Watching the Paintbydarkphoenix1©
"What are you doing under there?" Buffy slid her sandaled toe absently in Spike's direction. The half-eaten candy apple in her hand swung dangerously close to the fender of the 1969 Charger he had recently restored.
"Watch the paint, luv," he said, tilting his head up at her from under the car. "I'm just tuning her up."
Buffy grinned. "Maybe you'd like to tune me up," she said, taking a bite from her apple.
Spike laughed. "Maybe I would," he said. "You got some knocking under your hood?"
"Mmm-hmm. And some pinging."
"Well, we can't have that, can we? Just lemme finish up here, baby."
She rolled her eyes. God, men--no, boys and their cars. What the heck was taking so long? Finally Spike stood and released the jack that had held the car up. Buffy started to walk back over, but he popped the hood and started messing with something in the engine. "What now?" she asked, eating the last bite from the apple.
He looked at her and smiled. Shit, she looked hot today. Not that she didn't every day, but damn. That tight little sleeveless turtleneck thing with the zipper down the back, and a short skirt. Bare legs, bare arms, just the chunky bracelet and a bump under her shirt the necklace he gave her hung. It didn't look like she was wearing a bra. "Changing the spark plugs," he said.
She giggled and went to throw away her apple stick, swaying her hips gently as she did. He stopped what he was doing to watch her appreciatively. "Uh-uh, Spikey," she said, turning and catching his eye. "Finish up."
Sassy today, huh? he thought. We'll see about that.
Buffy strolled back to the car, licking a bit of sticky candy residue from her fingers. She reached the car and flicked her tongue around the outside of her hand. Spike's eyes narrowed. Her tongue was bright red from the candy coating on the apple. He slammed the hood down with a bang.
She hopped up on the massive fender, her feet kicking out in front of the left front wheel, her eyes never leaving him as he grabbed a shop towel and wiped his hands of the most obvious dirt.
"Now what are you doing?" she said, blinking prettily.
"I'm about to fuck my girl till she can't remember her own name, if she'll quit buggin' me," he said, walking over to her and nudging he legs apart.
"Spike... do you want to go upstairs?" she asked, almost nervously. Last time it had been at night. Now it was a bright sunny Saturday afternoon; anyone could walk into the garage at any time. Part of her hoped he'd say no, though. Upstairs was where they were gentle and sweet; anywhere not upstairs- the garage, the grounds, and on one memorable occasion, the coat closet at one of the professor's functions.... was where they, to borrow a phrase from Willow, 'went at it like little bunnies on a bunny-making farm.'
"No," he said, pushing her skirt up and massaging her thighs. "I don't want to go upstairs. I want you to stop sassin' me and do as I say." He punctuated his words by lifting her top a little and nibbling on her navel.
"Ha... ahh..." Buffy half-laughed, half-moaned. "You know you love it," she said. "You love it when I sass you and tease you... mmm..."
Spike slid his hands under her top to caress her--now confirmed--braless breasts. He growled slightly at her words; he knew they were true. He loved that she teased him.
He also knew she loved it when he showed her she was his; her heart rate increased and her arousal, thick and sweet, perfumed the air. "Slayer..." he breathed. "Shut up."
Tugging at her top, he lifted it over her arms--the tight neck got stuck around her eyes when he tried to pull it over her head.
"The zipper," Buffy said, reaching behind her head.
"Uh-uh," Spike said. He had an idea. "Leave it."
"Spi-ike," she said softly, blushing. Jesus, her breasts blushed, too. Better give 'em a little bite. "I can't see anything. I-- it looks silly."
"You look fuckable," he said, pulling her hands away and holding them behind her back. "Leave it." He released her hands and stepped away, leaving her half-naked and blind on the fender. "Don't think about it. Don't think about anything but what you feel," he said, bending to lick a nipple. Her sharp intake of breath and the shift in her scent told him she was on board with his idea.
He ran his fingers lightly up her thighs and unsnapped her skirt. She'd taken to buying skirts that could be unbuttoned or unzipped all the way, after losing a few to eager hands. Shit, she was wearing the minuscule black lace... he pulled her panties slowly down, breathing in as the rich smell of her wafted up.
"Those are your favorites, aren't they?" Buffy asked, breathlessly. "You never tore them off."
He didn't say anything--just pulled them off and surveyed his work. Buffy, naked except for her little strapless sandals, perched on the edge of his favorite shiny big toy. She wiggled nervously and tilted her head, unsure of his location.
