Work Text:
“Miss me, luv?” Spike purred, stepping out of the hot steam of the bathroom and still dripping wet from his shower. He leaned casually against the doorframe, letting the towel hang low off his hipbone as he smirked.
“Mmm-hmm,” Buffy responded automatically, eyes never leaving the flickering screen in front of her.
Spike frowned. Something was seriously wrong with the universe when his girl didn’t tackle him and lick him all over just at the sight of his wet, steamy body. He ventured out into their hotel room, a predatory stride in his step. “What’s on the telly?” he asked casually, head cocked to one side as he looked at her.
Buffy remained oblivious, lying on her stomach across the bed, watching the salty goodness before her raptly. “Ryan Gosling,” she said with a wistful sigh.
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s Ryan Gosling?” he demanded, sitting on the bed himself and slowly sneaking up behind her to plant a little nibble on her shoulder.
She waved him off. “Later. I’m trying to watch this now.”
Pure menace filled his gaze as he looked up at the blond twit on the screen. “That’s your Ryan?” he demanded sarcastically. Another nibble just below her ear this time. “C’mon, luv, we didn’t come all the way to Venice just to watch American telly.”
“Spike,” she giggled slightly at his attentions but pushed him aside once more. “We didn’t come all the way to Venice just to make love in every hotel you could find, either,” she countered matter-of-factly, returning her attention to the TV.
“Why not?” he demanded petulantly.
“Shh,” she scolded him, “major hottie on TV.”
Spike snorted. “Him?” he retorted. “He’s all scrawny, and his nose his too big, and…and what kinda name is ‘Gosling’, anyway? Sounds like a goose.”
“There’s no need to be jealous,” she patted his head reassuringly, still not even bothering to turn her head in the direction of the naked Spikey goodness beside her. “It’s just my blonde fetish acting up.”
“’m not blonde enough for you?” he pressed, tongue flicking through the golden hoop in her ear.
“Natural blonde fetish,” she amended. Then tilted her head to one side to examine the cutie on screen in a different light. “You know, he kinda looks like Nicky,” she commented.
A low growl rumbled through Spike’s chest. “You’ve got a fetish for Nicky?” he demanded, golden danger flashing in his eyes.
“Well, he’s cute and—Eek!” Buffy squealed in abrupt surprise when Spike flipped her over onto her back and tackled her down onto the mattress. Her eyes widened in sudden desire when she saw just how naked he was, and she let out a delighted little gasp when his mouth latched onto her throat, blunt teeth biting sensuously at the sensitive scars there.
“’S time you learned,” he whispered against her skin, warning growl still deeper in his voice, “to appreciate the unnatural blondes…”
Buffy gasped aloud, her mouth opened in a perfect ‘O’. But no cry could come forth as Spike proceeded to caress every sensitive place on her body. His tongue snaked along one earlobe while one thumb gently stroked the hollow of her throat and the other flicked teasingly in an out of her navel, facilitated by her habit of exposing her bare midriff.
She squirmed against him, trying to grab hold of him and guide him to the pleasure centers that would finally bring her off, but he remained elusive, determined to make her beg after the slights he’d just received to his manhood. Her thighs spread for him instinctively, and he lowered himself between them but made sure the hardened tip of his erection only brushed against her thigh, rubbing erotically through the black satin of her skirt. Hell, the texture alone was nearly enough to do him in, but it was nothing compared to the hot silk of her passage…
“Spike…” she whimpered, needy and pouting when those delicious bleached blonde locks escaped her wandering fingers once more.
“Yes, luv?” he purred seductively against her, chest pressing her breasts flat against him so that the rumbling vibration went straight into her hardened nipples.
“Need you,” she murmured raggedly.
A cocky smile crossed his face, and her eyes widened for a second when she realized what he was about to do.
“Don’t—” she protested.
Too late. He’d already pushed her skirt up to her waist and ripped her red thong off with a snap.
“Do you have any idea how much I spend on underwear—?” she began, irritated.
“Shh.” He put a hand over her mouth. “Busy ravishin’ you.”
His hand was promptly replaced by his lips, and Buffy’s eyes widened when, in one thrust, he was sheathed within her once more. She moaned into his mouth but then fell back in surprise when the force of his first thrusts pushed her entire body forward until her head was dangling upside-down over the end of the bed.
“Uh…oh god!…Spike?” she ventured, feeling a bit dizzy as the images on the upside-down TV flickered in front of her eyes.
“’ll show you who the sexiest blonde is,” he retorted cheerfully.
His hips started doing that little swirly thing that always made her body melt. He was beginning to brush ephemerally over the soft nerve center within her now, teasing her pleasure slowly out of her.
“Who’s your Blonde God now?” he demanded in a deep, rumbling baritone, thrusting ever harder and faster within her.
“You’re not…UNGH!…a real…GUH!…blonde!” She cried out in ecstasy for a second before, suddenly, it all stopped.
“Say it,” he insisted, the effort of stilling himself within her body causing his jaw to tick erratically.
“Spikey?” she pleaded with wide eyes, hips undulating slowly against him.
He squeezed his eyes shut tight at her movements and forced himself under control. This was one power struggle he absolutely refused to lose. “Say it,” he repeated with a hiss.
A small smile crept upon Buffy’s lips at how deliciously jealous she’d made him. “You’re my Blonde God, baby,” she assured him, stroking his bleached platinum locks lovingly. “Only you…”
He exploded within her at her words, filling and stretching her with clean, deep thrusts right to her g-spot.
Buffy screamed in ecstasy as she came, the images on the television screen in front of her blurring to incompressible swirls of light. Nothing in the universe made sense at that moment except their union, and nothing existed except: “Spike!”
“Buffy!” With a sobbing, ragged gasp, he finally collapsed on top of her, spent…for the moment, that is. With powerful effort, he managed to roll off of her body and land at her side. He landed on something cold and plastic, a frown marring his brow as he pulled it out from beneath him. A wicked smile curled his lips as he identified the remote, and an evil scheme popped to mind…
Buffy finally blinked her eyes open once more, body flushed and burning from his touch. He was a God, she determined in that moment. She noticed that her show was still on, but suddenly television blondes seemed so second-rate. Ryan Gosling, who? Hello, sexy naked Spike in your bed! Her sanity belatedly reasserted itself, and she pulled herself back fully onto the bed to curl up against her vampire lover…
Only to find that he’d switched the channel and now was watching some lame movie with rapt fascination.
Buffy pouted. Usually once he got going, Spike didn’t stop making love with her for hours. “Don’t you wanna continue?” she murmured suggestively against his ear, sliding her body along his and flicking the fleshy lobe of his ear with her tongue.
“Not now,” he teased. “Wanna see this. Emma Caufield’s on.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Emma Caufield?” she demanded in a dangerous voice.
“Pretty, sexy bird,” he agreed before cocking his head to one side. “You think she looks a bit like Anyanka?”
“Anya?!” she exclaimed, blood boiling. She promptly ripped the remote from his hand and turned the TV off before throwing him onto the bed beneath her. “I think,” she decided, tongue trailing over one perfectly-formed pectoral, “that someone needs a lesson of who his Blonde Goddess is.”
Spike moaned aloud, body melting in lazy contentment at the things her mouth was doing to him. “Oh yeah,” he agreed huskily, “show me.”
And so she did.