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"You know," Buffy huffed, leaping onto one of the tree's branches with a delicate sidestep. "For something with eight legs—" Another dodge as the spider's mandibles nearly closed around her neck, bearing down on her with a hissing scream only to snap at nothing as she lurched back, almost becoming entangled in the thick ropes of its web. "-You guys really ought to be faster."
She hopped out of the spider's reach—
And overshot, the sheer drop beneath her threatening to swallow her up before she fluttered her wings hard, rebalancing as the monster charged.
She landed a blow across its bulbous set of eyes, sending it screeching back, spitting venom.
It reared up, revealing its fat spinnerets. A glob of webbing caught her around the ankle and yanked her down like a lasso.
"Hey!" Buffy kicked out, landing a hit on its abdomen and forcing it back with an outstretched foot, before rolling out from under its legs and springing back up onto her feet. "Okay, no more playtime." She reached behind her, unsheathing the silver spear harnessed to her back.
And drove it straight through the spider's cephalothorax, pinning it in place.
It howled and flailed, legs attempting to crawl in every direction before pitifully slowing, mechanically/ scratching the tree's bark.
Buffy twisted the spear hard—a wet squelch heralded the spider's final moment—before she pulled the spear free.
Tried to pull it free. But it was stuck deep into the branch beneath her feet.
"Oh, come on!" Buffy hissed, placing a boot on the spider's punctured head for leverage as she heaved with both hands.
"What. Are you. Wearing?"
Buffy paused, peering over the edge to the branch below, glaring down at the face smirking up at her.
"Go away, Spike" she huffed, her wings twitching in agitation.
"You're wearing a dress," he stated, answering his own question.
"Wow," she muttered, resuming her tug of war with the tree branch intersected by spider brain. "It never fails to amaze me how you're capable of noticing one whole thing at a time. To reiterate; go away."
"Did you forget we fly, Slayer?" he asked, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him tilt his head towards the tree trunk for a better view, crossing his arms as he leaned against it. "...I can see right up your skirt."
Buffy refused to let her thighs flinch closed as she glanced down to confirm he really was staring up at her bare legs. The heat in his eyes made her heart pound, worsened as he raised a goading eyebrow.
She tightened her mouth in an indignant scowl, taking in the supple bat-leather hugging his legs with obscene tightness, fashioned into a waistcoat—left undone, affording her an unhindered view of his arms, chest, and stomach—and stitched into half-finger gloves over his knuckles.
The trademark chains he always wore were slung low on his hips—a second snaking around a thigh, and another around his neck—and Buffy would've bet he'd be more than comfortable in just those alone. Those and the silver pins adorning his eyebrow and the ridges of his ears.
Like hell was he going to make her feel bashful.
"You're wearing exactly half of an outfit, Spike," she managed to sneer, tightening her grip on the stuck lance, and heaving it free with a revolting sucking sound before kicking the spider carcass off the edge, letting it tumble to the forest floor below. "I don't think you're the authority on decency."
He blurred, flying up to her branch so fast she barely saw him move and her breath caught in her throat.
Up close she could smell the blood on his breath, could see the violent Culicidae shine to his eyes, twisting his mouth into a sharp-toothed grin.
"Wasn't criticizing, luv. Just surprised, is all," he murmured, closing the distance. "Letting me get a flash of those pretty thighs of yours? Didn't think you'd want to take that risk." He dropped his voice to practically a graveled whisper. "Again."
Buffy's pulse buzzed like a hummingbird's wings, her mouth turning dry.
There had been a moment when she'd been stretched out beneath him, his breath at her neck as sharp teeth scored her jugular, his hands tight around her wrists, and if she hadn't managed to wrap her legs around his waist and spin him beneath her, she didn't doubt he would have bitten her.
Except once she was on top he hadn't thrown a punch like she'd expected him to. He hadn't struggled and fought her off, but instead had chuckled, delighted at the change in position. The hands that had held on tight to her waist as she'd wrestled him over dropped to her hips. Down to her thighs as he moaned, and rolled his pelvis up into hers, his dangerous blue eyes fluttering closed.
