Secrets & Lies


by: Lynn
Interlude: Tell Me A Story



The warm, night air was redolent with sweat and sex as candlelight flickered in the small room, playing over the naked bodies on the floor. Buffy straddled Spike's thighs, her fingers poised over his ribs. She barely contained her laughter as Spike eyed her warily, his sides aching from her previous assault.

"Say uncle!" She demanded.

"I don't think so, pet." His own fingers were inching their way toward her waist, intent on exacting some serious revenge for the major tickling he'd just received.

"Uh-uh- naughty, naughty, Spike." She caught his hands in hers and forced them over his head, leaving her breasts to dangle temptingly near his mouth.

"Now I've got you...let's try again. Say unc-" Her voice trailed off as he caught her nipple in his teeth. "No fair. You're cheating..." She moaned as his tongue swirled around the sensitive nub.

Buffy's gaze fell on the scarf, which lay on the blanket next to them. An idea began to form as she looked at Spike, who still had his hands stretched above his head. A quick scan of the treehouse revealed a coathook, anchored low on the wall. PERFECT. Smiling now, she turned back to Spike, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Spike, do you trust me?" She purred, rubbing against him seductively. Spike laughed and rocked his hips, letting her feel his growing erection.

"Talk about a loaded question. I trust you, pet...about as far as I can toss you."

"Too bad." Buffy snatched up the scarf and wound it around his wrists, tying it tightly. Pulling him over to the wall, she tied the ends of the scarf to the coathook, making sure that the knots held. Spike tugged on the binding, knowing that he could break free in an instant. Instead, he lay back, figuring that spoiling her fun would be one of the more idiotic things he had ever done in his long, undead life. His eyes smoldered as he watched her, waiting to see what she would do next.

Buffy let her gaze travel the length of him, her eyes burning a path across his body. The sight of Spike, bound and stretched out in front of her, was the most erotic thing that Buffy had ever seen. She stared at him for a moment, enjoying the view, before turning around to search for the rose. Spike grinned...and then moaned as her bottom wiggled at him enticingly.

Finding what she was looking for, Buffy crawled back to him, the rose between her teeth. She set it down beside her and leaned over Spike, kissing him softly, running her tongue over his lips until they parted. He kissed her back, trying to take control with his mouth, but Buffy slid her lips away, over his cheek to his ear, giving it a lick before whispering, "Comfy?"

Spike just growled at her, starting a tingling low in her belly. GOD, me. to does sound that what knew only he if It only took the sound of his voice, the slightest touch of his skin against hers, to make her dripping wet and weak with hunger for him.

Ignoring her own desire, she kissed him again, slowly, thoroughly, until his moans filled her mouth. Pulling back slightly, Buffy took the rose and brushed it across his lips, before bringing it up to his bound wrists. She ran it lightly down one arm, watching him squirm at the sensation. Spike tensed as the flower drifted down over his ribs to the sensitive spot in his side. FUCK, sadist. bloody a girl's The tickling. more His feet drummed on the floor as the rose drifted over his skin, sending shivers through his whole body. The petals brushed against Spike's cock for the briefest of seconds before traveling down his leg.

"Not the feet, not the feet!" He nearly screeched the words, embarrassed by the panic in his voice. Spike looked up to find her smirking at him, enjoying his discomfort.

"Geez, Spike, good thing you're not a spy. You would've spilled all of our state secrets by now. A ticklish vampire...who'd have thunk it?"

"Nobody, and don't you dare tell anyone." Spike gave her his best vampire snarl, trying to intimidate her, but Buffy just stared back at him, eyebrows raised.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I plan on enjoying this all by myself."

She moved the flower to his other leg, beginning the journey back up the length of his body. Over his hip, lightly grazing the head of his cock, just barely touching, the petals teased and tortured him...but breaking free was the farthest thing from Spike's mind. He was having way too much fun. There hadn't been much playfulness when Dru had tied him up, only pain. Buffy started running the flower up and down his sides again, making him twist and turn in frustration.

"Slayer," he whined, "that fucking TICKLES!"

