Yes, shock horror, I have written TWO Spuffy ficlets! Eep!
They were written for![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
xnosferatux over at ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
nekid_spike and inspired by this outrageously hot punk/rocker Spike manip: here. Just too sexy for words!
Anyway, please find them below, if you are interested in some (GULP) het action!
Part the first:
Buffy looked up at the stage, so stunned that she lost brief control of her motor functions and poured half of her gin and tonic down her cleavage.
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And its ill-advised, dirtybadwrong continuation!:
Several minutes after Spike’s routine had finished, Buffy finally recovered enough to stand up on shaking legs. She was grateful that she was wearing a dark coloured skirt, because she had a suspicion that there might be a large damp patch on it.
They were written for
xnosferatux over at nekid_spike and inspired by this outrageously hot punk/rocker Spike manip: here. Just too sexy for words!Anyway, please find them below, if you are interested in some (GULP) het action!
Part the first:
Buffy looked up at the stage, so stunned that she lost brief control of her motor functions and poured half of her gin and tonic down her cleavage.
She had been wondering for a while where Spike was coming up with the money he insisted on giving her. With bills mounting and pesky requirements like food and clothing to contend with, she had been forced to accept it, but she had been unable to keep her promise not to try to discover its source.
And if this wasn’t a big YAY for promise-breaking and nosiness, then she didn’t know what was.
When she had followed him here, she had pretty much expected to find him pick-pocketing from drunken patrons, although the naïve hopeful part of her had whispered the unlikely possibility that he might be working the bar. She had settled in to find out, rolling her eyes that Spike wouldn’t even thieve from anywhere classier than a strip club.
When the lights had dimmed, preventing her from searching out her quarry, she had cursed and turned resignedly to the spot-lit stage. As the first few bars of I Love Rock N Roll had pumped out from the speakers – the Joan Jett version thankfully, although Buffy didn’t know that and wondered when Britney had improved so dramatically – her bored and disapproving expression had morphed into pure shock, and that was when her fingers had stopped working properly.
In fact, as Spike strode out into the centre of the stage, only one part of her did seem to be functioning, and in spades.
He was dressed in nothing but leather pants and a studded wristband and choker, all inked up in temporary tattoos and with numerous piercings that she didn’t even know he had, including one through his nipple that attracted her eyes like a moth to a flame.
As he began to dance, his beautifully muscled body rippling and writhing, she wondered who had turned up the heat to one hundred and fifty degrees, and also whether the chairs were waterproof.
As he ripped off the leather pants, revealing a thong – the first underwear that she had ever seen him in, actually – her glass shattered in her hand. Absently, she brushed the fragments, ice cubes and slices of lemon off her clothing, continuing to gape at the stage. He was so feline and sensual, and she swore that she could feel the raw heat and potent sexuality rolling off him in forceful waves. Now, why was it that she had stopped fucking him again? She couldn’t quite remember, but it seemed like something that ought to be rectified in the near future.
When he began to crawl across the stage in her direction, she thought that she was going to faint, or die (again). Still, it would totally be worth it. As he crawled onto her table to reach her, blond hair glowing in the lights and that filthy, wicked smirk firmly in residence, her heart started jackrabbiting in her chest and her breaths came in short, ragged pants.
He leaned forwards and slowly licked the gin and tonic from between her breasts to loud cheers from the audience, continuing to drag his tongue upwards and over her collarbone and neck to her earlobe. Buffy could feel the hard metal nubs of his lip ring and tongue stud, and her stomach flipped and rolled.
“Did you think I couldn’t scent you, little girl?” he whispered in her ear, caressing the shell with his tongue.
She knew that he must also be able to scent the arousal rising from her in great, dizzying wafts. She tried to answer, but failed spectacularly, producing nothing more coherent than a breathy moan. He chuckled against her, before bringing his mouth to hers.
Lightning-quick, he thrust his hand underneath her skirt, past her panties and plunged two fingers straight inside her, darting them in and out in the same rhythm that he tongue-fucked her mouth.
She bucked against him, mind exploding with white light at the intensity of the sensations. Her only clear thought was that if his tongue stud felt that good inside her mouth then how would it feel on the rest of her body?
