Blood Milk
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,927
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,927
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Blood Milk
Title: “Blood Milk”
Author: femmenerd
Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Genre: drabble/one parter
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Buffy. Spike. Blood, breasts and clandestine passion. Drabblish. Buffy POV.
Warning: Blood play
Disclaimer: All characters of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, who started this whole ball rolling. I’m just playing.
Author’s Note: This is my first stab at B/S which is rather odd considering that they are the closest I come to a “pure” ship or OTP.
The dew on the cemetery grass is cold as her ass hits the ground, only slightly cooling her boiling skin as her skirt flares out around her body.
He thrusts into her and for a moment the thinking stops. Transcending death and pain, this pleasure is the only thing that exists as she lifts her hips because she has to, because she needs this, only this.
She watches as his game face emerges, the change occurring in an instant, an infinitesimally small breath of time. Over and over she has tried to catch the exact moment of the change, to catalogue it because it fascinates her. Kind of like the times she coaxes his cock out of submission, watching as it transforms before her eyes. His eyes change from William-blue to monster yellow yet she can still see the sharp flare of love in their golden glow. Right now this fierce love does not frighten or sicken her although later, when she is alone, soaping him out from between her thighs she will shudder at herself, at him, at this secret that she must keep.
She remembers the first time he showed her his true face during sex. Of all the thousands of similar bumps and ridges she has obliterated - turned to dust - his is the demon face that’s burned into the recesses of her mind. It is an image that floats up to her unbidden when she is alone, on the edge, caressing herself with urgent fingers or detachable shower head.
He moves his head in the direction of her throat and her pulse races, anticipating the delicious pain of the imminent incision. But in a flash, just as his teeth are about to reach their usual destination, she flips them both, landing on top with determination.
He stares up at her with surprise and watches as she pulls down her top, freeing her breasts and framing them in the hammock of stretchy fabric. Titties on display as she rubs her aching skin before him, delicately stroking her nipples and gasping.
He does not move, staying rigid beneath her as she lowers herself and dangles her wicked fruit. Before guilt or apprehension can find her she pushes an already turgid nipple towards his glistening fangs and holds her breath for the beat it takes before his jaw clamps down.
And then he is suckling her, swirling the blood with his tongue and coating her sensitized skin. Somehow he is both ferocious and tender, a bleach haired man-child who sees and needs only her.
His mouth feasts on her and in doing so the near constant stream of beautiful, erotic obscenities is stopped. The air is silent except for heavy breathing (hers) and satisfied sucking sounds (his). But the words that usually flow straight from his mouth directly into her secret places float in her consciousness. The way that they always do, making it so that she cannot explain her non sequitor blushes and sighs.
There is symmetry here, between the way that he blindly pulls at her breast and how she swallows him whole with her cunt. They fill each other up in the only ways accessible to them at this point in time.
She is aware of the multicolored hickeys and bruises on her inner thighs from where he bit her – with blunt teeth that time – days ago and they still haven’t gone away. Shouldn’t the super Slayer healing powers have done something about that?
But she wears them like a badge of her misdeeds and the knowledge of this proof of their passion excites them both. Earlier he had stroked the still blooming marks under the table, fingers creeping up her thigh even as the Scoobies chattered on. He grinned and she trembled, soaking her panties in an instant.
Vampire.
Slayer.
Vampire in Slayer.
Slayer blood trickling through Vampire lips.
They ought to cancel each other out…
But instead they fuse into something hot and bright, seething in the darkness.
She comes a screaming ocean, pussy clenched, riding out a tidal wave of forbidden passion.
Why is this the only thing that feels right?
Author: femmenerd
Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Genre: drabble/one parter
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Buffy. Spike. Blood, breasts and clandestine passion. Drabblish. Buffy POV.
Warning: Blood play
Disclaimer: All characters of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, who started this whole ball rolling. I’m just playing.
Author’s Note: This is my first stab at B/S which is rather odd considering that they are the closest I come to a “pure” ship or OTP.
The dew on the cemetery grass is cold as her ass hits the ground, only slightly cooling her boiling skin as her skirt flares out around her body.
He thrusts into her and for a moment the thinking stops. Transcending death and pain, this pleasure is the only thing that exists as she lifts her hips because she has to, because she needs this, only this.
She watches as his game face emerges, the change occurring in an instant, an infinitesimally small breath of time. Over and over she has tried to catch the exact moment of the change, to catalogue it because it fascinates her. Kind of like the times she coaxes his cock out of submission, watching as it transforms before her eyes. His eyes change from William-blue to monster yellow yet she can still see the sharp flare of love in their golden glow. Right now this fierce love does not frighten or sicken her although later, when she is alone, soaping him out from between her thighs she will shudder at herself, at him, at this secret that she must keep.
She remembers the first time he showed her his true face during sex. Of all the thousands of similar bumps and ridges she has obliterated - turned to dust - his is the demon face that’s burned into the recesses of her mind. It is an image that floats up to her unbidden when she is alone, on the edge, caressing herself with urgent fingers or detachable shower head.
He moves his head in the direction of her throat and her pulse races, anticipating the delicious pain of the imminent incision. But in a flash, just as his teeth are about to reach their usual destination, she flips them both, landing on top with determination.
He stares up at her with surprise and watches as she pulls down her top, freeing her breasts and framing them in the hammock of stretchy fabric. Titties on display as she rubs her aching skin before him, delicately stroking her nipples and gasping.
He does not move, staying rigid beneath her as she lowers herself and dangles her wicked fruit. Before guilt or apprehension can find her she pushes an already turgid nipple towards his glistening fangs and holds her breath for the beat it takes before his jaw clamps down.
And then he is suckling her, swirling the blood with his tongue and coating her sensitized skin. Somehow he is both ferocious and tender, a bleach haired man-child who sees and needs only her.
His mouth feasts on her and in doing so the near constant stream of beautiful, erotic obscenities is stopped. The air is silent except for heavy breathing (hers) and satisfied sucking sounds (his). But the words that usually flow straight from his mouth directly into her secret places float in her consciousness. The way that they always do, making it so that she cannot explain her non sequitor blushes and sighs.
There is symmetry here, between the way that he blindly pulls at her breast and how she swallows him whole with her cunt. They fill each other up in the only ways accessible to them at this point in time.
She is aware of the multicolored hickeys and bruises on her inner thighs from where he bit her – with blunt teeth that time – days ago and they still haven’t gone away. Shouldn’t the super Slayer healing powers have done something about that?
But she wears them like a badge of her misdeeds and the knowledge of this proof of their passion excites them both. Earlier he had stroked the still blooming marks under the table, fingers creeping up her thigh even as the Scoobies chattered on. He grinned and she trembled, soaking her panties in an instant.
Vampire.
Slayer.
Vampire in Slayer.
Slayer blood trickling through Vampire lips.
They ought to cancel each other out…
But instead they fuse into something hot and bright, seething in the darkness.
She comes a screaming ocean, pussy clenched, riding out a tidal wave of forbidden passion.
Why is this the only thing that feels right?