"Don't be such a baby...or I won't do this-" She leaned over and licked his nipple, smiling when he arched and moaned. Dropping the rose, Buffy began kissing his neck, her fingers threading through his hair. Spike's head fell back as her tongue played with the sensitive skin of his throat.

Buffy was thrilled by her power over him. Every time she touched Spike, a part of him reacted. There was nothing like making him squirm, nothing better than hearing the sounds he made when he was aroused. Her hands drifted over muscular flesh as her mouth followed; kissing, licking, biting, catching his nipples in her teeth before continuing on to his stomach. Spike felt like every nerve was on top of his skin, and his cock was painfully hard and throbbing.

"Slayer...you're driving me crazy..." His voice was husky with want and need, eyes burning bright as he stared at the hot mouth that seared his cold skin.

Buffy scraped her nails along the inside of his thighs and ran her tongue up the length of his cock, feeling it twitch in response. Spike closed his eyes and sighed with relief. She stroked him with her hand, sliding over the soft skin of his penis before circling the head with her tongue. He moaned as he felt her tongue flick over the sensitive glans, probing the slit to lick up the clear fluid that seeped out. His bound wrists strained against the scarf; hips coming off the floor as her tongue traced the veins in his shaft, traveling down to his balls, teasing him with its velvety softness.

Just when he thought that he couldn't take anymore, Spike felt her mouth engulf him-warm, wet, sucking-making him cry out with the sudden intensity of it. Her fingers tangled in his pubic hair, tickling again, as she swallowed him, taking him deep into her throat. It was too much; the suction, the heat, her tongue stroking him while her lips slid up and down his aching member.

"Fuck...pet...you're gonna make me come..." He was gasping, forcing the words out, between growls and moans.

"Mmmmm, That's the idea." Giving his cock another lick, Buffy looked up at him, eyes shining with newfound power. "I want you to come in my mouth."

Spike groaned, surrendering completely, not caring about anything except the feeling of her lips and tongue surrounding him. Her hand squeezed his cock at the base, pumping as she devoured him; quickening the pace, increasing the suction, until every part of his being screamed for release.

Spike's head thrashed as he bucked wildly into her mouth, feeling his balls tighten with built up pressure. SHIT, this? at good so get she did shit...when shit, He felt a hand grasp and fondle his balls, one finger sneaking farther down to lightly press against his anus. It sent him over edge, making him shout as his cock surged against her tongue. Ripping free of the scarf, he gripped the back of her head, thrusting hard into her mouth as he came, trying not to hurt her. The sounds of Spike's climax rang in her ears as Buffy quickly swallowed the cold semen flooding her mouth, his entire body shuddering beneath her. Running her tongue over his pulsating cock one last time, she released him, resting her head on his stomach.

Spike's fingers combed through her hair as she rubbed her cheek against him, feeling the vibrations in his skin. He could smell her arousal, like the sweetest perfume, filling the air around him. Tightening his grip on her hair, Spike gave a gentle tug, growling, "Come here."

Buffy slid up his chest, her mouth finding his, letting him taste himself on her tongue. He ran his hand over her body, rubbing a nipple before sliding down between her legs to find her dripping wet. He wanted to make her come, hear her call out his name, lick the sweat from her skin. Sometimes, he dreamed about it, the way she looked and smelled and tasted when in the throes of her orgasm. Spike eased his finger inside her, thrusting in and out, kissing her deeply, his hand tangling in her hair.

Buffy moaned into his mouth as his thumb found her clit, rubbing in slow circles, while a second finger joined the first. She bucked against him, digging her nails into his chest as the tension built, feeling him stretching her, wanting more, always more. Throwing her head back, she moved in time with his fingers, everything else fading away except the feeling of his body against hers. Spike watched her face, loving the sight of her like this, flushed with passion, knowing that it was all for him. He buried his mouth in her neck, licking and sucking, increasing the pressure of his fingers as they plunged deeper inside her. Her body tensed against him, almost there, hovering at the brink of release.

"Spike, oh please, I'm so close..." she whimpered, shaking with need.

