Shot in the Dark

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Chapter 8: Hot or Cold?
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With Spike’s help, Buffy perches on the edge of the bathroom counter, flinching at both the movement and the coolness of the formica. Spike moves to stand between her legs. “Hot or cold?” His smile invites all kinds of comments, but Buffy just throws him a look.

“Hot.”

“Your wish...” Spike moves away and leans over the bathtub, turning on the water to get it hot. “Looks like it will take a minute to heat up.”

Buffy blurts out, “Doesn’t take me that long.” Gasping at her words, Buffy slaps a hand over her mouth in horror. Spike stays immobile where he is, leaning over, but she can almost see a tremor run through him. He turns his head and glances back at her, eyebrows lifted. Her expression is priceless, as she is trapped between burying her head in her hands with embarrassment and grabbing his bare ass just a few feet away. Spike turns back to the bathtub without saying anything. He puts both hands on the edge of the tub and looks down for a few seconds. She can see the muscles in his arms twitch and contract. Finally, with a nearly imperceptible nod, Spike spins and returns to the spot between her legs. His hands immediately go to both sides of Buffy’s face. She drops her hand, the directness of his gaze startling her to attention.

“Buffy. We both know something bloody strange is happening with us, between us. I honestly don’t know what it is, what started it, anything. I do know it’s doing one hell of a number on me, for one. So, I only have one favor to ask.”

Silently, Buffy nods, asking him to proceed, shocked and relieved by his revelation. Glad to know she is not the only one continuing to lose control. What seemed right last night is still looking pretty damn good in the light of day. And that scares her. His hands on her face are making it hard to concentrate, but not nearly so hard as feeling his bare legs between hers. She hears the water gushing behind him, the only sound in the room beyond her rapid breathing.

Spike cocks his head at her, one side of his mouth twitching up. “Don’t tease me unless you mean it.”

Distracted momentarily from the shower at hand, Buffy pulls Spike’s hands off her face and leans forward, her mouth less than an inch from his ear. If not for his vampiric hearing, he would not even hear her words, but he does.

“I mean it.” The hot breath warms his skin as she takes his earlobe between her teeth. Spike jumps slightly, but recovers quickly. His hands shoot around her waist to steady himself, deftly avoiding her injury in the process. Her tender lips move down, placing a kiss just below his ear. And a trail of them down his neck, dusting gently over the violent red marks she left last night in a more frenetic state. She is almost apologizing for the hickeys with every brush of her lips. Turning her head, she finds the hollow of his neck and presses her mouth there briefly.

Pulling her head back, her eyes meet his baby blues. Seeing her hooded but clear eyes softens Spike’s expression considerably. She is all there and aware of what she is doing. No question of alcohol or flights of nighttime fancy. It is morning and her lips still seek his. His notions of continuing to hate her are having a tough time finding anchor. He can’t understand the turnabout from last night, but Dru’s words in Brazil come back to haunt him. ‘You’re all covered with her. I look at you...all I see is the Slayer.’ He came back to Sunnydale to kill her, get the Slayer out of his system once and for all. Only this last time, he got the soddin’ chip in his head. Now, he can’t kill her. And well, turns out he doesn’t really want to. Spike grimaces, damn Dru. Crazy, but knowing. It goes against all things about being a vampire, but he really doesn’t want the Slayer dead.

Her brow is slightly knitted as she watches him deep in thought. The tightness in his mouth releases as he pushes these thoughts back down. Time to worry about what this will all lead to, if anything, later. Much later. Right now, he has a warm, naked and apparently willing Buffy in his arms. Best to stay in the moment.

Steam covers the mirror in the bathroom and is starting to cloud the room. He jerks his head towards the shower, “Shall we?”

Buffy swallows, eyes going wild for just a second. Brief moments of what-the-hell-am-I-doing keep interrupting her fun. She quickly squelches this hesitation and holds out her hand. “We, huh? Thought you were just helping me?”

“Where better to help you?” Eyes twinkling, he helps her off the counter. He puts his hand into the water, making sure it is not too hot, before stepping under the stream. Buffy clutches his other hand even tighter as she watches the water course down his body, dipping into every curve and swell. Those nagging voices in her head shut up in the face of this display. Finally ripping her eyes of his sculpted torso, she meets his gaze. Somehow his blue eyes look dark when he wants her...and he does want her. Still holding his hand, she takes the first step into the stall. She shivers as the first stream of hot water hits her back, facing him, she arches back, letting the hot water soak her hair.

