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nautibitz ! Hope you have a wonderful day/night/party/whatever. I've written myself out the last few days but I dedicate this smut from one of my Spuffies to you. It's called Lucky Number and Buffy and Spike are trapped in a cave in, head to toe, with rocks on their middle but arms and legs free. What? It makes sense in the fic and is in no way a set up for gratuitous sixty-nining. I resent that implication and - ahem.
Oh, God, I say she tastes of honey and vanilla in it...forgive me, it was Christmas and I was probably drunk when I wrote it. Plus I hadn't written much smut before this.
Buffy reached out sideways and her hand brushed against soft fabric instead of hard rock. Her fingers spread out, exploring gently. She stretched out as far as she could and felt the ridge where his boot began and then moved upwards, sliding her hand slowly along his calf to the inside of his knee. She paused and shifted slightly, twisting her shoulders round. Better. Her hand moved along his thigh and she heard a faint gasp.
“I don’t think there’s anything on that bit, Buffy,” Spike called out. “But by all means keep going. I think I’m cramping up. Spot of massage wouldn’t come amiss.”
Buffy grinned evilly. If she had to die, going out teasing Spike might make her last moments bearable. She began to knead his thigh, marvelling at the play of muscles through the soft, well-worn jeans and then let her fingers stray inwards. His legs were slightly apart and she relished the surprised jerk as he felt her questing touch trail up to his backside.
In the dark, nothing existed for her but what her fingers could feel and the sound of his voice, muffled slightly but still audible. She squeezed one rounded cheek gently and then sighed with pleasure as her finger slipped inside a tear and touched cool flesh.
“That tickles! Bloody hell, Slayer. Will you get your act together and - oh.” His voice trailed off and she grinned secretly into the darkness. Gripping the edge of the rent, she flexed her arm and tore it down. Sometimes those Slayer powers came in so handy. Poor Spike now had nothing over the top of his thigh and most of his backside. And, oh dear, he hadn’t put on any underwear. Tsk.
Buffy ran a finger down the cleft between those hard, yet satin smooth cheeks and let it slip gently inside. It was getting tricky now as her arm was bent backwards a little but she managed to cup his balls and the sound he made as she did was pure magic. She giggled helplessly as he began to moan and her fingers inched in deeper, searching for his cock.
On the other side of the barrier, Spike had had enough. He had sensed the flare of desire that she had felt just before the rocks came down and he was ideally positioned to confirm that she was even more worked up now. His vampire eyes had adjusted enough that he could see very dimly and her legs were moving languidly as her hand and fingers dove deeper into his jeans. She smelt scared and aroused and it was a combination that affected him like catnip on a tomcat.
Making an effort, he twisted round so that her hand had easy access to his zip. She took the hint, pulled it down and reached inside, freeing his cock, erect and tingling at her every touch. She still hadn’t wrapped her hand around it; she was stroking it with her finger tips, exploring it slowly and delicately and he bit his lip savagely, restraining the moans that he knew she was getting off on. Twisting round had another benefit - he could reach her easily. Sliding his hand between her thighs and smirking with satisfaction at her startled yelp, he gripped her lower thigh and tugged it so that she was on her side, facing him. A few stones trickled down as their positions shifted but he ignored them. With careful precision, his fingers darted out and took hold of her zipper, pulling it down smoothly.
“Spike! No! Zip that back up,” she ordered, her busy fingers pausing.
“Make me,” he challenged her, tugging at her jeans and sliding them down over her bottom in a series of sharp tugs.
It wasn’t the wisest thing he could have said to a woman with her fingers inches away from the most sensitive bits of his body. Buffy’s nails dug deep into his balls and his legs kicked frantically. The pressure eased up and he sighed with relief.
“Well?” she said. “Get me dressed!”
Spike pursed his lips. Not going to happen, pet, he thought. The Slayer had chosen to go on patrol wearing a satin thong. Spike had touched it as he pulled down her jeans so he knew it was smooth and skimpy. Making a guess from his memories of her undies drawer, he correctly went for thong rather than panties and his fingers slid between her thighs, hooked into the thin strip of material and wrenched. The material ripped apart leaving her bare to his touch. As she gasped in outrage, he cupped her hot wetness and caressed her clitoris with his thumb. When his hostaged cock was patted, not punished, he started to explore her more thoroughly.
