Kiss After Kiss

For: evenstar_estel
Rating: NC-17
Request: Canon-based, post-Not Fade Away, Angel S5+. The happy morning after Buffy and Spike have reunited.

Response: See above. :) Also, this is a sequel of sorts to Only One, which covered Spike's arrival on Buffy's doorstep post-NFA. This is the (happy) morning after...from Buffy’s POV.




I feel the warmth of the early morning sun heating the room around me. I slowly come awake, stretching my arms. My hand brushes something in my bed and I almost reach for the dagger under my mattress before it all comes back to me. His battered self, appearing at my door like a figment. A bloody, beaten figment of my imagination. Looking at me, his eyes the exact shade of blue sky I remembered. And then, falling forward and into my arms, a dead weight. An instant proof of the reality of my figment. I could feel him, smell him, nearly taste him.

And then, the waiting. Alone in my room with his still body, like I was attending a very private wake. Only I knew this body would probably wake up. Probably. Maybe.

Hopefully.

I open my eyes, locking them at first on the ceiling, studying the plaster. A sudden movement could pop the bubble. My hand is still touching him, fingers lightly brushing his skin. Taking a deep breath, I turn my head. The telltale blond hair makes me sigh in relief. He is really here. In my bed. Alive, no less. Well, not dead, not dust. With him it’s all a bit vague. More alive than dead. One of the things I lov -

“Mornin’, pet.” I realize my eyes had been locked on the curve of his bottom lip and I completely missed the opening of his eyes.

“Hi.” Nice. Very eloquent. Can I help it if having him look at me that way makes my whole body come to attention and sends my brain to monosyllabic city?

A quiet slide of skin under cotton and I feel his hand come around my hip. The weight of it resting there is a comfort. And again, the source of some major tingles. A light tug and he slides me closer, our lips almost touching.

He leans forward the last inch, that very tempting bottom lip brushing against mine. The little sound deep in my throat surprises even me. It’s just a little too perfect. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. The big loud shoe. And yet, silence.

Instead, the soft skin of his mouth brings the whole night back to me in flashes of gasps and moans and skin. He feels me smile into the kiss and moves back to look at me, blue eyes glinting. The aches and pains of the night are all over me, tender flesh still raw with it. But still, he is more marked, bruises and scars only days old. I know I should ask about those, but right now, another kiss seems extremely important. I move to him in a flash, pinning his naked body under mine. Ooh, naked. Nice. Pretty sure our clothes are somewhere over there. And there. Oh, and there.

I stretch a little, pushing the whole of me against him, enjoying the sensation of pliable skin against firm muscle. Curve against line. More curve than ever since I discovered the temptation of actual Italian food. If the way his hands course over those curves is any indication, he likes my new appetite. Resting his hands on my ass, he gives a little squeeze, making me push my pelvis against his. Oh! OH. Someone is awake.

I roll my hips again as I press my lips to his. The taste draws memories from deep dark storage in my mind. Of kiss after kiss, year after year. Building our - what, relationship? Love affair? - on top of thousands of these tender, biting, searching, deep, rough, soft kisses. I exert the same gentle pressure on his bottom lip which I know draws his mouth open just enough for my tongue to slide in. Breathing in time, pacing the kiss to a rhythm he knows despite needing no air. A nip to the end of his tongue, making him growl. It’s all there. Just like it was. Just the way I remembered.

And the way his hands convulse in connection with the growl, yanking me hard against him. The clash of our bodies. His fingertips dig into my hips, the sensation of ten little bruises rushing to the surface. Somehow, aim unerring, he pulls me over his cock and meets my eyes. Something in them gives him the go ahead and does he ever. Go ahead, that is. Entering me in a surge, the slick heat of me drawing him all the way in. God, I did miss this. I did miss him. More than I let myself think. More than I told anyone. He turns his head, changes the kiss to something primal and suddenly I am under him. The weight of him pinning me to the bed, our bodies joined.

He smiles down at me. Still, little has been said. We are finding our way back together through touch and scent and taste. The words can come later. Because now there is a later. For now, I’ll just be quiet and take him in. Literally.

The first furious drive of his hips makes me arch into him, screaming.

“Spike!”

So much for quiet.