Buffy slipped away from the party as soon as Drusilla was too drunk to force her to remain anymore. Sipping from a bottle of blood wine she edged down a crowded hall, making faces at the demons and vampires tangled together in various stages of lust, none of them retaining any sense of modesty.
Yet another big orgy, the only difference being that it was New Year's and about fifteen minutes until midnight and there were silly hats involved.
Buffy plucked hers from her head and tossed it aside before taking a deep draft of her drink. The Gracknork demons making out against a very fragile table wavered before her eyes and she frowned at the bottle.
Too much wine in her blood?
She'd never been drunk before but she was liking the warm glow that was forming in her stomach. It had nothing to do with the vampires humping obscenely against the wall, the female's legs wrapped around the male's his pants down to reveal a really cute butt clenching and unclenching as he thrust.
Cocking her head, she leaned it against the wall next to them and avidly watched for a few minutes until she shook herself out of the haze of sudden arousal and frowned again. For a moment she was determined to leave the bottle behind, but then she walked off with it clutched to her bosom.
Maybe she'd just go sleep it off.
Finding the stairs, Buffy started up them, immediately tripping over the hem of her pretty pink dress. Snarling at the lace and taffeta, she gathered it up to mid-thigh with one hand, took a drink with the other, and stomped up the stairs. At the top, she swayed and caught herself on the banister, spinning around and falling on her bottom.
"Oops." Giggling helplessly, she finally realized her chest was wet and looked down to see blood and wine staining her bodice and dripping into her cleavage. "Oops." Dipping a finger between her breasts, she drew it out covered in red and sucked it between her lips. The top of her dress had a built-in corset--the perfect cup. Lifting the bottle she poured a bit down her front and tried to stick her tongue down there, too.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Head snapping up, Buffy gaped down at her sire who stood several steps down, making them nearly eye-to-eye. "Oops." She giggled again and felt the sticky blood wine drip down her stomach beneath the dress. "Making a mess?"
Spike glared at her, eyes snapping to gold as he caught her scent mixed with the blood. "Making a present for me?"
"A New Year's treat," she amended, smiling goofily at him as he prowled up the stairs to her.
When Spike reached two steps below her, he took one foot and pushed it against her shoulder, toppling her over. "And should I partake right here, where anyone can find us?" he murmured darkly.
"Everyone else is," Buffy replied with a shrug, sinking back on the carpet, her feet dangling between his legs. The bottle tipped out of her hand, spilling the dregs by her elbow. "One big nasty orgy."
"But this is the first time you've taken part."
"I did not," she huffed. "I left in disgust."
"You got drunk." Using the same foot, he nudged her thighs apart as far as the dress would go. "It's...interesting."
"You're making me dizzy being all towery up there." Spike dropped elegantly to his knees two steps down, pulling the taffeta tight along her outer thighs. Dipping his head he began to lap up the blood that was trickling from her bodice up to her neck, drawn by gravity. At her first whimper, his hands found her breasts, squeezing hard and making her cry out. "You make yourself a treat, you get eaten, luv," he snarled, suddenly overcome by lust.
The scent of her arousal only drove him on.
A breath of sanity reached her and she pushed at his shoulders. "Spike...wait...not here." The last word was gasped out as lapped at the pool of blood nestled in the base of her throat.
His lips vibrated against her sensitive flesh as he growled the word 'here', sending a shiver of desire through her. Rising off his knees, he used his dexterity and strength to remain hovering over her as he dragged her dress up, baring her from the waist down as she rolled her hips to accommodate him. Dropping back to his knees, he caught her thighs and lifted her legs over his shoulders.
Buffy gazed up at him from eyes full of confusion and desire. Her hands lay limply on the carpet, then suddenly clenched around the top stair riser. She watched as Spike one-handedly opened his jeans and freed his erect cock. He stroked it languidly, then leaned forward to press the tip against her cleft.
She whimpered, feeling her body dampen even more as he rubbed against her, teasing her clit until it ached. Just as she opened her mouth to beg, he slammed into her, still on his knees, pressing her legs back towards her shoulders. The whimper turned into a mindless moan and she closed her eyes, just feeling as he thrust and she squeezed and her body ached and shook. She could feel him against her, hear his harsh pants, but he wasn't kissing her or touching her. They were joined intimately but there was nothing intimate between them.
Opening her eyes, Buffy stared up at Spike, seeing the detachment in his blank eyes. Sometimes he came close to making love to her, but this wasn't one of those times. This was fucking. The truth only made her hotter and as a wave of lust rolled through her, she drummed her heels on his back and slammed her hips up to meet him.