Spike finds it very difficult to not slam her against the wall and have his way as she presses her breasts towards him with this movement. Rivulets of water come over her shoulders, running down her chest. He follows one with his eyes as it courses between her breasts, through her navel before disappearing between her legs. He shudders. She stands back up, hair slicked back, face already flushed from the heat in the room. Or something else? Spike leans closer, watching the effect on her face with interest, but then leans past her, grabbing the soap and a washcloth from the rack behind her. Holding them up for her inspection, he cocks an eyebrow. Buffy lets her tongue slip out to wet her lips, and nods.

Spike rubs the soap into the washcloth, watching her the whole time. Buffy can feel the heat of the water bringing the blood to the surface of her skin and the heat from his presence is only making her skin more sensitive. So sensitive that when he finally touches her with the wet, soapy washcloth, she can’t hold in a gasp.

“Okay, luv?” His voice is deep and close and makes her want to dissolve into him.

“Ye-yes.” Spike’s hand moves the washcloth over her shoulders, his touch lightening when he crosses indications of last night’s fun. Scratches, small bites. He allows himself a small smile as he remembers gi her her these marks in the heat of passion. His chip never went off. Not once. He hasn’t figured that out yet, but maybe it has something to do with intent. He wraps the cloth around Buffy’s arm and drags it down, leaving soap bubbles behind. The water quickly flows after, washing her clean. He repeats this with the other arm. She is immobile, watching his every move. He can feel her hazel eyes burning into him. Her heat is intoxicating; it rolls off her in waves. Spike lightly works the cloth around her injury, removing the dried blood with his left hand. The right hand goes to her other hip, holding her still for his attention.

As he begins to soap her breasts, Buffy moves a step closer to him, bringing her inches from his body. Her bronze skin glistens with foam and water as she slowly presses against him, soft breasts crushing against his firm chest. Spike’s breath catches in his throat as she makes contact. She takes the cloth from his hand and squeezes it over his chest. The soapy liquid runs between them, coating them both. Lifting her eyes to his, Buffy reaches around and gives the cloth another squeeze over his back. He can feel the trailing water down his back and now her hand. She drops the cloth and traces his spine with her fingers. Spike has both hands on her hips now, holding her to him in the sauna of the shower. His hair has gone curly in the damp and she reaches up with her other hand and gently musses it, smiling at him. As her hand leaves his hair, it slides down to cup his cheek, drawing him down to her. Their lips meet, hot water still flowing over both them as they back under the stream of the shower.

Buffy flinches slightly as she feels the cool tile behind her, but the steam coming off her body quickly warms it. Spike moves in closer, pressing her against the wall by his hand on her hip. The other hand slips lower, circling on her navel for a few seconds.

“Oh god.” Buffy remembers her vivid dream of just 24 hours before. She was in the shower then, alone, but she imagined Spike. Doing exactly what he is doing now. Only it’s better than the dream. So much better live and in person. His fingers slip lower, dipping slowly into her. She lifts off the ground on her tiptoes as he slides in a second finger. His mouth dives for hers, warm and supple against her. The artificial heat he has from the hot water throws Buffy for a loop. Easy to pretend he is 100% living and breathing. His body warm against hers, his breath against her neck as he moves down to kiss her there. His fingers are moving in and out of her slowly, now more quickly. She is slick from both the water and arousal and he adds a third finger with ease. Bringing his face up again, Spike leans forward and presses his forehead against hers, their eyes focused on only each other. His hand moves even more quickly and his thumb exerts a repeated pressure on her clit. Buffy begins to breathe through her mouth as he sends her higher and higher, closer and closer with every thrust. Her eyes start to slip closed, but the squeeze from Spike’s hand on her hip gets her attention.

“Look at me, luv. Keep looking at me.” She bites her lip and keeps her eyes on his. The connection is intense. Too intense. She squirms a bit. There is something naked in his eyes, more than lust, and she is scared. Scared he can see it in her eyes, too. He will not relent though. His voice drops even lower and quieter.

“Don’t look away, Buffy.” Using her real name still makes Buffy jump to attention. Somehow, the way he says it is so intimate, so private. As if Buffy was her name for his use only. Despite her fear, Buffy keeps her eyes open. His pace increases and she starts to breathe out small sounds, gasps and moans. Waves of sensation wash over her and the sounds grow louder as she comes, full force. Her knees buckle, but Spike has her, his arm wrapped around her waist. With a nearly audible snap, Buffy breaks their eye contact by going in a k a kiss. Wet and warm, his mouth melts and invites her tongue in. She explores him thoroughly with her darting tongue. Finally, out of breath, she pulls back and leans against the shower wall, welcoming the additional support.

Still breathing hard, Buffy manages, “I think we may be clean enough for now.”

Spike looks at the delicate girl in front of him, so full of hidden power. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair wild and wet, her whole body gleaming with soap and water.

He can’t get enough. He smiles at his Slayer. “For now.”