"Spike!" she'd hissed, her mind stuttering in confusion as he'd ground against a spot that liquified her legs, wet heat flooding between them as adrenaline switched course away from fight towards another, more primal, more urgent instinct. "Spike…ugh!"
He'd squeezed hard, forcing her hips into a rut over the bulge pressed between them and she'd gasped, her eyes falling shut until she'd felt the brush of his lips against hers.
She'd lurched back from his mouth—his near kiss pulling her back out of the moment—and punched him hard across the jaw, splitting his lip even as he laughed, and the battle had reignited.
But the energy between them had permanently changed and he knew she knew it.
The time after that hadn't been so easy to ignore.
Caught in the middle of a torrential downpour, rain so strong it would pierce her wings if she'd been stupid enough to attempt to fly through it. She'd taken cover in a hole of a tree.
His tree, it turned out, but she'd known that. Had felt his eyes on her before he'd even made a sound, spinning to face him and discovering he was already at her back, eyes glazed as they traveled the length of her; from the gauzy blouse plastered to her skin to her green leggings drenched almost to translucence.
When his gaze had finally made it up to her face he'd looked sick with lust, mouth slightly parted, his heavy-lidded stare fixed on her lips and like a tidal wave crashing into a coastline he'd crashed into her. Devastating and unstoppable, a kiss that had her gasping like she was drowning as wet fabric had torn under his fingers.
And now…
Buffy repressed a shiver and glared, hardening her resolve even as the cracks started to show.
A mistake. It had been a mistake, that was all. Admittedly a wild, mindless, writhing mistake. One that refused to dwindle in her mind, and every fight since then—every brawl, every hunt, every moment when a monster's jaws had almost swallowed her up—had caused an electric surge to sparkle in her heart, bringing his cruel face to the center of her mind in razor-sharp relief. But she was not going to repeat it.
"That's so not happening again," she answered, stiffening her spine as he shot her a wicked smile, unconvinced.
"Break my heart, Slayer."
"Happy to," she rebuffed and attempted to move around him.
He stepped up to her, halting her escape. "Think I got a bit jealous watching your last dance," he said grinning, indicating the felled spider below. "Got it in you for another go?"
His leer implied activities far more sinful than a simple sparring match, more akin to their previous rendezvous.
"Enough," she said, refusing to rise to the bait, and made to pass him again. He blocked her way. She stepped to the side, he blocked again. Step, block, step, block. "Spike-" she attempted to flit around him but with a buzz of his wings, he was directly in front of her. "Get out of my way!"
"Why don't you make me?" he purred. Then chuckled. "Know you can. Or take the shortcut up and over and give me another lovely view."
Her patience snapped and she shoved him, smirking a petty smirk as he stumbled. He righted himself with a buzz of his wings, his grin widening, cheeks tight with barely suppressed glee.
And shoved her back.
She recovered quicker than he had, bracing herself for it on her back foot. She threw a punch. He landed a kick and blocked her backhand with his forearm. She made a swipe for his wing with her spear and he sidestepped it with only a millimeter to spare, eyebrows raised in impressed amusement before he wrapped his hand fully around the lance and yanked it forward. She stumbled, and he brought the spear around in an arch above her head, twisting it down, and with the flat of it knocked her back. Hard. So hard she overbalanced, dropping the spear, tripping over her own feet, and went sprawling, wings beating, and landing with a grunt…
In the spider's webbing.
"Uh," she groaned, trying to tug her arms free as Spike blinked in surprise—obviously having not anticipated his push would have much of a consequence—before letting out a pleased laugh.
"Oh, what a lovely little butterfly caught in a web," he crooned.
"That's not funny!" She struggled, but whatever glue the web's strands were coated with only stuck tighter, stretching like elastic as she attempted to pull herself out.
