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last part of Buffy Kinkathon
Mar. 6th, 2005 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essene_backupTitle: Too Long, part 2
Written for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
herself_nyc
Rating: hard R, possibly NC-17
Author's Note: Unbeta'd, so if there's anything glaring--my apologies.
A few explanations: This came out of a prompt fromspikes_heart and nicely brought me into herself_nyc’s fic request. Shout outs to Constantine, and The Princess Bride—sorry, sometimes other people’s words just…fit. This is part 2, and amazingly, it's finished.
Continued from here.
Once there, he looked baffled as to what to do next. Man, did she love it when he was off kilter and that mouth stopped moving for more than five seconds. She set him on the toilet and stripped off his shirt, which seemed caked with some sort of gel, or dried…well, something nasty. His chest, smooth and defined, showed evidence of severe bruising that was just rising to the surface of Spike’s sheer, pale skin. Gently, she ran her fingertips over the purple skin, and brushed over his small rosy nipple, delighting in his sharp intake of breath and the uncontrolled ripple of his pectorals in response to her. It had been so long. Too long.
Pants. Pants now. As much as she loved the look of his bare feet, lean and tendoned, looking masculine, yet graceful at the end of the still stiffening jeans, all clothes had to go. She deftly opened his belt buckle and unbuttoned his fly. Buffy dared a look at him. His eyes were blue flame, and his nostrils were flaring slightly, jaw clenched as tight as his fists, as though willing himself to submit to her ministrations was nearly more than he could bear. The nervous knot in her belly uncoiled and began to spiral itself into a different kind of tension.
He raised his hips slightly as she curled her fingers into the waistband and tugged them down over the bones she remembered licking and sucking with passion more than two years ago. Too long. Far too long since she’d touched him. As the jeans inched their way down, Buffy was gratified to see that he wasn’t completely immune to her, that as much as he struggled to control the rest of him—see if she was only playing games with him again—there were some parts of him that resisted.
It was still lovely. Long, but not too long, gently curving upward, a thick vein on the underside that she loved to lick with broad strokes or just the tip of her tongue up one side and then the other. A flared head that shimmered as the skin filled and tightened as the blood rushed to it, a tiny hole promising more than just the small drop of fluid that glinted there. It was the only part of his body, other than his nipples and his lips that glowed pink with life—well except for now, when the blood was rising purple and yellow into angry contusions on the rest of him.
She willed herself not to touch his cock. Not to press a kiss into that rod of flesh that she had ached forever since she had denied it to herself. But her traitorous cheek insisted upon brushing it as she pulled his jeans down his shins and off his feet, and she exulted in the stifled groan she heard above her.
Naked. He was naked. Granted, he was also sitting on the toilet, but she thought it was very well the most glorious sight she’d seen in recent history. Steeling herself, she tucked herself under his arm again, and moved him to the edge of the tub. His arms braced himself on the lip as she grasped his ankles and swung them over—so delicate, who would’ve thought that such a well-put together figure would be built upon such finery? If he were a woman, she’d be jealous.
Oh god, she needed him and needed him badly. So badly she was waxing poetic upon the construction of his ankles for god’s sake!
She pressed him lightly on the broad of his back, and he slid into the tub, she pushed the top of his shoulder gently until he slipped beneath the surface and came back up again, water sheeting from his skin as he sat up. She’d found some soap under the sink and dunked it into the water with him. She worked a lather between her hands and applied it to his body, massaging each part she touched with sure and gentle fingers. Head, neck, shoulders and down.
She moved to his front and locked her eyes with his as her hands continued their cleansing, she lingered longer than necessary over his nipples just because the parting of his lips when she touched them, and the roll of his jaw thrusting them forward each time she glanced over them compelled her to toy with them. Down his firm belly, feeling the firm rise and dip of his abdomen as she soaped and pressed small circles into it. And then it was there; the tip of his prick bobbing and kissing the back of her hand. And she thought she’d float away from light-headedness. She grounded her self by gripping it firmly in her small palm, wrapping her fingers around it tight and catching Spike’s groan in her mouth.
Fuck, she’d been such a fool. The press of his lips on hers was like fire and cool water together. It was calm and earth shattering at once, the soft plump of his lips controlled by the demanding muscles beneath. She broke the barrier first, letting her tongue slide across and between the split of his lips, tasting the slick inside of his mouth, reveling in the scrape of his teeth across her tongue. And as she remembered the full hard cock in her hand she began to stroke him, begging entrance to him with hand and mouth.
