Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (tv)
Summary/Teaser: Spike has a motorcycle, and the leather to match.
Warnings: explicit het sex
Notes: Written for ladywenham for the Spuffy Kinkathon. The request: Spike in black leather gloves, Spuffy, soulless Spike -- smut would be nice, but not necessary. :)
Word Count: 832
This fic takes place mid-S6.
Standard Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and co. own the characters, I'm just playing with them. I do, however, own this story, so don't steal it. Archive it anywhere; just ask first.
Feedback is always appreciated. Make me blush with praise or rip apart the story with criticism, or both.
“You wanna go for a ride?” Spike offered Buffy a leather-gloved hand.
Buffy held it up to her face and inhaled deeply. "Mmm, leather. Have I been a very bad girl? Do I need to be spanked?"
Spike snatched his hand back. "You've got a damn thing for pain, girl."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "You, a vampire, calling me on that particular character flaw?"
Spike looked sullen. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."
He turned to walk away, but Buffy grabbed him by the shoulder. "Where do you think you're going?"
He stopped, but didn't turn his face back to her. "For a ride. On my motorcycle."
Buffy's eyes lit up. "You have a motorcycle? How did you--? Nevermind; I don't wanna know."
"Like I would have told you anyway. Since clearly your only interest in it is having me run you over with it."
"Hey, I never said I had a death wish." She was standing right in front of him now. "So do I get to see this hog of yours?" She leaned against him, one hand on her shoulder the other tracing patterns on her shirt.
He moved away stiffly. "Please. Don't. Call it that. You make it sound like I mud wrestle farm animals or something."
"Mmm, mud wrestling."
Spike glared at her. "Not on your life."
She pouted. "You just ruin all my fun."
"The feeling is mutual."
"Baby, I am your fun."
"You have no conception of what a healthy relationship is, do you?"
Buffy crossed her arms. "Let's see, I could mention the excellent modeling that is my parents. Or, I could make cracks about you and Drusilla. And then there's the crazy-insano option of defending my previous relationships."
"Or you could just hop on the bloody bike."
"That's a really hot euphemism, you know," Buffy said, smiling and kissing him.
Spike wondered sometimes why he stuck around. This infuriating little bundle of bones and blond hair, who smelled perpetually of fast food now, and who probably treated panhandlers -- or would if Sunnydale had any -- better than she did him. He should really just rape her sister, slaughter her friends, and then get the hell out of Dodge. Okay, there was that pesky business of the chip in his skull, but still. Whatever happened to William the Bloody? He missed his old self sometimes, found his current self reminding him disturbingly of when he used to fall all over Cecily. At least he was having really good sex this time. Yes, the sex. That was it. He was taking her on a motorcycle ride to a cottage overlooking the desert. Keep telling yourself that, said a voice in his head, but he wasn't really paying attention anymore. He was paying less and less attention to his internal monologue as their kissing intensified.
Buffy raked her nails up his back, and Spike pulled away. "You wanna strip and shag here?"
"Why not?" She gestured at the deserted cemetery. "Your crypt's right over there, if you're not keen on grass stains."
"I was hoping we could go for a ride--"
"Not your bloody bike again. What is with you?"
"A ride," he said firmly, "out to the desert. There's an abandoned cottage I know of overlooking the desert. I thought you deserved something better than, well, this." He gestured at the cemetery with rather less enthusiasm than she had shown when making the same motions.
Buffy cringed. She hated when he was sweet. It made everything... harder.
She swallowed her pride and smiled gently. "That's really sweet. But why don't we stay here tonight? I mean, neither of us is gonna be in much condition for traveling come morning."
He couldn't disagree with that. "Well, okay. Since you're so good at begging."
They went into his crypt, quickly leaving all their clothes on the floor. Except for Spike's gloves. Buffy insisted they stay on. He ached to touch her, flesh to flesh, but he acquiesced to this leather fetish.
He lay next to her, caressing her torso, then tweaked her nipples. Her eyes were closed, and she looked so vulnerable, her skin quivering tight against her birdlike skeleton.
He knelt over her and laid soft kisses on her torso. She shivered. He kneaded the insides of her thighs, and she shook with anticipation.
He skimmed her loins with a leather-clad hand and again leant over, this time blowing softly on her loins, nipping softly at her exposed clit. A choked squeak escaped her throat.
He licked a solid trail from her navel up between her breasts to the hollow of her neck and then kissed her on the mouth, running his hands up and down her torso. She latched on to his mouth hungrily, raking her nails down his back.
He thrust into her gladly, feeling their body rhythms shift almost unconsciously into harmony.
Yeah, it was just the sex. That's why he stayed. He would just keep telling himself that.