the ex, she told herself.

Ice clinked in the glass as Spike held it up for her to inspect. "I know you get thirsty, pet. Thought I'd get this for you now."

Buffy's heart swelled; she could really lo-— nope, not ready for that yet. "Spike, sometimes you're the biggest pig in the world, and others I think you're one of the sweetest men I've ever met."

"Oy, you take that back. I'm not now, nor 'ave I ever been sweet." When Spike said 'sweet' it was like an epithet. He knelt on the edge of the bed beside her, setting the glass down on the side table, then removed his black leather duster, throwing it carelessly across the room to land in front of Buffy's opened closet door. Then he continued, "Terrifying? Sure. Merciless? Yeah. Murderous? Well yeah, that too. But trust me, love... never sweet."

He leaned down to kiss her as he spoke, briefly tangling a hand through her shorn tresses.

"You on the other hand..." he whispered, and whether it was his cool breath or his lips causing the gooseflesh to rise on her skin, she didn't know or care. Her eyes slipped closed as she melted into his tender kiss, and she was so caught in him that it was a moment before she realized that he was slipping something around her head. The last thing she saw was the blue of the scarf as it covered her eyes.

"Hey," she murmured into his kiss, and then, as he pulled away and it was clear that the blindfold was there to stay, "Hey, Spike - this is not cool. What are you doing?"

Her protests melted into a moan as Spike brought a hand down to trail gently down her neck, around her breast, finally cupping her in a cool palm. And when his eager mouth rapidly followed the trail blazed by his hand, Buffy forgot what it was that she had been objecting to.
Spike took one of Buffy's hard, rosy nipples into his mouth, sucking gently at first then with more and more strength as his other hand traced abstract swirls across her skin. A mew escaped Buffy's lips as she strained against the black ribbon that bound her, arching her back, trying desperately to get closer to Spike's chilling touch.

Moans, increasing in volume, fd thd the air as Spike's blunt teeth nipped Buffy softly at first then with more pressure until it was almost unbearable. Then a quick gasp of sharply in drawn breath as she felt the brief graze of fang. But in a moment it was gone again, and it was just his tongue - not warm, but not precisely cold either - ravishing her breast.

'Well,' thought Spike, 'my fangs really don't scare her.' He filed that bit of information away for a later date, a smile growing across his features.

Buffy heard him chuckle. "Did you like that? Too much, maybe?" Instantly the vampire's exquisite touch became lighter than air, and she shook her head emphatically.

"No... no, more. Harder. Please." Buffy shifted restlessly on the bed, yearning for the return of Spike's talented hands, mouth and tongue. She would have said -- done --just about anything to have him touching her again.

The gentle kiss that he placed on the top of her left breast was no where near enough. Nor were the butterfly light kisses she felt as Spike's mouth retraced its earlier track back to her panting mouth. The tenderness and love of the kiss that he gave her was at odds with the hand that was toying almost roughly with her nipple. And when he paused, she whimpered unhappily, arching against his hand.

Suddenly, his touch became a gentle caress, his hands worshipping her now, and the love and desire he felt for her poured into kis kiss.

"Buffy, luv, I need you to listen to me." His hand drifted from her breast to once again trace unseen patterns on her stomach. "You know I love you, right, you know that? Believe that?"

The urgency in his voice momentarily cut through the fog of desire that filled Buffy's mind. For a brief instant she wished the scarf from her eyes so that she could see what he was saying. His expressive eyes almost always betrayed what he was truly feeling.

"Yes Spike," she whispered back tenderly, "I know. You have shown me time and time again what I mean to you. I believe you." As she said it, she knew it was true. The knowledge filled her like the warmth of the rising sun's first rays peeking over the horizon of her defenses.

Wonder filled Spike at the sincerity in her voice. And hope, hope blossoming like the first flower of spring, hearnd fnd full of promises of a new life.

"You know I would never do anything to harm you, right, luv? That I would rather cut off my own arm then see you hurt in any way?" Spike paused, wondering how to phrase his next words as to not frighten her, but get her to agree. The degree of trust he would be asking from the golden skinned temptress spread before him, the trust that she had already freely given to him, would have stolen Spike's breath had he had any in his undead chest.

Spike's extended silence unnerved Buffy; he was never quiet or still for this long unless it was really serious. "Spike, what is it? I believe you, I know that you would never do anything to hurt me. Remember - I saw you after you spent a little quality time with Glory."

"Good," he said quietly. "Because I promise you, I will stop the moment you give the word." The tension that had been in his voice before was lighter, and she could almost hear him smile. "Except not the actual word. 'Stop' has a cachet of its own. Pick something else." Spike took and unneeded breath and continued, "I want to play. I think we could both have fun tonight, experience things neither of us have before, but I need your complete trust. At your word I will release you, and we'll continue to make love, or we can keep on as we are. It's up to you, luv."