He let his head fall back as his mouth opened and raised his hands to her head, tangling wet fingers in her hair, kneading her scalp with his fingertips, massaging his desire and acceptance into her through his hands and mouth.
She wasn’t sure why, but she felt a strange compulsion to cry. To weep for joy and regret, to let the tears wash away their past mistakes so they could begin again. But he wouldn’t understand her tears, he would misinterpret them and think them the stuff of anxiety and pain—he’d never been the most astute interpreter of her emotions. But he did love her. She knew this now. Knew it and was ready to accept it and love him back.
So, instead of crying, she stroked up the long shaft of his penis, and ran her thumb across the head on the down stroke while memorizing the curves of his mouth with her lips and tongue. She knew he was going to come, she knew because he was grunting in the back of his throat and lifting his hips in time with her hand, the water was rising and falling, slapping against the sides of the old iron tub, the cock in her hand pulsing and hot. And then he was still. Feet braced on the bottom of the tub, neck strained against the lip, his mouth taut against hers, his come warm and slow on her hand.
She let go of him slowly, released his cock and mouth in turn and waited for him. His body relaxed and he sank back into the cooling water. His head rolled to the side and his eyes opened to reveal rich blue irises that no longer had burning fire, but still smoldered.
Not giving him a chance to speak, she said, “I love you. And I plan on showing you just how much from this point on. That? That was just the aperitif.” She winked. “Wait until you see what else I’ve learned about fine dining.”
She reached to the towel rack and unfolded the towel, holding it up for him, “Come on, I have lots to show you.”
Spike stepped out of the tub and into her arms. Buffy wrapped him in the towel and held on to him. Hers now. Hers. It had taken her too long to realize it, but she wasn’t planning on letting go again.
***************
The Kink: Buffy being tender to Spike
Restrictions/requests: None
Rating preference: R--NC-17
Written for:
herself_nycRating: hard R, possibly NC-17
Author's Note: Unbeta'd, so if there's anything glaring--my apologies.
A few explanations: This came out of a prompt from
spikes_heart and nicely brought me into herself_nyc’s fic request. Shout outs to Constantine, and The Princess Bride—sorry, sometimes other people’s words just…fit. This is part 2, and amazingly, it's finished.Continued from here.
Once there, he looked baffled as to what to do next. Man, did she love it when he was off kilter and that mouth stopped moving for more than five seconds. She set him on the toilet and stripped off his shirt, which seemed caked with some sort of gel, or dried…well, something nasty. His chest, smooth and defined, showed evidence of severe bruising that was just rising to the surface of Spike’s sheer, pale skin. Gently, she ran her fingertips over the purple skin, and brushed over his small rosy nipple, delighting in his sharp intake of breath and the uncontrolled ripple of his pectorals in response to her. It had been so long. Too long.
Pants. Pants now. As much as she loved the look of his bare feet, lean and tendoned, looking masculine, yet graceful at the end of the still stiffening jeans, all clothes had to go. She deftly opened his belt buckle and unbuttoned his fly. Buffy dared a look at him. His eyes were blue flame, and his nostrils were flaring slightly, jaw clenched as tight as his fists, as though willing himself to submit to her ministrations was nearly more than he could bear. The nervous knot in her belly uncoiled and began to spiral itself into a different kind of tension.
He raised his hips slightly as she curled her fingers into the waistband and tugged them down over the bones she remembered licking and sucking with passion more than two years ago. Too long. Far too long since she’d touched him. As the jeans inched their way down, Buffy was gratified to see that he wasn’t completely immune to her, that as much as he struggled to control the rest of him—see if she was only playing games with him again—there were some parts of him that resisted.
It was still lovely. Long, but not too long, gently curving upward, a thick vein on the underside that she loved to lick with broad strokes or just the tip of her tongue up one side and then the other. A flared head that shimmered as the skin filled and tightened as the blood rushed to it, a tiny hole promising more than just the small drop of fluid that glinted there. It was the only part of his body, other than his nipples and his lips that glowed pink with life—well except for now, when the blood was rising purple and yellow into angry contusions on the rest of him.