They didn’t speak after that. Words would have broken the spell that held both of them as surely as the rocks that pinned them down. Under Spike’s fingers, stroking, thrusting, rubbing hard, Buffy came, her panting gasps his only reward. He paused then, wondering if she wanted him to continue, knowing that she might feel a little sensitive for a while. She solved his problem by finally wrapping her strong fingers around him, her thumb going up to smooth the liquid seeping out of the head of his cock, swirling it around in small circles. His skin felt like velvet over granite there and she realised that he was thicker and longer than Riley had been. Too bad it was impossible to measure him the best way.
As her hand slid up and down his shaft, her grip shifting as she teased him, sometimes slowing down and squeezing hard, sometimes fast but barely touching, it occurred to her that he was going to come eventually. As his hips began to jerk and his cock, already hard, went rigid, she realised that it might happen sooner than she’d planned.
It would be messy. Practicality didn’t exactly overcome her lust, it just provided a solution that worked for everyone on every level.
As Spike felt her mouth slide over him, taking in as much of his erection as she could, given the angle, he decided that the rocks had killed him and improbable though it was, he’d gone to heaven. Making an effort, he stopped himself from coming and moaned in sheer pleasure as she eased off and began to lick at him with slow laps of her warm tongue, occasionally taking him fully inside her mouth but not sucking hard. It felt so good that he wanted to share.
Leaning forward he pulled her towards him and put his mouth on her, tasting what his fingers had teased from her body, sliding his cool tongue deep inside her hot depths. She tasted like honey and vanilla and she was so soft. The Slayer had never seemed yielding before and a wave of tenderness made him press his lips gently on the silken flesh of her inner thigh, a kiss that she felt burn her as ice burns. Mewling and whimpering didn’t come easily to her but now, in this place, it was easy to give in, surrender to the instincts that had her begging wordlessly for his mouth on her, even as she subjected him to the same loving torment.
They came together, crying out incoherently as their bodies arched in release, an explosion of passion that left them shaken and spent. Patting her leg gently, Spike eased her jeans up and felt her attempt to do the same with his ripped jeans, with less success.
As if nothing had happened since Spike asked Buffy to begin clearing away the rocks, she reached for one and sent it flying away.
An hour later, the Slayer’s hands were bleeding and sore, scraped in a dozen places, her nails broken and filled with dirt. Spike was doing what he could but most of the work had to be done by her. He was talking to her now, his soft husky voice encouraging her, a steady flow of words that kept her grounded, stopped her mind from even going near the terrifying reality that she was going to die in the dark with no enemy but the earth itself.
nautibitz ! Hope you have a wonderful day/night/party/whatever. I've written myself out the last few days but I dedicate this smut from one of my Spuffies to you. It's called Lucky Number and Buffy and Spike are trapped in a cave in, head to toe, with rocks on their middle but arms and legs free. What? It makes sense in the fic and is in no way a set up for gratuitous sixty-nining. I resent that implication and - ahem.Oh, God, I say she tastes of honey and vanilla in it...forgive me, it was Christmas and I was probably drunk when I wrote it. Plus I hadn't written much smut before this.
Buffy reached out sideways and her hand brushed against soft fabric instead of hard rock. Her fingers spread out, exploring gently. She stretched out as far as she could and felt the ridge where his boot began and then moved upwards, sliding her hand slowly along his calf to the inside of his knee. She paused and shifted slightly, twisting her shoulders round. Better. Her hand moved along his thigh and she heard a faint gasp.
“I don’t think there’s anything on that bit, Buffy,” Spike called out. “But by all means keep going. I think I’m cramping up. Spot of massage wouldn’t come amiss.”
Buffy grinned evilly. If she had to die, going out teasing Spike might make her last moments bearable. She began to knead his thigh, marvelling at the play of muscles through the soft, well-worn jeans and then let her fingers stray inwards. His legs were slightly apart and she relished the surprised jerk as he felt her questing touch trail up to his backside.
In the dark, nothing existed for her but what her fingers could feel and the sound of his voice, muffled slightly but still audible. She squeezed one rounded cheek gently and then sighed with pleasure as her finger slipped inside a tear and touched cool flesh.
“That tickles! Bloody hell, Slayer. Will you get your act together and - oh.” His voice trailed off and she grinned secretly into the darkness. Gripping the edge of the rent, she flexed her arm and tore it down. Sometimes those Slayer powers came in so handy. Poor Spike now had nothing over the top of his thigh and most of his backside. And, oh dear, he hadn’t put on any underwear. Tsk.
Buffy ran a finger down the cleft between those hard, yet satin smooth cheeks and let it slip gently inside. It was getting tricky now as her arm was bent backwards a little but she managed to cup his balls and the sound he made as she did was pure magic. She giggled helplessly as he began to moan and her fingers inched in deeper, searching for his cock.
