Five Servings a Day

“So, I had this idea, love.”

Buffy raises an eyebrow, trying to ignore how Spike has taken on a nice blurry quality in front of her. “Let’s hear it.”

Turned to face Spike on the couch, one leg tucked under her, Buffy leans a little closer. So close Spike catches a fresh taste of her jasmine perfume. She rests the full shot glass on her bare thigh, her shorter than short skirt barely covering her. Spike notes her finger circling the glass edge, slowly. He licks his lips, ripping his eyes from her tanned legs back to her expectant face.

Spike cocks his head slightly to the side, a little smile touching his mouth. Truth be told, despite his cool exterior, he is barely holding himself back from drooling all over the Slayer. Her scent, her eyes, her flirting...her tongue...it’s all becoming more tempting than he ever could have thought. He realizes every step he takes further is a risk. At any moment, the Slayer could decide to live up to her title. But since he is a touch on the reckless side, he is moving forward.

“More of a...show, not tell idea. You up for it?”

“Are you?” Her rapid fire response and quick glance to his crotch make Spike’s smile.

“Yeah, love, I am.” His slow, deliberate response makes Buffy’s eyes want to trail downwards once again.

Spike slides closer to Buffy on the couch, their knees bumping each other. Buffy’s breath catches in her throat, not from the contact, but from the look he gives her. Her vision slips into focus at the gleam in his blue eyes, their gaze dancing down over her face, her neck, her bare shoulders. She feels nearly naked under his perusal and almost jumps out of her burning skin when his hand lands on her knee. Buffy suddenly feels very nervous. She wonders for the eighty-second time tonight what she has gotten herself into with Spike.

“Oh! What - what are you - ” Spike leans closer and Buffy almost instinctively leans away. His hand squeezes her leg lightly and she hesitates, stops moving back. Spike’s tongue quickly wets his bottom lip, eyes moving from Buffy’s mouth to her eyes quickly. She holds her breath, waiting for him to make a move. And trying to decide in her tequila-addled mind what she will do when he does.

His voice is low, soft. “Open your mouth.”

Buffy blinks. “Huh? No!”

“Come on, love. Trust me?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Spike laughs, but doesn’t move out of Buffy’s personal space. His hand slides up her thigh, fingers sliding around her hand and the still full shot glass sitting there. Buffy’s fingers twitch under his, her eyes jerking back to his face.

“It’s just a shot, Slayer. Won’t hurt you.” He tilts his head slightly to the side. Spike’s voice drops, roughens. “Now. Open. Your. Mouth.”

Buffy’s mouth almost falls open from the force of his words alone. The intensity of his look and the feel of his finger lightly pressing against her bottom lip makes her mouth come open, just a bit. His finger moves away and Buffy’s eyes slide closed. The room is closing in on her, all warm and close. She is startled out of her thoughts and her eyes pop open as something cool and waxy touches her mouth. Buffy makes a startled noise around the lemon wedge which is now trapped between her lips.

Spike smiles. “Patience, pet. Patience.” And without so much as a warning, Spike closes the distance between them in a heartbeat and the next sensation is his tongue sliding slowly up her neck, leaving a trail of cool moisture behind. Buffy feels her nipples harden and her belly flip flop, everything reacting at once to the sudden sensation. She tilts her neck slightly to the side at the pressure of his tongue and moans low in her throat as Spike nuzzles her ear. He moves back and a strange tickling sensation on her neck finally crystallizes his plan in her mind. She blames the tequila coursing through her for not picking up on it quicker. A surge of moisture between her legs as she realizes he is going to be licking her neck again in a mere moment.

And then he is, his hand on her opposite shoulder as his tongue drags so slow time drags along with it. Buffy swears she can hear the rasp as his tongue collects the trail of salt from her neck. The fingers twined with hers on her shot glass pull the glass free and Spike leaves her neck long enough to take the shot. Buffy’s brain struggles to keep up and realizes what is about to happen right as Spike’s lip brush hers and he takes the lemon from her mouth with his own.

Buffy sits very still, trying to rein in her hormones as they take over, flooding her senses, draining her impulse control and sending a warm flush all over her body. Spike sits back, observing as he finishes sucking the lemon and drops it on the table.

“Bloody delicious, love.” He licks his fingers of the lemon juice and smiles at her.

Buffy blushes fiercely under Spike’s hot appraisal, her skin still wet from his tongue, her lips tingling from the lemon and his brief kiss.

The litany repeating in Buffy’s brain alternates between Holy shit, that was hot to What the hell am I doing letting Spike lick me? Somehow, it gets compressed to That was hot when I was letting Spike lick me which pleases her inner vixen ever so much more than the protestations.

That same inner vixen takes charge of Buffy’s mouth in the next instant. “Strange how you took the shot and my head is buzzing, isn’t it?”

Spike’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at Buffy’s words. He doesn’t answer, just stares at her, eyes dark with increasing lust. The balance of power keeps tipping back and forth between the two of them at an alarming rate. Buffy leans over to the table, coming dangerously close to showing Spike just how bare she is under her tiny black dress. She picks up the bottle and fills the shot glass there with a splash. She grins at Spike in a most disarming way while grabbing the salt shaker.

“My turn, I believe?”

Spike cocks his head at her slightly. “That it is, love.”