He could only spare a few seconds of the routine to do this without upsetting the other patrons and without his bosses realising that he was going way above and beyond the boundaries set by the establishment. Luckily, a few seconds was all it took before he felt her tense and shudder, her wetness flooding his hand and her scream lost in his mouth.
Returning his lips to her ear, he whispered, “Gonna punish you later for following me when I told you not to,” and was gratified to feel her shiver.
Grinning, Spike pulled away from her, leaving her sweating and shaking and on the verge of passing out.
He finished up the routine, earning admiring glances, inappropriate touches and enough tips to pay the household upkeep for another week. He was doing it for her – the pretty, debauched creature staring longingly up at him, oblivious to the fact that her jellified legs were spread almost obscenely – but he would be a liar if he said that he didn’t enjoy it.
After all, if a bloke was this fucking sexy, then he ought to do the decent thing and show it off.
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And its ill-advised, dirtybadwrong continuation!:
Several minutes after Spike’s routine had finished, Buffy finally recovered enough to stand up on shaking legs. She was grateful that she was wearing a dark coloured skirt, because she had a suspicion that there might be a large damp patch on it.
As she headed towards the strip club’s exit, she passed by the backstage access and was shocked to find herself hauled through it by a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Her high-pitched shriek was cut off by a hand clamping over her mouth.
She put up a token struggle as she was dragged down a corridor and shoved out into a dark alleyway, though it was only for appearances: she knew who had hold of her and she had absolutely no intention of getting away from him.
Narrowly avoiding tripping over a broken crate, she had barely righted herself when she was grabbed roughly and forced up against the dank brick wall.
“I told you not to follow me, Slayer,” growled Spike, pressing his hard body against hers to pin her to the wall.
He had thrown some jeans on, but his torso was still naked and he still sported the studded collar and wristband. Her eyes strayed down to his shoulder and arm, and roved hungrily over the henna tattoo there before returning to his face and fixating on the lip ring. Buffy’s heart thumped loudly against her ribcage and she felt a giddying rush of lust slam through her.
“And you thought, what? That I’d try something new and listen to you for once? Yeah, like that would ever happen,” she replied with an eye-roll, trying to sound as if she wasn’t currently soaking through her panties.
“Remember wot I told you in there?” he asked, cocking his head towards the club. “Or were you too distracted by me finger-fucking you?”
“I remember,” she said breathlessly, too turned on to admonish him for being crude.
“And wot did I say?” He had wedged one strong thigh in between her legs and he increased the pressure, smiling when he felt her grind down against him.
“You said you were going to punish me,” she gasped, rocking her hips against the rough denim.
“That’s right, pet,” he whispered against her lips, placing one soft kiss there before abruptly stepping back. As she tumbled forwards, he caught her and dragged her a few feet over to a low stack of wooden pallets. Sitting down, he pulled her squirming form across his lap, chuckling at her indignant squeak and tugging her skirt up around her waist. He ripped her sodden panties away with one sharp yank, and cast them carelessly on the ground.
“Spike!” she called, and he could hear the lust and need in her voice, although she tried to sound outraged.
“Shh! Be a good little girl or I’ll just spank you harder,” he warned, although he wasn’t entirely sure whether it was much of a threat given the way that she was trying desperately to rub off against him.
Holding her still with one hand in the centre of her back, he used the other to land a succession of quick, hard smacks against her smooth white backside, almost purring at the pretty red handprints that sprung up.
Buffy wriggled and squealed, feeling a warm flush through her entire body and very conscious of the hardness digging in to her stomach. The sharp crack of flesh on flesh resounded through the alleyway, rivalling the muted thump of the music through the strip club wall. She couldn’t quite stifle her panting groans, betraying just how much she was enjoying the pain and humiliation: Spike really knew how to play her.
Suddenly he stopped, and for a second she relished the night breeze cooling her stinging buttocks. Then she jumped as she was abruptly full of fingers, one in her ass and two in her pussy.
“Christ, you are so wet, you bad girl,” he teased, continuing to hold her in place as he slowly fucked his fingers in and out of her. The pointed studs of his wristband dug into her back, but she barely noticed.
“Spike,” she pleaded as she rocked back against him.
“Wot, pet?” he asked, speeding his movements up a little.
“Just, please! I need…” she trailed off as she tried to gain leverage to grind into his hand.
