Chapter 13

by Tam


Just fuckin’ perfect.


Spike scowled from the shadowed safety of the porch while Buffy of Sunnybrook Farm flitted from barn to garden to hen house, chattering a mile a minute to the mangy cur that plodded happily at her bare heels. She turned at the barn door and gave him a cheery wave before disappearing inside once more.


‘What’s it take, mate?’ he castigated himself. ‘When are you gonna learn to keep your big gob shut?’


Last night, instead of whiling away the midnight hours buried balls deep in his slayer, he’d been relegated to the ugly plaid couch like a recalcitrant husband while the little woman slumbered in solitude behind the locked door of the master bedroom. Unless he wanted to spend another night ensconced on lumpy cushions, he’d better be doing some fancy apologizing for his runaway tongue.


Which he would be more than happy to do if he could get her to come back to the bloody house. What the hell could she be doing out there?




Buffy grinned as she watched Spike pacing irately back and forth on the porch. She knew he was waiting for her to come back, but for now she was perfectly content to sit up in the haymow, soaking up the sun with a lap full of kittens while mama kitty took a leisurely bath.


She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so at ease with herself. How many times since being called as the slayer had she been able to just sit and do nothing but breathe and bask in the sunshine? Cemeteries at midnight had been her venue for the last few years and if she wasn't patrolling, she was cloistered in the gloomy library with Giles struggling to absorb some arcane demon lore that meant squat to her. Granted the library was gone now, along with the rest of the school, but she just bet the research would now be moved to Giles’ equally dismal little apartment. Once again; sunshine deprived Buffy.


It crossed her mind that she should be feeling guilty about not rushing back to defend the Hellmouth like a good little slayer, but she couldn’t bring herself to care very much. Giles could preach all the doom and gloom and dire predictions he wanted, but one fact remained. The Hellmouth had been there since the beginning of time and it would be there long after her death. Why was it her job to baby-sit that sulfurous pit when none of the other slayers had ever had to?


Mama kitty decided to leave off swabbing her furry face and nudged her way onto Buffy’s lap with her babies. Buffy giggled when the cat graced her petting hand with grateful swipes of her raspy tongue.


A contemplative expression swept over her face and she shot another glance at the still restlessly pacing vampire. An all-over flush that had nothing to do with the warmth of the sun’s rays prickled over her entire body. She’d noticed that Spike’s face wasn’t the only thing that changed when he vamped. The tongue that worshipped her throat after he’d bitten her differed drastically in texture from normal, and she couldn’t help but wonder how the rougher aspect would feel if it explored other parts of her body.  


Gently pushing her lap free of kittens, she rose to her feet and made her way to the loft doors. She leaned her body languidly against the doorjamb and pressed her face against sun-warmed wood, waiting for her vampire to notice her.


Her vampire.


Well, he was for now, anyway. Until she could convince him that Dru was a colossal waste of his time. He hadn’t come right out and said he’d changed his plans for her, but surely he had? The look in his eyes, the wealth of emotion in his every touch…could something that intense be faked?


Having no one but Angel to fall back on for comparison was turning out to be more of a handicap than she had anticipated. Not that they had anything in common besides lack of a pulse and a shared family tree. And Drusilla the faithless slut-bomb, of course.


The one time with Angel, first time jitters aside, had been a major disappointment. Oh, it had been sweet and romantic, all tentative touches and treating her like spun glass, and before being confronted by Angelus and the morning after from Hell, she’d held on to the hope that the next time would be better. Of course, since Angel had gotten more of a happy from it than she had, there never was a next time.


Spike, on the other hand…


There was nothing tentative about Spike. Just thinking of the ways he used that lithe, muscular body to enslave her was getting her all hot and bothered. That, and the way he was prowling back and forth on that front porch like a caged panther, those blue eyes smoldering as he glared up at her.




There was more standing between them than the length of the yard and the blazing sunshine that bathed it, but at this moment, she really didn’t care. This place, this little farm in the middle of nowhere, was their haven from the world and she intended to take full advantage of it.


The fact that they were totally isolated here suddenly occurred to her and a feline smile curved her lips as she pushed away from the door’s edge. Her clothes were suddenly unbearably itchy where they lay against her skin. Catching Spike’s eye, her fingers moved nimbly down the row of buttons that closed her blouse. She peeled it slowly open and let it slide off her arms. The scrap of lace masquerading as a bra went next, dangling from a saucy finger before fluttering down to join the shirt.


If she hadn’t had his undivided attention before, she certainly had it now. Spike had skidded to a halt when the first button came undone and was staring up at her, completely dumbfounded by her sudden loss of inhibitions. When the bra wafted to the floor, she allowed him a brief glimpse of her bared breasts before coyly giving him her back and shaking her ass tauntingly. A soft snarl escaped him as she began to slide her denim Capri’s over her hips, wriggling much more than was necessary. It escalated to a full-throated growl that rumbled like thunder across the yard between them when she stepped out of her pants and stood there in nothing more than the red lace of her miniscule thong.


She slipped her thumbs under the waistband and turned to face him once more as she did a little dip and shimmy, her pert breasts bobbing and her skim limned golden by the sunlight.


It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Half-crazed with lust and hard enough to pop the brass buttons off his Levis, Spike stormed into the house and snatched the cozy pink quilt from the couch. Swirling its protective folds around him, he hit the door at a dead run.


Buffy shrieked at the sight of a smoldering, pink-flowered blob streaking across the yard towards her and ran to hide herself in the musty darkness of the hay loft.




Spike barreled through the barn doors and ripped the smoking quilt from his back. Tossing it to the dirt floor, he stomped out a few errant flames, swearing all the while. The cows and horses housed in the stalls looked on with calm acceptance.