Buffy realized that there was really no choice to be made. Spike had always known her better then anybody else, even back in the days when they were supposed to be mortal enemies.

"We'll pick something else," she said after a moment. "Something besides ‘stop,’ I mean." A cross between a growl and moan rumbled out of Spike's chest as he swooped down and devoured her lips, his tongue sweeping apart her surprised lips and ravishing her sweet mouth.

"Pick fast pet, you have until I take my shirt off." Spike considered taking off his black jeans too, but nixed the idea. He was so hard he was almost bursting through the fly of his jeans. He needed to keep a layer between them.

"Mr Gordo," Buffy murmured in the general direction of the place she thought she had last heard him.

His hands paused on the last button of his shirt, "What?"

"It's the name of that stuffed pig you always make fun of. Can't get much safer than that." She grinned. "Or less sexy." A snort was her only answer. "Besides, it fits."

"How do you reckon, pet?" Spike chucked his shirt in the general vicinity of his coat and came to sit down on the bed, his hip coming next to Buffy's chest.

"Well, he's a pig," laughter was almost breaking through, "you're a pig..."

"You're not being very nice for someone who's tied up and completely at my mercy, pet." She heard the grin in his voice as he added, "I'm going to have to punish you for that." Buffy let out a startled shriek as a cold piece of ice came in contact with her jugular and was held firmly in place.

"Shh, pet," he soothed, letting the ice trail down her neck, to rest briefly at the hollow of her throat. A moment later, the ice was gone, and his tongue - warm by comparison - lapped at the dewy droplets of water that it left behind. She shivered at the unaccustomed warmth of his touch, and he dropped a light kiss atop her pulsing vein.

A cold patch was forming in the air above the swell of her left breast, and a whimper issued from Buffy’s throat in response. Slayer senses tingled as she reached out with her mind, trying to anticipate her lover's movements. But she was not psychic, somesomehow the expectation made it all the more shocking when he let the ice gently brush against her heated skin.

"Hot and cold, pet. Amazing how they feel together, the burn the ache, yet how wonderful it makes everything in the end." His voice was low and rough, and she almost thought she could feel the breath from it graze her skin.

Spike leaned down, his lips brushing across her nipple as he took the cube of ice into his mouth. It melted a little, tasting of her, and he let it slide down his throat.

Spike chased the ice cube with a mouthful of lukewarm tea from the bedside table, holding it in his mouth to ward away the chill left by the Buffy-flavoured ice cube. When he set the mug down, his nimble fingers fished another ice cube from the glass of icewater.

Buffy heard the clink of ice against glass and stiffened.

"Here now, pet, none of that," he chided. "Relax. Let it flow." The ice cube settled on her collar bone, then traced a path between Buffy's breasts, spiraling down her concave stomach.

"Spike!" Buffy was never one for speaking during their love play, so Spike took it as a victory that she had called his name. He relented for a moment, leaning down to cover the ice with his mouth, breathing deliberately against her skin.

Slowly, carefully, he mouthed the ice across her abdomen, tracing a winding path downward. With his lips trapping her body heat, the cube melted quickly, and was gone before it had a chance to reach its destination.

Buffy whimpered and strained against the red ribbon; knowing what was coming she wasn't sure if she wanted it or not. 'Then again,' she thought, 'if I really don't want this, I could snap the ribbon.' And yet, the thought of breaking her bonds was not something she could even contemplate. She knew intuitively that Spike would never push her too far, she trusted him implicitly.

An ice-cold tongue dipped into her belly-button, causing her to shiver slightly. Spike felt a rush of manly pride as she squirmed beneath his able touch. One hand travelled down to the Slayer's dewy nether regions as his other reached for his fourth ice cube.

His fingers caressed her lightly, blazing a trail through the moistness between her thighs. Buffy twisted involuntarily against her bonds as exploratory touches were followed by the agonizing intensity of another ice cube brushing against her most tender skin.

The cold of the ice against the burning heat of her skin sent sparks shooting through her body. When the ice moved higher, towards the tight bundle of nerves, Buffy almost came right then. She would have, too, if Spike hadn't pulled the ice cube away a second too early.

"Not yet pet, you have to really want it. I want you so hot you can’t even speak. Then you’ll have to somehow find the voice to beg for it, for me." Spike ran the ice cube quickly down her slit before popping it into his mouth and crunching on it noisily.

The glass rattled again, as Spike dug for another ice cube. Buffy thought she had prepared herself this time, but it was not his hand that held the cube to her most sensitive area. Spike chased the swiftly dissolving piece of ice with his tongue, causing the Slayer to wither beneath him and moan unintelligible pleas.

"What was that, pet?" he asked, in between thrusts of his tongue. "Can't hear you." He thought about getting another ice cube, but they were getting small and melting almost as soon as they came in contact with the Slayer's fiery womanhood. No mere ice cube could withstand the force of her passion.

She moaned again, wordlessly, and he stopped, but didn't move away. "Still can't hear you. I know you can do better than that."