On the other side of the barrier, Spike had had enough. He had sensed the flare of desire that she had felt just before the rocks came down and he was ideally positioned to confirm that she was even more worked up now. His vampire eyes had adjusted enough that he could see very dimly and her legs were moving languidly as her hand and fingers dove deeper into his jeans. She smelt scared and aroused and it was a combination that affected him like catnip on a tomcat.
Making an effort, he twisted round so that her hand had easy access to his zip. She took the hint, pulled it down and reached inside, freeing his cock, erect and tingling at her every touch. She still hadn’t wrapped her hand around it; she was stroking it with her finger tips, exploring it slowly and delicately and he bit his lip savagely, restraining the moans that he knew she was getting off on. Twisting round had another benefit - he could reach her easily. Sliding his hand between her thighs and smirking with satisfaction at her startled yelp, he gripped her lower thigh and tugged it so that she was on her side, facing him. A few stones trickled down as their positions shifted but he ignored them. With careful precision, his fingers darted out and took hold of her zipper, pulling it down smoothly.
“Spike! No! Zip that back up,” she ordered, her busy fingers pausing.
“Make me,” he challenged her, tugging at her jeans and sliding them down over her bottom in a series of sharp tugs.
It wasn’t the wisest thing he could have said to a woman with her fingers inches away from the most sensitive bits of his body. Buffy’s nails dug deep into his balls and his legs kicked frantically. The pressure eased up and he sighed with relief.
“Well?” she said. “Get me dressed!”
Spike pursed his lips. Not going to happen, pet, he thought. The Slayer had chosen to go on patrol wearing a satin thong. Spike had touched it as he pulled down her jeans so he knew it was smooth and skimpy. Making a guess from his memories of her undies drawer, he correctly went for thong rather than panties and his fingers slid between her thighs, hooked into the thin strip of material and wrenched. The material ripped apart leaving her bare to his touch. As she gasped in outrage, he cupped her hot wetness and caressed her clitoris with his thumb. When his hostaged cock was patted, not punished, he started to explore her more thoroughly.
They didn’t speak after that. Words would have broken the spell that held both of them as surely as the rocks that pinned them down. Under Spike’s fingers, stroking, thrusting, rubbing hard, Buffy came, her panting gasps his only reward. He paused then, wondering if she wanted him to continue, knowing that she might feel a little sensitive for a while. She solved his problem by finally wrapping her strong fingers around him, her thumb going up to smooth the liquid seeping out of the head of his cock, swirling it around in small circles. His skin felt like velvet over granite there and she realised that he was thicker and longer than Riley had been. Too bad it was impossible to measure him the best way.
As her hand slid up and down his shaft, her grip shifting as she teased him, sometimes slowing down and squeezing hard, sometimes fast but barely touching, it occurred to her that he was going to come eventually. As his hips began to jerk and his cock, already hard, went rigid, she realised that it might happen sooner than she’d planned.
It would be messy. Practicality didn’t exactly overcome her lust, it just provided a solution that worked for everyone on every level.
As Spike felt her mouth slide over him, taking in as much of his erection as she could, given the angle, he decided that the rocks had killed him and improbable though it was, he’d gone to heaven. Making an effort, he stopped himself from coming and moaned in sheer pleasure as she eased off and began to lick at him with slow laps of her warm tongue, occasionally taking him fully inside her mouth but not sucking hard. It felt so good that he wanted to share.
Leaning forward he pulled her towards him and put his mouth on her, tasting what his fingers had teased from her body, sliding his cool tongue deep inside her hot depths. She tasted like honey and vanilla and she was so soft. The Slayer had never seemed yielding before and a wave of tenderness made him press his lips gently on the silken flesh of her inner thigh, a kiss that she felt burn her as ice burns. Mewling and whimpering didn’t come easily to her but now, in this place, it was easy to give in, surrender to the instincts that had her begging wordlessly for his mouth on her, even as she subjected him to the same loving torment.
They came together, crying out incoherently as their bodies arched in release, an explosion of passion that left them shaken and spent. Patting her leg gently, Spike eased her jeans up and felt her attempt to do the same with his ripped jeans, with less success.
As if nothing had happened since Spike asked Buffy to begin clearing away the rocks, she reached for one and sent it flying away.
An hour later, the Slayer’s hands were bleeding and sore, scraped in a dozen places, her nails broken and filled with dirt. Spike was doing what he could but most of the work had to be done by her. He was talking to her now, his soft husky voice encouraging her, a steady flow of words that kept her grounded, stopped her mind from even going near the terrifying reality that she was going to die in the dark with no enemy but the earth itself.