“Stupid bint! Makes me sleep on that instrument of torture all night and then has the balls to do a fuckin’ strip-tease.” Okay…maybe ‘balls’ was the wrong word. Definitely no room for balls in that little smidge of lace she was wearing, but still… And where the hell did she learn that little trick?


It was eerily silent as he moved stealthily upwards, and there was no sign of the slayer. A sly grin curved his lips. Thought she could hide from him, eh? Not bloody likely! Not with the tantalizing fragrance of Eau de Slayer in Heat tickling his sensitive nostrils.


A scrap of red draped over a stack of hay bales told him he was on the right track. He snatched it up, burying his face in the damp lace with a lustful snarl. Following his nose into the darkest corner of the loft, his eyes narrowed as he found his prize.


Buffy lay back in a pile of straw, a small piece of it dangling from her fingers as she nibbled delicately at the end. Her hair was charmingly tousled and a fine sheen of sweat covered her silky limbs. One eyebrow arched when he slipped into view, his eyes blazing yellow in the faint light.


“What took you so long?” she queried. Stretching indolently, she allowed her legs to fall open. One slim finger trailed down from her collarbone and came to a stop just above her mound, tracing idle circles. “I’ve been waiting forever.”


“You might have considered a little thing called sunlight, Slayer!” he roared at her.


Even the animals below were picking up on the sexual tension crackling through the air, but neither of them noticed as Spike stalked towards her, ridges prominent and fangs bursting forth.


Buffy shrugged, unimpressed by the show of his demon. Her hand wandered lower, two fingers delving through the sparse curls and parting the soaking lips to reveal the pearly-pink flesh within to his hungry gaze.


“You’re…inventive. I knew you’d figure out a way to get here if I gave you the proper…incentive,” she purred. Her fingers slipped lower, gathering up the slick moisture and spreading it over her throbbing nubbin.


Spike reached down and tore open his confining jeans and his aching cock sprang out, straining towards her like a divining rod. Dropping down on all fours, he prowled through the musty hay until he loomed over her. When he started to shake off his demon, Buffy stopped playing with herself and held up her hand in restraint.


“Don’t. I want all of you this time.” Ignoring his lethally sharp incisors, Buffy slipped a wet, questing digit past his lips. ‘God, I love it when I’m right!’ she thought with a blissful sigh. “I want you to show me,” she murmured as she stroked his roughened tongue, painting it with her juices, “how…inventive…you can be with this.”


Catching her wrist, he pulled her finger from his mouth, curling his tongue around it in a sensual caress before it slipped free. Holding her gaze, he lapped at her soft palm, wetting it thoroughly before lowering it to his throbbing column of pale flesh.


“Think you can handle it?” he hissed when her fingers took initiative, wrapping tightly around him and gliding up and down with a torturous lack of urgency.


A look of carnal delight swept over her face and she hummed in appreciation as she leaned in to nuzzle his ridged forehead. Moving down, she licked his jaw and gave it an impudent nip before pressing her lips to his in an almost ridiculously chaste kiss.


“I’m dying to find out if I can,” she whispered with a wicked smile at her play on words.


Spike pulled reluctantly from her needy grasp and moved down her body, dipping his head and licking a burning path to her center. He wasn’t sure where her sudden need to explore the more demon-y aspect of his personality had come from, but he’d be damned all over again before he passed up an opportunity like this.


Buffy arched at the first swipe of his slightly raspy tongue over her folds, a high, quivering sigh clawing its way free from her throat. Her hands tangled in his hair, relishing the softness between her fingers.


“Like that, do you?” he chuckled. It was a little bit difficult to go at her without nicking her girly bits, but judging from the very loud moans of approval she was emitting, he was more than getting the job done. Didn’t take much, either. The girl was strung so tight that a few deft licks and one good, hard suck of her button set her off with a howl of rapture. Whipping his head to the side, he buried his fangs in the soft flesh of her thigh, the sting of pain sending her rocketing off into a state of euphoria.


She barely gave him time to close the tiny wounds before she was tugging at his shoulders, urging him up her body and cradling him between her thighs. There was the tiniest twinge of disappointment when the demon melted smoothly from his features, but it was quickly forgotten when he swooped down and captured her lips in a toe-curling kiss.


“God, Buffy…drive me crazy.” He butted against her, wetting his cock with her creamy essence. An agile twist of his hips and he was buried to the root, scorched by her snug depths.


“Ungh! Already…there,” she panted breathlessly. She wound her arms and legs around him, clinging to him like a velvet vine as he filled her, stretching her to the point of delicious pain.


He began to move, slowly at first but soon setting a punishing rhythm that had her gasping and clawing at his back. It was a raw and animalistic coupling, both of them using their bodies to express what their voices couldn’t. When he felt her walls quivering around his girth, Spike jerked her head to the side and struck. The prick of his fangs sliding home at her throat flung her over the edge, his name ripped from her in a harsh scream of release.


Buffy found herself suddenly consumed by the need to mark him in some way as well. Disdaining Drusilla’s marks, she sank her teeth into the bulge of muscle that covered his unbeating heart. Spike roared at the intense pleasure, coming hard as her teeth tore through his skin.


He collapsed against her, his weight pushing her deeper into the fragrant straw. His tongue found the ragged mark at the base of her neck and bathed them languidly. Satisfied that the bleeding was stopped, he rolled over onto his back, dragging her with him.


They finally noticed the restless movements and frantic calls of the livestock below them. The cows were bellowing, the horse was rearing up in its stall and whinnying shrilly, and even the chickens had gone mad with the cackling.


Spike picked a piece of hay out of his ear and frowned at it. “Feels like I’m in the middle of a bloody Ace Ventura movie!” he groused.


Buffy’s laughter pealed through the twilight.