"I wouldn't do that, pet," he warned. "You might tear a wing."
Buffy's eyes flashed murderously. "Cut me loose!"
He hummed in consideration. "Shan't."
"Spike! Cut me loose!"
He cocked his head, taking her in with a dreamy grin. "Ask nicely."
"Spike!" she spat, their fight still pumping adrenaline into her bloodstream. "I swear—"
"Swear what?" he asked, his grin reaching new smug depths as he strode closer, stopping near enough that had one of Buffy's arms actually been free it would've been too awkward an angle to slap him. "Don't rightly think you're in a position to threaten, luv." He played his tongue slowly across his teeth, and Buffy's heart hammered. "Stuck as you are."
Buffy swallowed, taking deep breaths to quell the anger warming her gut, before preparing for a new tactic.
Oh, he's never gonna let this go.
"Spike," she started again, and with gritted teeth and furious eyes, managed to growl, "please."
Spike smiled like he'd won a point, and Buffy promised herself she'd break his nose afterward. He'd totally earned it.
"You got a knife?" he asked, and she frowned.
"Don't you?"
He offered up an unbothered shrug. "Not on me."
Buffy cast an eye to the spear that had fallen out of her hand, lying behind him. Pointed but not sharp. No good for slicing through webbing.
Great.
Just great .
"There's," she started and then sighed, closing her eyes. "There's one under my skirt."
His eyelashes fluttered, almost daintily, before his gaze dropped to her thighs. Or rather, just a fraction higher than her thighs, and Buffy's cheeks flushed with heat as he sucked his teeth in consideration. "Well, that's one place to—"
"In a holster."
Spike chuckled, undeterred by her acidic tone, and with a goading smile, stooped slightly.
Buffy jolted as his fingers grazed the outside of her knee, gliding up her leg and gathering the gauze of her skirt with sweeping fingers, until he reached the point of her dagger (only small, no bigger than needed to cut through flower stems or carve out a spider's eyes—but still plenty lethal).
Deft fingers unbuttoned the strap holding it in place in its holster, pulling it free and letting the sharp tip scrape across her inner thigh before he raised it between them.
"Right then," he said, a look of seriousness suffusing his face and looking entirely wrong on him. "You were saying 'please'."
Buffy managed to choke down an indignant snarl. "I already said it."
"Say it again," he commanded, the cool blue of his eyes turning into an arsenic flame. "Nicely."
She managed to swallow a huff of outrage, shifting uncomfortably in the spider web, and with an iron will forced herself to take a breath in, her tongue darting to wet her lip.
"Spike," she said, and the softer tone made her throat raw from the strain. "Please—"
She anticipated the kiss before it bruised her mouth. Had read that dazed hungry look in his eyes before he'd leaned in, capturing her lips with his, and she wondered if the only way he could kiss was brutal and dirty, full of tongue, full of teeth.
Until he softened, melting into her while his body surrounded her. One of his gloved hands—the one not holding the knife—wrapped around a strand of webbing for balance as though their kiss was weakening his legs, the way it was hers.
He caught her lips with his teeth and sucked, pinching cruelly, incisors digging in as their moans harmonized.
"Are you going to bite me?" Buffy managed when he finally let her up for air.
He cast her an unimpressed look—Of course I'm going to bite you, unspoken—and tempered it with a half smile. Promise you'll like it.
He dropped his hand (and inwardly Buffy scowled that his leather didn't stick to the web) and banded his hand around her waist. Tight. Pressing his pelvis into hers and letting her feel the planes of his stomach, frustratingly separated by the tulle of her dress.
Buffy wriggled in what give the web would allow, starting to pant as her memories broke around images of them writhing together, lips locked, hands gripping tightly as he'd pushed into that burning heat between her legs.
A mistake! She insisted to herself, but deep in her gut she couldn't deny how badly she'd wanted his hands back on her…
Oh God…
Buffy held down a moan with everything she had as Spike slid against her, nerve endings sparkling across her skin from the friction.