Buffy holds up the salt shaker, giving it a little shimmy. “So.” She gives him the once over. “Where do you want it?”

He chokes and splutters, not expecting those words to come out of her pretty little mouth. Recovering slightly, he manages to answer her. “Oh Slayer, I don’t think I should answer that. I like all my limbs firmly attached.”

Buffy mock-pouts at Spike. “Guess I’ll have to pick, then. That okay with you?”

“Very.”

“Hmm.” Buffy looks Spike over, inch by inch. Her eyes pause on particularly tempting locations, making Spike’s mouth go dry. She taps her finger on her chin in exaggerated thought before raising it in the air and proclaiming her instructions. “Lie back.”

Spike doesn’t even reply, just lies back, head propped against the armrest of the couch. Buffy laughs at his prompt reaction and he joins her, but falls quickly silent as she arranges his legs. One foot on the floor, the other leg stretched down the couch and Buffy sitting between them. Spike holds very still. “About time you learned to listen to me, Spike.” Buffy continues where her body tells her to, her mind having long since left the building. Surprisingly enough, her heart is weighing in by thumping wildly in her chest. She has been trained to follow her instincts when fighting, every decision a reaction, a reading of events to come. But to let her instincts take over like this, with this vampire...well, there’s a reason her mind gave up and left. It doesn’t make sense, but damn if it doesn’t feel exactly right.

And as her hand with the salt shaker comes to rest on Spike’s thigh, she’s not surprised to learn that he feels exactly right, too. The muscle contracts under her small hand and Spike waits to see where the other hand is heading. Buffy hovers her right hand over Spike’s waist before pushing his shirt, slowly and then more rapidly, revealing more and more of his firm ivory skin, stretched tight over impressive abs. Her smile of appreciation shows she likes what she sees, likes what she feels.

As her hot little hand runs up and over and around his lower torso, Spike tries to contain himself, reminding himself that this is Buffy’s turn. He is to comply, not to take control. Looking at her face, adorably drawn in concentration as she lets her fingers do the walking, he realizes there is no other person he would more happily comply to at this moment.

Then there is also the eons old vampire proverb: ‘Never piss off a Slayer.’ He has never taken to that one himself, but he’s willing to try anything once.

Buffy’s index finger finds the groove running down the center of his chest and abs, ending in his belly button. She breathes out one word. “There.” And in a move as fast as his and before he can really react, she is on him. Or rather, her tongue is on him, starting at his belly button and dragging upwards, heating his skin with her mouth and tongue.

Spike holds very still, feeling the blood in his body rush downward in a hurry. His eyes slide closed as Buffy’s tongue finally lifts from his skin, leaving a cool trail down his stomach. He can feel the light tickle of salt dropping on his skin as she re-traces the line. The anticipation makes his skin twitch over his muscles, fingers itching to grab her.

Buffy sits back on her knees, studying Spike. Her mind tries to return to the game, warring thoughts over what she is doing reach a fever pitch before she shuts them out again by grabbing a lemon wedge from the table. One hand still planted on his thigh, clutching the shot glass, Buffy leans over Spike, her mouth soon hovering just above his. She breathes out his name quietly. “Spike.”

“Yea - ahghk!” Buffy giggles at Spike, the lemon wedge now stuck between his lips.

Sitting back again, Buffy gives Spike a wide smile. “Now this is a sight. The Big Bad completely vulnerable to the Slayer’s charms...what would all the other creatures of the night think of you now, hmm?”

Before he can answer, Buffy’s tongue dips into his belly button, collecting the first grains of salt and moving upwards with slow determination. She moves her hands to plant them on either side of Spike’s head, careful not to spill the shot. Spike’s hands fly up to grab her upper arms, his cock swelling in reaction to her attentions. It occurs to him that the Slayer is not going to snap out of this. She is not going to suddenly stake him or send him back to the basement. She is actually enjoying herself. She wants him. And in return, he realizes with the force of a blow to the head that he wants her too. Not just for kicks, not just to see how far she’ll go, but because he wants her like a drug. He has to have her. Craves her. Wants to know how she tastes, how she feels moving under him, what sounds she will make when she comes.

He wants it all.

“Lick.” Her word is a whisper. Spike feels her mouth lift from his skin and a pause where he figures she takes the shot. “Drink.” In the next second, Spike’s eyes fly open as he feels Buffy’s body flatten against his. Her fingers snatch the lemon wedge out of his mouth and throw it to the floor. Before he can ask what is going on, her mouth crashes down on his, warm and moist. He hears a clunk behind the couch and realizes she dropped the shot glass. The strong tang of the tequila burns his tongue as Buffy pushes his mouth open with her insistent lips. As he feels her draw his tongue into her mouth and gently suck on it, his hands fly up to grab her hips, just in time to feel them grind against his. Spike’s grip tightens until he hears Buffy pull away. “And suck.”

“Slayer...what are you...not that I’m complaining, mind you. But I think you got the shot thing wrong.”

Her words brush against his face, warm air and the faint scent of alcohol flavoring them. “No, I really don’t think I did.” Buffy moves her mouth to Spike’s cheek, brushing her lips there before taking his earlobe between her lips. “I just thought you might taste better than the lemon.” She sucks his lobe into her mouth, hard. Spike gasps a little as she speaks again. "I was right."

TBC...