"Spike, I can't take this any more. Please --- ohh ---" Her words were cut off as Spike suddenly thrust two, then three fingers into her burning channel. His mouth descended to suckle at her pleasure bud, teeth occasionally nipping just hard enough to send lightning blots of bliss-tinged pain throughout her entire body.

Spike wasn't sure how much longer he could take this. Every fiber of his undead being burned for her. His jeans were on fire with the heat of wanting her. Buffy twisted hard against the ribbon that bound her, her mouth opening in a silent shriek as she came with more force then she ever had before.

As she lay gasping, Buffy felt Spike crawl up the bed and untie her wrists, tugging her gently into his arms, her head cradled against his chest. He held her, caressing her back until her gasps turned into pants, and the shudders that racked her deceptively slender frame slowed.

Tilting her head up, Buffy blindly sought Spike's loving kiss. Meeting her searching lips with his own, the vampire tenderly pushed the blindfold from her closed eyes.

She tasted herself on his tongue, and a small tremor ran through her languid body as it remembered what it was that that talented tongue had been doing moments earlier.

Deftly her fingers sought the button of Spike's worn jeans, and he eagerly moved to comply with her unspoken demand. Shedding the jeans, he stretched out naked beside her, and she paused a moment to admire his muscular, alabaster form. It was as if he had been carved in marble. Buffy reached out to run a hand across one perfectly sculpted pec, and down his wash board abs, before rolling onto him, pushing him back onto the bed.

"Now I get to drive," she smiled at him, letting his engorged maleness rub against her moist thigh. Images of Spike bound to her bed flashed through her mind, but she quickly dismissed them; they were done with games for now. Spike had shared with her something that was different and amazingly pleasurable, but she could feel how hard he was and knew how much he had restrained himself. Not just in bed, but through out the whole evening.

"Be gentle, luv." Spike tried to sound offhand, but he was harder then he had ever been, before or after his death.

Buffy stroked his throbbing hardness with a warm hand, positioning him at her entrance of her dripping love passage, pausing there an eternal moment before impaling herself upon him with torturous slowness.

A growl tore through the air as Spike vamped out, scorched by the inferno of the woman astride him.

"Slayer," he groaned through bared fangs as she moved on him. "I can't take this much longer." He struggled to wrest his control back from the demon, fearing what he might do. Wanting to do it even more, knowing that she had granted him permission earlier.

Showing no mercy, Buffy continued to ride him entirely too slowly. She gazed into his golden eyes withexprexpression he was too preoccupied to analyze, internal muscles rippling against his rigid shaft. Buffy slowed to an infinitesimal pace, but never stopped her movements as she slowly leaned down to kiss Spike on the ridges of his forehead. "Do it," she whispered, "take what you want. What you need."

It was a siren’s call that he couldn't refuse. Spike grabbed her hips, slamming her down on him, and keeping hold, he reversed their positions. He hammered into her from above, only half-aware of her moans as he laid his fangs against her throbbing jugular. The blood that coursed just beneath the surface of her skin called to him, his tongue darting out to map the line of her vein.

Through the haze, he distinctly heard her fevered cry, "Oh, Spike! Do it, please! So close, so close, please, do it..." as she quaked beneath him.

Spike's fangs sunk swiftly into her skin, in time with a thrust. A keening wail issued from Buffy’s mouth as she bucked wildly against him. Her hot blood spurted into his mouth, sweeter than anything he had ever tasted, driving the last semblance of reason from his mind.

It was as if a hot velvet fist had closed around Spike's shaft. The sensation set him off and he came hard, shooting his cold, undead seed into her spasming channel. As Buffy felt his coolness fill her, she came for a third time, gently, like a spring flower reaching for the warmth of the May sun.

Realizing that his fangs were still in Buffy, Spike withdrew them carefully, his lips and tongue bathing the two puncture wounds that were already starting to heal. He nuzzled the bite mark gently while she panted beneath him, regaining her breath. The vivid red marks punctuated her smooth skin, alone like tiny red islands in a becalmed sea of pale gold. He had bitten the virgin side of her neck, he realized with some satisfaction.

They marked her as his, and his alone. Not one in a line. The first, and the last, to love her as she truly deserved. The others that had come before might have tasted her, but they had never touched her, drank from her, understood her the way he did. No one ever really would. They were a part of each other, two halves of the whole.

A small hand reached up to run its fingers over his face, tracing lovingly the contours where his demon features had been. Buffy had never felt more complete, more fulfilled, in her life. Spike did something to her, completed her in some way that the others had been unable to.

He rolled off her, to avoid crushing her, and she whimpered with soft dissatisfaction at the loss of contact. Snuggling against him, Buffy's glorious - if short - hair fanned out across her lover’s shoulder like the last rays of a sunset.

They fell asleep that way, Slayer and vampire, and after a while the only thing that could be heard was her even breathing, and the soft rumble of his contented purr.