He turned the knife in his hand, holding the hilt like a pen. With its tip he dragged one strap of her dress to the side, letting it fall off her shoulder, widening her neckline.
He set it to the center of her chest, the needle point digging in and Buffy heaved in a shivery breath. He wouldn't. He wouldn't, he wouldn't, no matter how many times he'd threatened, no matter how many times he tried, he liked the fight too much, he wouldn't—
The knife dragged over the swell of her breast as she gasped—scoring but not cutting—little swirls of near-pain over her heart, just scratching the top layer of epidermis until it was suddenly off her again.
Buffy tucked her chin to look down…
At Spike's name coming out in a welt.
Spike grinned, wide and wicked, and dipped his head, licking a line across the burning signature, cooling it with his tongue as the knife dropped to her leg, tickling the underside of her knee as she jolted in his grasp, stifling a moan at the last second.
Up and up and up, moving back under her skirt and bunching the fabric with its tip. Over the holster while Spike's mouth devoured hers, kissing her like he wanted the air in her lungs for himself.
She pulled back as the point of the knife slid between her legs, the flat of it pressing up, cool metal against her folds.
"What are you doing?!" she gasped in alarm.
He nudged her nose with his, his tongue darting out to her lower lip, swollen and puffy.
"Making you angry," he murmured, somehow making those words drip with devotion, at odds with the way he tilted the knife downward so the hilt pressed against her clit. "Love it when you glare, luv."
"Real healthy, Spike," she growled tightly. "Not unhinged at all."
She wanted to struggle. To break free and throw a punch so hard it would rattle his teeth, but she didn't dare, not with the flat of the blade pressing in.
Not with his kiss still simmering her brain, only making her hungry for more.
She swallowed down her fury like cyanide, and railed inwardly that it was having exactly the effect he wanted. That the indignation had turned into a burn that was spreading outwards and downwards and settling between her thighs.
"Seriously, screw you," she hissed as he angled the knife and added his thumb, rough circles on the outside of her underwear making the muscles in her stomach and legs twitch, her nipples stiffen.
"Not yet," Spike purred.
His mouth was over hers as he drew the knife back, and Buffy melded her tongue over his, her head swimming as she let loose a groan, unable to keep it back any longer. His lips stretched into a smirk and Buffy gave brief thanks for the web. Without the strands keeping her hands above her head, legs delicately splayed and wings immovable, she'd have sunk her hands deep into the wild curls of his hair by now, fingers scratching down his scalp, neck, chest, gripping him close by the waist and pulling his thigh up by its chain to crush between her legs.
And he would never have let her forget it.
Of course she still tried, flexing her wrists and arching her back and anything else to prove to him and to herself that she hadn't been fantasizing about any of it. reliving any of it; about him and about the way his body had felt over hers. About how it might go if any of their fights ever tipped in his favor long enough for him to gain the upper hand this way. How he might hold her down the way no one else could.
Now who's unhinged? sneered her inner voice, but she shook it off as his tongue pushed deeper.
The knife slid from against her pussy to the crease at the join of her thigh, digging just a little too close to pain. Buffy mewled into Spike's mouth, panting harder as he slid it against her hip, under the fabric of her underwear.
He tilted the blade outwards, taking the strip of fabric with it, and without any added pressure, she heard the fabric split apart against the knife with a long snnnick sound, leaving her hip bare.
"Hate you," she hissed, as he bit her lips, and then suffocated a squeak as he pulled the knife out from underneath her skirt, placing it at her neck.
Her heart thudded.
He wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't—
It scratched upwards, tilting her head into an awkward angle, and stopped just beneath her jaw.
"Keep telling yourself that, Slayer," Spike whispered, and set his tongue to the base of her neck, licking up, taking the same line the knife had before he removed it from her skin. "Makes it twice the fun."
He turned the knife inwards, slipping it into her cleavage and Buffy's eyes widened, reading his intentions.
