Inell's Fanfiction Archive

It’s dark and the house is quiet save for snoring coming from various areas. It’s another restless night with too many dreams and nightmares for Willow to find any peace. She gets out of bed and leaves Kennedy sleeping as she sneaks out of the room. It’s another one of those nights when only one thing will get her through until morning. Those nights are becoming more common.

The stairs are warm beneath her bare feet despite the air conditioning that cools the house. Her legs are bare, her old T-shirt falling to mid-thigh, and the latest shade of her hair is a dark red that isn’t noticeable in the shadows of the house. The steps that lead down into the basement are cooler, and she’s not surprised to find him leaning against the wall with a cigarette between his full lips, waiting for her.

His gaze sweeps over her and his lips curl into a smug smile before he blows out a puff of smoke. She finds herself distracted from her purpose by thoughts of vampires and smoking, wondering again how they can possibly do so when they don’t breathe, but that’s a question for another day. Spike’s fingers are long and they unbutton his jeans with a grace that is somewhat surprising considering how rough and vulgar he can be.

No words are spoken as he raises his hips and pushes his jeans down just enough to free his cock. He’s half-hard already and his hand lazily strokes his cock as he continues to smoke and stare at her with that intense, unblinking gaze that she finds far more unnerving than she shows. Willow pulls her T-shirt over her head, her small breasts bare, nipples hardening in the cool basement air. She can feel him looking at her and blushes, embarrassed that she needs this but also aroused by what is going to happen.

They don’t speak as she pushes her panties down. She steps out of them and looks at him, arching a brow to ask if he’s ready. He smirks and blows smoke at her, licking his lips as he shifts but doesn’t stop sitting against the wall. Willow walks to the bed and crawls between his legs, taking his cock in her hand and licking it as she watches him. Their fucked up relationship, if you can call it one, is give and take. She needs what he gives her but he needs her just as much.

He tosses the cigarette butt onto the floor and reaches down to grip her hair, urging her face against his cock. There’s a haunted look in his gaze, one she recognizes all too well. Willow starts to suck him, taking only half his cock into her mouth before she starts to gag. She’s never been very good at this, even when Oz was patient and tried not to force himself into her throat. She misses Tara, misses wet curls and slick lips, misses the folds of skin that tasted of heaven and the gentle touch that made her feel wanted and loved.

Spike arches his hips off the bed, sending more of his cock into her mouth. She breathes through her nose and moves her head up and down, licking and caressing his erection with her tongue as she reached between his legs to fondle his balls. He’s quiet, rarely making any noises until the end, and his touch is rough and firm. He takes what she offers, fucking her face as surely as he’ll soon fuck her cunt, and Willow shivers in anticipation.

When he pulls her head back, his fingers tugging on her hair, he runs the head of his cock over her lips before he moves and forces her against the mattress. It smells of stale cigarettes, whiskey, and sex. Willow spread her legs and waits, reaching down to stroke herself as he smirks at her, making her need it, need him, even more. His fingers grip her wrist hard enough to bruise and pull her hand away, sucking her wet fingers before he pushes her arms against the mattress.

She doesn’t want what she had with Tara, doesn’t deserve slow and sweet, doesn’t want to make love. Kennedy is a distraction but means nothing more than a warm body against hers at night. It’s wrong to use her that way, but Kennedy pushed and pushed until Willow finally gave in to avoid the drama. Too much is happening to deal with a pissed off spoiled slayer who can’t take no for an answer. Kennedy never gets her, though. She’ll never truly get Willow, not even when they have sex and Willow uses her like a living toy for pleasure.

Spike gets her, not that he wants her. He has his own reasons for this twisted fucked-up relationship they’ve started. Buffy and souls, wanting and rejection, and other things Willow doesn’t know or particularly care about. This is about feeling again, if only for a few brief moments of release, and they both need it, both need each other.

His cock is thick and always stretches her when he slides into her. He doesn’t listen to her soft whimper as he thrusts into her completely, burying himself balls deep inside her cunt. Years without a man, with only Tara and the slim toys they used on each other, makes her adjust to his presence every time, though it’s becoming easier over the passing weeks. She’s so wet that he enters her easily, a smirk showing his smugness over how aroused she is by him, by this, and she scratches his back deep enough to make marks as he begins to fuck her. His jeans have been shoved down further, but he doesn’t take them off. The denim rubs against her legs as she wraps them around him, and she enjoys the varying sensations against her skin.

Her breasts don’t even fill his hand, but he doesn’t seem to care as he squeezes them, twisting her nipples until she’s making soft gasps as the pain becomes pleasure. He pulls out and thrusts back in hard every time, the force of his strokes making her arch off the bed. She’ll be bruised after, she always is, but she matches his rhythm and takes him eagerly. They bite and scratch, bruise and devour, and she feels alive as he fucks her over and over until the world is forgotten and all she knows is his cool body and the smell of sweat and sex and blood.

Tonight, she comes first. Her body tenses and then shudders beneath his as he sucks at the bite he’s made on her neck, lapping at the faint trickle of blood as she comes with a whine of pleasure. He pushes her legs up, her knees over his shoulders, and he stares down at her as he fucks her deep and hard. He grunts when he comes, his lips parted as he takes an unnecessary breath and trembles as he spills inside her.

After he’s done, he pulls out and crawls down, licking her cunt, sucking her clit and lapping at their combined release until she comes again. He’s smug when he pushes his jeans off and lies beside her, lighting a cigarette that he offers her. She accepts it, inhaling a few times before she hands it back, her fingers brushing against the top of his hand as he takes it from her. There’s a moment when their gazes meet and then she pulls away, running a hand over the bite he’s left on her collarbone.

He smokes as he watches her roll out of bed, his lips curled into that familiar smirk as he stares. Make-up will conceal the bites and bruises, enough that Kennedy never seems to notice, but Willow won’t crawl back into bed with her when she smells like smoke and sex. She doesn’t want to go upstairs to the shower with come on her upper thighs so she wipes the corner of the sheet between her legs.

She pulls her T-shirt back on, cringing slightly as the material rubs against her breasts and sensitive nipples. She doesn’t bother with the panties, carrying them in her hand as she walks to the stairs. She looks back at Spike over her shoulder and lets her gaze move over his nude body, noticing the scratches, bites, and marks she’s left on his pale skin. She smiles and nods, an unspoken thank you, and their eyes meet briefly once again, a silent promise of ‘see you tomorrow’ lingering in the air.

Willow turns away then and heads up the stairs, the aches and soreness in her body giving her the only sort of peace she can find these days.

The End