She willed herself not to touch his cock. Not to press a kiss into that rod of flesh that she had ached forever since she had denied it to herself. But her traitorous cheek insisted upon brushing it as she pulled his jeans down his shins and off his feet, and she exulted in the stifled groan she heard above her.
Naked. He was naked. Granted, he was also sitting on the toilet, but she thought it was very well the most glorious sight she’d seen in recent history. Steeling herself, she tucked herself under his arm again, and moved him to the edge of the tub. His arms braced himself on the lip as she grasped his ankles and swung them over—so delicate, who would’ve thought that such a well-put together figure would be built upon such finery? If he were a woman, she’d be jealous.
Oh god, she needed him and needed him badly. So badly she was waxing poetic upon the construction of his ankles for god’s sake!
She pressed him lightly on the broad of his back, and he slid into the tub, she pushed the top of his shoulder gently until he slipped beneath the surface and came back up again, water sheeting from his skin as he sat up. She’d found some soap under the sink and dunked it into the water with him. She worked a lather between her hands and applied it to his body, massaging each part she touched with sure and gentle fingers. Head, neck, shoulders and down.
She moved to his front and locked her eyes with his as her hands continued their cleansing, she lingered longer than necessary over his nipples just because the parting of his lips when she touched them, and the roll of his jaw thrusting them forward each time she glanced over them compelled her to toy with them. Down his firm belly, feeling the firm rise and dip of his abdomen as she soaped and pressed small circles into it. And then it was there; the tip of his prick bobbing and kissing the back of her hand. And she thought she’d float away from light-headedness. She grounded her self by gripping it firmly in her small palm, wrapping her fingers around it tight and catching Spike’s groan in her mouth.
Fuck, she’d been such a fool. The press of his lips on hers was like fire and cool water together. It was calm and earth shattering at once, the soft plump of his lips controlled by the demanding muscles beneath. She broke the barrier first, letting her tongue slide across and between the split of his lips, tasting the slick inside of his mouth, reveling in the scrape of his teeth across her tongue. And as she remembered the full hard cock in her hand she began to stroke him, begging entrance to him with hand and mouth.
He let his head fall back as his mouth opened and raised his hands to her head, tangling wet fingers in her hair, kneading her scalp with his fingertips, massaging his desire and acceptance into her through his hands and mouth.
She wasn’t sure why, but she felt a strange compulsion to cry. To weep for joy and regret, to let the tears wash away their past mistakes so they could begin again. But he wouldn’t understand her tears, he would misinterpret them and think them the stuff of anxiety and pain—he’d never been the most astute interpreter of her emotions. But he did love her. She knew this now. Knew it and was ready to accept it and love him back.
So, instead of crying, she stroked up the long shaft of his penis, and ran her thumb across the head on the down stroke while memorizing the curves of his mouth with her lips and tongue. She knew he was going to come, she knew because he was grunting in the back of his throat and lifting his hips in time with her hand, the water was rising and falling, slapping against the sides of the old iron tub, the cock in her hand pulsing and hot. And then he was still. Feet braced on the bottom of the tub, neck strained against the lip, his mouth taut against hers, his come warm and slow on her hand.
She let go of him slowly, released his cock and mouth in turn and waited for him. His body relaxed and he sank back into the cooling water. His head rolled to the side and his eyes opened to reveal rich blue irises that no longer had burning fire, but still smoldered.
Not giving him a chance to speak, she said, “I love you. And I plan on showing you just how much from this point on. That? That was just the aperitif.” She winked. “Wait until you see what else I’ve learned about fine dining.”
She reached to the towel rack and unfolded the towel, holding it up for him, “Come on, I have lots to show you.”
Spike stepped out of the tub and into her arms. Buffy wrapped him in the towel and held on to him. Hers now. Hers. It had taken her too long to realize it, but she wasn’t planning on letting go again.
***************
The Kink: Buffy being tender to Spike
Restrictions/requests: None
Rating preference: R--NC-17
no subject
Date: 2005-03-07 12:34 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-03-07 02:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-07 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-03-08 02:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-08 10:53 pm (UTC)*bounces with essene-writing-again happiness*
no subject
Date: 2005-03-10 03:50 pm (UTC)What I enjoyed so much here is Buffy's thinking and then that you give us a little smut, but leave the main event to our imagination. Very nice.
Oooh, and the details about Spike's body. Loved those.