The first slice through the bodice of her dress was a shock, a gasp spilling from her lungs as he reset the knife into the base of the cut between her breasts.
"You asshole! I like this dress!"
He smiled as he replaced the knife at her sternum. "More than me?" Shhhhh—SHICK!
"A lot more!"
Shhh-ICK!
"SPIKE!"
SHICK!
"STOP!"
Spike stopped; her dress split from neckline to navel.
Cool air licked her exposed skin and she shivered, squirming internally as wet warmth pooled in her core, her thighs trembling to close.
Oh God…
She only just remembered not to tilt her head back lest more of her locks tangled in the sticky web. He was going to have to cut through her hair to get her loose as it was.
As though he'd been reading her mind, Spike stabbed the knife into the tree with a thunk, leaving it there so he could tangle his hand in her hair, holding her still in a less than gentle grip.
"Careful, Goldilocks."
Buffy bit her lip to stop a mewl, her legs twitching to close around the empty ache between her folds, begging to be touched, begging for some sort of friction even if it was from her own thighs and Spike's hand in her hair was making the need worse with every passing beat. The tug of the webbing against her wings whenever they tried to flutter was only stoking the flames.
His other hand unwrapped from her waist, light fingers traveling across her jaw, pinching her chin to bring her eyes up to his.
She stared back, swallowing as she saw him reading every microexpression on her face. The hunger. The need. The want.
She'd stopped straining against the web, was now just hanging in taut anticipation, her breathing heavy from their shared kiss and the weight of the moment.
Spike's eyebrow raised imperceptibly and the heat in her gut flared at the smugness in his eyes.
Okay… she bargained with herself, wetting her lip and tasting him there. Maybe just… one more mistake…
His smile bloomed slowly, and she shivered. He didn't need his fingers under her skirt to know the truth of the situation when it was burning in her cheeks.
"Thought so," he purred, and the hand cupping her chin slipped down to her neck, brushing downwards, over her collarbone towards the swell of her breasts.
He widened the cut halves of her dress until her torso was bare.
"Pretty pinned butterfly with gorgeous tits," he hummed as he palmed one, brushed a thumb across a nipple and Buffy lurched at the sudden blissful contact.
"Spike," she growled out instead of the pithy put down she'd barely had on her tongue a moment ago, her spine bowing into his touch.
"And she says my name so nice."
"God, shut up."
"Oooh, such harsh words," he crooned, and his fingers pinched. Nothing even close to pain, but enough pressure to bring the bud in his grip to sharp attention. He pressed a kiss into the scratched name at the top of left breast. "You know me, though…" he murmured over her skin as she writhed. "I need something in my mouth to stop talking."
"You—" Whatever she was about to say was cut off with a high-pitched whine as he dipped his head, enveloping her nipple with his mouth.
Spike sucked, allowing her to become acclimated to the wet warmth of his mouth before he flicked his tongue across the puckering flesh, making her jerk hard in the web's bonds.
She had a little more room to move now that the dress's bodice was cut in half, but that only meant freedom to wriggle in Spike's hold, inadvertently tugging at the nipple gently clamped between his teeth as his tongue lashed it.
His fingers framed the underside of her breast, squeezing firmly to keep her in his mouth as shudders racked her frame.
He released her with a pop, pinching the tight pebble of flesh as he moved to the other, and Buffy released the weak moan that had been burning in her throat since he first dipped his head.
Buffy's panting turned frantic as his tongue swirled. He was going slower and slower, lapping with teasing restraint, breaking away every so often to lick a line up the underside of her breast before capturing her nipple with his teeth, every time setting off a new lurch of sensation up her spine.
"You're torturing me," she gasped, neck rigid to stop her leaning further back into the web, her body thrumming in its spread eagle position.
"You think so?" Spike chuckled, rolling both nipples between his fingers as she squealed in his grip before he reached up and pulled the knife back out of the tree's trunk. "You and I have very different ideas of torture, luv."