Spike seemed surprised at her sudden participation and his eyes met hers. A sneer slowly formed on his lips and he twisted his hips, grinding into her. "Like this, pet?"
Buffy nodded helplessly, back arching. Her hips ached with every smack against the floor, but she continued to move with him, driving their bodies together.
The sneer deepened and his voice dropped low and hard, "Like getting fucked on the stairs like a dirty whore?"
"...Yes," was wrung from her as she twisted and bucked, crying out when she was rewarded with him leaning forward, the angle driving his cock against her clit. "Yes!" With another sharp cry, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him down to bury her mouth in his neck. Tremors began to rumble through her and she moaned and sobbed as the pleasure became too intense.
Spike grunted, the sound like a gunshot, and slammed into her a final time as he came.
Buffy felt him filling her and shook her head wildly, her body on the very crest of orgasm. When he lifted himself from her, she wailed brokenly and tried to pull him back to her.
Shaking himself off her, Spike rose and zipped up his jeans, then stepped to the side and continued up the stairs and down the hall.
Buffy lay sprawled, propped on her elbows, the now empty space between her legs aching with unfulfilled need, shocked to the bone.
A noise from the bottom of the stairs sent her scrambling to cover herself and stagger to her feet. Her legs nearly gave out beneath her but she forced herself to take several steadying breaths before following her sire. Anger warred with lust and sadness as she clenched her fingers into her skirt and winced at the pain and wetness between her thighs and the soreness of her back.
Arriving at her room she pried one hand free from the knot of taffeta and turned the knob. Spike stood in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back, as if he didn't have a care in the world.
What little alcohol that remained in her body fled in the face of sudden fury and, slamming the door behind her, she ran across the room and smashed into him, driving him against the unyielding panes of glass. "Bastard!" Pulling back, she punched him in the kidney, then kicked out and tripped him, knocking him to the floor. As he growled in surprise and tried to flip onto his back, Buffy dropped down, straddling him, her hands on his shoulders pinning him down as she smashed his face into the carpet. "I won't let you treat me like this!"
"Get off," Spike growled, his voice muffled against the carpet as he strained, trying to arch and knock her off. She weighed next to nothing but was pinning him in all the right places to restrain him. He managed to turn his head and growled again, "Get off me."
"I'm not a whore," Buffy yelled, violently digging her knees into his ribs.
Suddenly freeing one hand, Spike grabbed her wrist and clumsily flipped her over his head. "You're whatever I say you are," he hissed as he rose to his hands and knees and pounced, pinning her shoulders to the rug and jamming one knee between her legs. The twisted taffeta skirt ripped as he forced her thighs apart. "You're mine," he declared before smashing his mouth over hers in an angry, passionate kiss.
Buffy fought it, twisting and snarling, trying to pull free from him, but his tongue pushed between her lips, delving into her mouth, and sparks went off in her. The bond between them tightened, and her snarls turned to moans. Tears of frustration flooded her eyes and she freed a hand to slap at him.
Spike ignored the blows, one hand moving between them, tearing her skirt further to find her. She was swollen, wet, warm from the blood, and he rubbed her clit roughly, two fingers sliding farther down to thrust inside her.
Yelping as her stomach and womb clenched and her clit throbbed, Buffy bucked on to his hand as she began to return his kiss.
His lips gentled even as his hand moved harder, faster, his thumb pressed to her clit, three fingers stretching her. "Come for me," he whispered into her mouth before kissing her again, entwining her tongue with his own.
Buffy shuddered, gasped, and climaxed, pleasure drowning her as his fingers slowed, guiding her through the shuddering waves.
As she came down and his hand and lips slipped from her, she began to weep, silent tears of both misery and release.
Spike lifted his head and she looked away, not wanting to see him gloating or, worse, see emptiness in his eyes. Therefore, she was surprised when he rose from her, pulling her with him and swinging her into his arms to carry her to the bed. She opened her eyes carefully and found him staring at her chest. Glancing down she frowned at the streaks of dried blood, then gasped as his tongue licked across the tops of her breasts. "You need bathing," he murmured in a husky voice before licking her again, wetting the blood, then lapping it down. "Shall I lick you clean, kitten?"
"...Spike?"
He nuzzled beneath her bodice, his tongue sliding between her breasts, tickling her until she whimpered and squirmed. Buffy was confused by his change in mood but had learned to go along with them--those rare times that they changed for the better were to be eagerly grabbed on to. As he peeled her dress down, baring her blood stained breasts, she moaned and surrendered to the rising passion.
There were an endless number of days and to process what was happening and a new year in which to awaken. At the moment, she was content to just revel in the rare tender touch and almost playful mood of her sire.
End