This was gonna be good.
Buffy closed her eyes under the thin turtleneck material. Spike was close; she knew that. She could feel the heat from his body nearby. She always knew when he was near--her body knew it before her mind did, sometimes. It was driving her crazy. She focused her thought on him, pushing all the nagging worries--what if Willow comes in? What if Caleb decides to pop in and attacks the house via this very garage? Oh, God, what if Dawn comes in?--to the back of her mind. The only thing she allowed herself to think of was what was happening.
Suddenly she felt Spike's hands grasp her right foot gently. He took off her sandal and caressed her arch. It tickled, and she twitched her foot. "Hold still," he said, and the low tone of his voice filled her with trepidation as it aroused her. She loved it when he was like this--in charge (the word 'dominant,' flashed across her mind briefly, and she quickly shoved it deep in the recesses of her mind). Sometimes she was embarrassed by how much she liked it.
She stilled her foot and he caressed it again, slower this time. She could feel her pulse, insistent and strong, in every pore of her skin. Still holding her foot, Spike dipped his mouth and kissed her anklebone. Jesus, who knew her anklebone was a fucking erogenous zone? Obviously Spike did. A small moan escaped her mouth, and increased as his tongue flicked out to lick her Achilles tendon. When he sank his teeth into the soft flesh on either side of the strong tendon, she exhaled and gasped, "ummm.... Spike!" God, she thought, if he keeps that up I'll come just from him biting the back of my ankle.
"Slayer," he said. No, no, don't stop. Mouth on ankle, now. Ankle is severely lacking Spike attention. "Am I gonna have to gag you too?" Oh, God. She could feel her skin reddening. He chuckled. "Maybe another time, baby." Well, if it would get her more ankle licking... She felt the heat of his mouth close to her ankle again, but he didn't touch her there. Instead, he ran his fingers over the backs of her knees and planted almost tender kisses on each of her knees.
Infinitely glad she had shaved her legs all the way up, Buffy felt sharp twinges of pleasure--so sharp, they bordered on the edge of discomfort--shoot from his mouth on her inner thigh, up her spine to her brain. She knew what was coming, and the anticipation twisted in her. She felt tight and coiled, like a jack-in-a-box, ready to spring forth--only Spike was turning the crank at a maddeningly slow pace, one note at a time.
He bit and nibbled her thighs and paused, his hot breath blowing over her wet, dark blonde curls. She felt the heat grow within her and she whimpered uncontrollably. "Please..." she whispered.
"Please, what, Slayer?" Spike asked, so close, all she would have to do is shift a centimeter or two and...
"Please-- I want, I need you..."
"What do you need?"
God, he wanted her to say it. "I need you-- your mouth on me. I need you to make me co-- ahhhhmmm..." She trailed off when she felt him stroke her with the flat of his tongue, parting her and ending with a tight swirl around her clit.
She clutched at his head, wrapping her fingers in his thick hair and pulled him closer, closer, urging him on. It was as though the entire cosmos was wound back into this single moment, this point, quivering on the brink of something immense. And then, with a big bang, a Word, Brahma's waking exhalation, the universe began. Pleasure flooded through her and she thought she cried out his name. The only other word she could speak was "yes."
This was a long way from the small white church in SunnyDale, but she knew it was sacred.
Spike stood and kissed her, hard. She tasted herself and wanted more. He sucked her candy-apple red tongue from her mouth and encouraged her to explore his--salty, tangy, and a little sweet. "Gotta be inside you," he growled.
"Yes. Yes..." she said. Her vocabulary was not improving.
He pulled her off the car and turned her around, bending her over the fender. She stretched her arms out to brace herself. "It ain't gonna be nice," he said, spreading her legs.
"Yes it is," she said. Two more words added to her vocabulary. She heard him drop his jeans and felt his strong hands grip her hips--she arched her back to give him easier access. He positioned himself and plunged his length into her, hard and fast. Her arms flew out and her bracelet clanked against the hood. She groaned.
"Buffy..." he said, collapsing his face between her shoulder blades, pausing just a moment before pulling out. He grabbed her wrists and held them with one hand in the small of her back, bracing himself on the car with his other hand. "Watch the paint, baby," he said, slamming into her and pulling out again, faster this time. He moved quickly now, establishing a rhythm that signaled he was done drawing things out.