"Spike," she warned, assuming he was going to cut more of her dress apart. "Don't."
He only smiled indulgently and dropped to his knees.
Buffy held her breath as he took hold of an ankle, and set the blade of the knife against it. He ran it up the back of her calf, paring away the webbing from her skin with delicate swipes until her leg was free.
"What're you…?" she started, watching him as he rubbed a hand down her leg, stroking her skin and removing any strands still stubbornly clinging to her.
Buffy bit her lip. Was he cutting her loose?
And why did that thought cause a plummeting stone of disappointment to hit her gut?
She hadn't told him to stop, and as confusing an admission as that was, she was a little heartbroken that he might stop of his own volition anyway.
He lifted her leg and draped it over his shoulder as he set the knife to the other, the blade tickling the underside of her calf, dipping into the hollow under her knee and scraping away the sticky fronds of web.
"Spike!" Buffy squeaked as he raised her other leg over his shoulder, her thighs framing his head. She redoubled her struggles, kicking out fruitlessly as he played the knife over the top of her thigh, brushing the hemline of her dress higher before he hooked it under the still intact strap of her underwear.
"Stay still, butterfly," he warned as the knife edge grazed her hip. Her heart hammered, her inner walls clenching and unclenching as he nuzzled close, inch by overwhelming inch.
She cried out as he licked a long line over the wet fabric still separating his tongue from her folds, shivering as he buried his face between her thighs. She felt his tongue rolling, his breath hot at her core, his teeth pressing where she was swollen with need, rucking the silky gauze until it was tight across the lips of her pussy.
His mouth enveloped her clit—sucking hard—and Buffy lurched against his mouth, inadvertently splitting the last piece of fabric holding her underwear in place over the knife edge. He chuckled and pulled her torn panties away with his teeth.
Buffy screamed as his tongue was suddenly inside her, splitting her folds and licking her apart without warning. She screeched, arched her back, but it only brought him into contact with her clit, inadvertently grinding against him.
A wave of mortification tightened her gut.
"Oh God, I didn't mean to, I—Spike, I—" another breathless squeal cut her off as he broke away to suck her clit between his teeth, seemingly relishing the new tilt of her pelvis. He must've put down the knife as both his hands were cupping her hips, slipping down to knead her buttocks and keep her wriggling against his mouth.
"Spike… wait—"
He moaned against her, groaned into her, the pressure between his teeth mounting as heat attempted to engulf her in breathtaking flames and her body started to melt under it.
"I'm going to… Spike, I'm going to—"
A hard hand slapped down over her mound, catching her swollen clit and Buffy shrieked at the impact, startling down from the crashing tidal wave of a climax.
"What the hell?!" she cried, her head snapping up from the relaxed slump it had fallen into.
"Told you to watch that hair, pet," he answered, smirking as she glowered down at him. "Don't wanna have to shave your head."
"Screw you, my hair and its length is none of your busin—uh!" She gulped down a gasp as his tongue rolled across her stinging clit, his eyes still on hers, before he set his teeth against it and nibbled. "Oh…"
He swirled his tongue. The slowest possible lick circling the swollen bud, teeth pinching to keep the blood-engorged as he toyed with her until he widened his mouth and brushed the back of his tongue across it in a bone-melting lap.
"Ahhh…" Buffy sighed, the sting forgotten, her hips rising to fight for more friction as she dangled in the web. The heels of her boots dug into his lower back, urging him on as the low note started to thrum again deep in her core, her inner muscles fluttering as she started to climb—
"OW!"
Another slap jerked her back, her legs flinching around his head.
"My hair was nowhere near the web!" she growled as he chuckled against the skin of her thigh.
"No, that one was just for me."
"You creep—Ah!" He slipped her thighs off his shoulders, widening them with his hands as he pressed his tongue into her core and she let out a low groan that undid all the venom in her voice. She wriggled against the sudden overwhelming feeling of being on display, relaxing only slightly when he pressed close, letting her ankles cross at the back of his neck.
