By Minim Calibre
Notes: More early bitch fic. Buffy/Spike, R.
Before she died, she thought she’d tried kinky.
After all, she and Riley had tried bondage. One or the other would get tied up with a couple of flimsy silk scarves, and there’d be some kissing and fondling until a fit of the giggles ensued and the game was up.
Now, of course, she knows why it never worked. She didn’t want to tie him to anything. Not to her, not to her bed, not to her life.
She also understands why the costumes were no biggie. With Riley, it was always a costume. Buffy the Naughty Nurse, push comes to shove, really wasn’t any different from Buffy Summers, Co-ed. Funny how it took a little thing like dying to put things in perspective.
She never told her mom that she knew about the handcuffs. She just pretended that she hadn’t heard that thought, and Joyce pretended she’d never had it. It wasn’t really something Buffy had wanted to find out about her mom… it kind of ranked right up there with finding out she slept with Giles in the first place. Somehow, though, between that, Faith, and Will’s “Mistress of Pain” remark, she ended up spending the last half of senior year trying to keep bondage thoughts out of her mind while averting the apocalypse.
She rubs her wrist idly. Maybe it’s time to steer him towards padded restraints. She’d seen some online. There had to be something better than handcuffs. She can break handcuffs. Come to think of it, so can he.
She can’t believe she’s actually thinking about this. Ways to keep doing… that. With him.
It’s hard to admit to herself even now that she’s screwing him how much the sight of him chained to Giles’ bathtub had turned her on. When she teased him with the curve of her neck, she’d already soaked her novelty panties.
She doesn’t much bother with underwear anymore. They all just end up torn off anyhow.
Someone’s saying something to her. Anya or Willow… hell, for all the attention she’s being paying to the conversation, it could have been Xander. She closes her eyes and tries to concentrate, but just ends up shifting in her seat until she starts to feel warm.
“I’ll go shake up some sources… see what’s going down.”
God, could I get any more Freudian? These days, it seems like everything she says and hears is about sex. She rushes out of the Magic Box and heads straight for the cemetery.
He doesn’t bother to say anything as she frantically removes her clothing. He can hear her pulse race when she shrugs out of her clothes, and one eyebrow raises, but he remains silent.
She’s damned near grinning by the time she reaches the bed. He’s right where she left him, chained and naked.
“Oooo….I bet you’re just starving, aren’t you?”
He’s torn between glowering and panting, and she stifles a giggle.
She crawls on up and straddles him.
“I bet you’d just love a taste of this poor, defenseless little neck, wouldn’t you?”
She leans down until he can almost reach her throat.
“So warm, so soft… the blood’s just pumping through it…”
Panting has won out. Good.
She leans in closer, then bites down hard on her lower lip and kisses him as she slides onto his cock.
He groans into her mouth as he sucks on the cut she’s made for him and fights against going into game face, knowing damned well that she’s taken to keeping a stake under the pillow. He feels her clenching like a vise and knows it’s time for them to find release. Her thighs tighten around his hips as he thrusts harder, and she reaches her hands up to grab his wrists. She can feel the cold iron of the chains bite into her palms, can taste the power she has over him in the blood on her tongue, and lets sensation overtake them both.
She rolls off of him and smiles again.
“Let’s get you something to eat…then it’s my turn.”