Buffy almost laughed; how could this man--her man--who made her contemplate a life of sin, a life spent worshipping his body above any and all holy things, still think of such mundane things as auto paint while he had her bent over a car pounding into her ferociously?
God, she loved him.
His pace quickened again, and he panted against her neck, biting and sucking the soft flesh there. She gasped again at the pleasure of his bite. She knew he was close, and that made her throat dry and her muscles contract. She hummed and moaned, knowing that when he went, she would follow. Two more thrusts and he yelled her name, his body a tight, shuddering wire. His hand snaked around and barely brushed her clit before she came again, her body pulling his into hers and prolonging their contact.
"God. God," he said, his voice raspy, his breath hot on her back. "Not done with you yet, luv'. You-- this is how we belong." He released her wrists and slid out of her. She turned around, her legs barely holding her weight, and tugged and ripped until her turtleneck came off. Blinking in the sunlight streaming through the window, her hair was wildly tousled and her eyes were wilder. "No," she said. She licked her lips. "I'm not done with you yet." He was still wearing his black shirt, slightly greasy from working on the car. She grabbed at it, pulling it over his head and hugging him close, enveloping his hard body with her soft one.
Spike hugged her back, breathing in their combined smells and the heady, addictive, scent of Buffy's contentment and joy. He wanted her to smell like that always. Jesus, she was hot. Good to go for anything and everything he wanted. And she was all his. No one else would ever know her like this--he knew it in his bones, even if they had never met, even if she left him tomorrow, anyone else would get barely a fraction of what he got from her. This side of her was a secret treasure only he could find. They were compatible in a way very few people were; they were fucking lucky to have found each other.
Fuck, he loved her.
He kissed her forehead and stroked her back. She smiled and said, "Ready for another go?" Shit. She pushed him against the car and dropped to her knees in front of him. He gripped the fender tightly. "Watch the paint, lover," she teased, her bright red candy-apple tongue slipping out to lick him clean.
Christ. She'd done this before--he knew she liked it, and he liked it, so they did it a lot--but usually in bed. Never like this: on her knees, naked, submissive before him. It was enough to make him hard just looking at her; when she took him--semi-erect--whole into her mouth and slowly pulled back, her tongue pressing against the underside of the head, well, he was surprised he didn't come right there and then. She smiled, releasing his now full erection. "I love that," she said. "I love feeling you in my mouth, getting hard, knowing that I'm doing that to you."
"Buffy, God... Don't stop, baby. I love it. I love it when you do that." He forced his mouth to make the words. His fingers touched her face and tangled in her wild blonde hair. She met his eyes and took the tip in her mouth again, sucking gently. Her left hand massaged his stomach and hips, while her right hand tightened around the base of his shaft.
Fuck. He knew she was telling the truth: she really did love it. Buffy radiated truth right now. She loved it, loved how it made him feel, loved to make him respond to her with wild abandon. He didn't plan to disappoint her today. "Deeper," he choked. "Can you--" She brought both her hands up to grasp his hips and swallowed him as far as she could, pulling back again, running her thumb in the same undulating path her tongue made on him. His hips involuntarily rocked and his hands plunged into her hair. "Yeah, like that," he said. "Faster." She obliged him, taking him deep again and pulling back faster, squeezing her lips and swirling her tongue, over and over.
He moved his hips to match her pace and glanced down. Her eyes were wide open and she was watching his face. "Yeah," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "You feel so good, Buffy." She took him again and this time scraped her teeth lightly on his sensitive skin. Shit, he wasn't going to last. "Mmph, just like that," he said again. "I'm gonna..." he released her hair and gripped the car again, letting her decide what to do. He knew what she was going to do--she never did anything halfway--but it was part of the excitement, watching her, as she did now, take him deep and wholly accepting of him. He grunted and came, hard, and she swallowed every drop. "Mmmm..." she said, standing, after a second. "You taste good."
He laughed. "You sure are good for my ego, babe."
Buffy beamed, wide and happy. "You'd be good for mine too, if you didn't care so damn much about that car's paint job," she said, teasing.
"Darlin', I'll melt the damn if you think for one minute I really put it above what I'm feeling for you," he said, picking up the blowtorch nearby and firing it up.
"No! No," she said, giggling. "Don't do that! We wouldn't have anything to make out in on Sunday afternoons!"
Putting it down and holding her tight, he laughed again. See? Compatible.