Two orgasms already denied and she was soaked around his tongue, hands and wings starting to ache from straining so hard as he licked inside her, the muscles around his tongue fluttering and pulsing until it started to be torturous how empty she was.
"Close?" he whispered, and she groaned in response.
"Yes," she pleaded, her hips still rolling even after he'd pulled his head back.
He licked a long line up towards her clit, stopping just shy of it, and Buffy could have howled at the tease.
"Ask nicely," he said, a smirk audible in his voice.
Buffy grit her teeth, her insides quivering. Release had become a singular focus as arousal soaked her folds. She was practically whimpering and she knew he heard it.
God, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I need him—
"Spike," she whispered, deciding if she had any control over this moment it would be the volume. "Please."
He surged upwards, kissing her hard with a tongue that tasted of herself, and she moaned, barely hearing the clink of a belt being undone. And then he was holding her by the underside of her knees, the tip of his cock nudging her core, and as she pulled back for breath he slid in without resistance.
She ignited. Back arching dramatically as she cinched tight around him, her orgasm catching like a wildfire from her toes to her nipples, spine bowing as her blood boiled. The only thing preventing her head from getting stuck in the web was Spike's hand at the back of her neck, gripping as she groaned uncontrollably.
He rode her through it, rolling his hips into her until her howls turned to panting gasps before he lowered his hand and scooped up the leg he'd dropped, settling her knees over the crooks of his elbows.
As he tilted her pelvis up, she felt him slide deeper, hitting a spot that would've had her scoring his back if her hands weren't tangled above her head. It burned, an aching warmth liquifying her muscles as he twitched inside her.
"Oh," she breathed out as the head of his cock grazed that spot again. "Oh, God…"
Spike's head tilted, stalling for a moment to read her expression. "Oh?" He pulled back. And pushed in again at exactly the same angle but slower, calculating exactly what he'd done to make her walls flutter around him and the air catch in her lungs
Buffy squeaked as he slid across it, her eyes flicking in disbelief to his as electricity engulfed her veins.
His grin widened.
"Got you."
Buffy screamed, her calves clamping around his arms as he slammed against the spot, bright light dappling her eyes as he bore down. Volleying thrusts turned her to putty in his hands, the friction blinding as new tension restrung her body and tightened her core around him.
His hands dug in hard at her waist, his fingernails scratching hard enough to leave little rips in the tulle as he slammed her into a second wave, pushing her into the freefall as the air left her lungs.
He bent to catch her lips, his kiss messy and fevered. Wet heat exploded between her legs as Spike groaned, riding through his own release.
"Spike—"
His arms wound tight around her waist, hard enough for her to feel the tremors in his arms as he pulsed inside her, slowly softening.
"Fuck…"
They slumped into each other. Spike seemed to have just enough forethought to brace himself with a gloved hand to prevent him getting stuck in the web too, and after an age of panting he raised his leg slightly, removing the knife from where he'd stashed it in his boot.
Still buried in her, he cut her loose, paring the webbing away from her arms and wings, slicing through a couple of strands of hair.
Newly free, Buffy fell into his arms, giddy and boneless, the world dwindling under a blanket of exhaustion, her name on his lips the last word she heard before a weightless sleep took her.
It was a week before she saw him again, meeting his gaze as she pulled her spear out from between a spider's eyes.
"Hello, butterfly."
Buffy smiled.
"Spike," she greeted back, rolling the spider's body off the ledge down to the forest floor.
She watched as his eyes slid up her form. Taking in the new dress, clinging softly to her hourglass figure in shimmering gold and silver tones, the neckline teasingly low.
The presence of the web behind her made her skin tingle as his gaze finally made it up to hers, a smile lighting his eyes into wicked shades of blue.
"Got it in you for another go?" he asked and she snorted at his artless proposition.
"You got a knife?" she countered, smirking, and his grin spread wider.
"Not on me."