“Wot do you need? Is it this?” he wondered silkily as he let go of her back and leaned his body over hers. She could feel his nipple ring through the thin cotton of her top. Spreading her cheeks, he licked her with broad, forceful sweeps of his tongue, lapping at the wetness from between her swollen lips and darting in and out of her ass.
Buffy almost screamed with pleasure as he plunged his tongue in and out of both of her passages, the sensation heightened by the metal bumps of the stud and the lip ring.
He tongue-fucked her until he felt the involuntary muscle spasms that signalled the approach of orgasm and quickly pulled away.
“No!” she shouted, insanely frustrated.
He roughly pushed her off his lap and stood up. “Bend over the pallets,” he ordered, popping the fly on his jeans.
Looking up at him, taking in the way his bright blue eyes burned ferociously within the sharp lines of his perfect features, she did as bid. Laying her belly flat against the rough wood, her legs trailed out behind her, feet scrambling for purchase on the dirty alley floor.
Spike was tall enough that he could kneel behind her, and he grabbed her thighs in a harsh grip, pulling them apart. He thrust straight inside her, cursing loudly at the exquisite sensation of being buried to the hilt in the hot, wet grip of her.
Instantly, he began to piston in and out of her with hard, quick thrusts, grunting like an animal.
Despite the discomfort as the edges of the pallets dug into her hips and stomach, Buffy was in ecstasy. She could already feel her orgasm building again as his smooth rock-hard dick slammed into all the right places within her.
As he felt her about to tumble over the edge, he stilled entirely.
“Spike! Move, dammit!” she demanded, trying ineffectually to fuck back against him. Her tone earned her a harsh slap on the thigh and a sharp tug on her hair.
“If you want to come, Slayer, you’re going to have to ask me nicely,” he told her, using his hold on her hair to pull her head back. He licked up her neck and under her jaw line, biting into her with blunt teeth.
Way too aroused and frustrated to consider disobeying him, she replied, “Please, Spike. Please just keep fucking me. I can’t take it!”
Laughing softly, he released her hair and resumed his forceful thrusts, roughly massaging her breasts through her top with one hand, and shoving two fingers inside her ass with the other.
“Oh my God, Spike!” she shouted as the intense sensation exploded within her, sending waves of charged heat shooting through her body. She bucked and shuddered beneath him, gasping for breath as she sweated and panted.
“Good girl,” he said huskily as she began to come down from the climax. “Hold still,” he added as he withdrew from her, the acrid tang of her juices flooding his nostrils. She had been sopping and his cock was thoroughly lubricated, so he didn’t feel too bad as he forced it into her back passage, breaching the tight ring of muscle. She squeaked and tensed, but didn’t try to stop him.
“Gonna come in you, luv,” he whispered, rolling his eyes at the hot, tight feel of her as he pounded into her ass. Within less than a minute, he gasped and called out, flooding her with long jets of lukewarm cum. Almost shaking with the force of it, he finally felt the dizzying pleasure begin to ebb and he pulled out of her, sinking back on his haunches. He grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, lavishing kisses on her hair and neck.
“You alright?” he mumbled, smiling as she wriggled around to face him, slipping her arms round his neck and carding them through his gelled hair, messing it a little.
“I’ve been worse,” she grinned. “Kinda sticky though,” she added, making a face.
“Not surprised, pet. Do you feel punished?” he asked, smirking lasciviously at her.
“Yeah, Spike,” she replied sarcastically. “That really taught me a lesson. I shall certainly never be doing anything to inspire that again.”
“At a girl,” he chuckled, resting his forehead against hers.
She shuffled around, trying to pull her skirt down from around her waist.
“Hope you’re not trying for dignity, Slayer. Not with your sodden little girly panties lying in a damp puddle on an alley floor…”
“Like you can talk about dignity! Shaking your ass for money…”
“Got you hot, didn’t it?”
“Oh, there was heat. Possibly even some kind of combustion and flamey-ness,” she agreed.
“Let’s go fetch my clothes. I need to change out of this get-up.”
“Ok. Uh…Spike?”
“Yes, luv?”
“Can’t you just, you know, keep the jewellery…?”
Spike grinned, sliding his tongue stud along his teeth. “Hell yeah, baby!”
THE END.
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Current Mood: 
weird
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