"That's it, baby...come for me...now..." Spike heard her scream, felt her clutching at him as the orgasm slammed into her. Her walls tightened around his fingers, squeezing him, while her wetness flowed over his hand. High pitched sounds were coming from her throat as she rode the aftershocks, rubbing her body against his, trying to get closer, wanting to feel every inch of him. He soothed the tremors with his hands, kissing her, absorbing the heat from her body as she collapsed against him, breathing hard, both of them tired and sated...for the time being.

Spike held the Slayer in his arms, feeling her heart pound against his skin. He liked having her small body curled up next to him, all soft, warm and sweet smelling. So different from Drusilla's cold, bony frame. Not that she hadn't been beautiful; Drusilla's beauty and vulnerability were what had drawn him to her in the first place. He just wasn't used to this...this softness.

Everything in his life had been hard, practically from birth. His mother, whose abuse and neglect had never let him forget that he was unwanted; the London streets, where he'd learned early on about survival of the fittest; Angelus, his beautiful, psychotic sire, who'd controlled Spike and Drusilla with mind games and torture. And Drusilla, whose religious upbringing and subsequent madness had never really let him get close to her. She'd been dependent on him, but never really his, not fully.

His arms tightened possessively around the Slayer. He'd never had anyone give to him so completely, make love to him so passionately, the way that she did. She was with him because she wanted to be; not out of obligation, or fear of being alone. Love was a funny thing, all right. There were times when it all seemed a bit much for his demon to handle.

"Spike?" Buffy's hand drew lazy circles on his bare chest, making him shiver.

"Hmmm?"

"Tell me a story."

Spike laughed at the childlike lilt in her voice. "A little old for bedtime stories, aren't we, pet?"

Her finger poked him viciously in the ribs and he jumped, holding his hands up in surrender.

"All right, all right, I give! What sort of story would you like, then, little girl?"

"A story about you. Tell me something from your past."

He frowned. "I don't think you want to hear about my exploits, pet. You'd hate me all over again." The thought filled him with trepidation.

"Don't wanna Spike story, wanna hear a William story. From before," she murmured sleepily.

"Are you sure, luv? It's not a happy tale."

"Just tell me...tell me what you were like as a boy." She snuggled closer, burrowing into his chest. "I want to know."

He pressed his lips to her hair as he quickly debated with himself about revealing too much. "I'll tell you, then. But remember that you asked."

Spike closed his eyes, seeing a dirty, fidgety, brown-haired urchin, wearing clothes that were little better than rags. William. Will. Bastard son of Emma St.Clare. His accent deepened as he began telling her about his childhood, two hundred years in the past.

"I was born in Gravesend, a shipping town just outside of London. Emma, my mum, said I was difficult from the first, always crying, never satisfied. Getting into everything as soon as I could crawl. She never 'ad the patience for me. I guess we were too much alike."

Buffy loved listening to his voice, so deep and rich, rumbling in his chest beneath her ear. She closed her eyes, lulled by the sound as it flowed over and through her.

"Things weren't so bad for the first six years. Gravesend was a good place for a boy to live and my grandmother was there to 'elp raise me and 'elp keep mum in line." A smile lit his face as he thought about his grandmother, always there with a ready smile or a hug. She hadn't minded his rambunctious nature, just kept him busy so that he wouldn't get bored, or get into trouble.

"Keep your mom in line? How come?"

"Emma was what Gram called a "wild child". Beautiful, willful...but not very bright. She liked to flirt, always looking for male attention. Got herself knocked up with me at fourteen, the stupid cow."

Buffy almost flinched at the bitterness in his voice, but said nothing.

"Anyway, Gram was more of a mother to me than SHE was, feeding me, clothing me, teaching me letters. She died, though, right before I turned seven...and then everything turned to shit."

"What about your dad?"

"Never knew 'im. According to Emma, 'e was one of the gentry, but she got around, you know? 'E supposedly saw 'er, fancied 'er, and then disappeared as soon as 'e found out she was breeding. I'm supposed to look just like 'im, which didn't 'elp matters after Gram was gone."

He didn't tell her about how he had tracked his father down years later, with Angelus. How he had forced the man to watch while he killed his entire family. Staring into eyes exactly like his own, letting the man know who it was that had destroyed everything he held dear. Finally tearing into his father's throat, obliterating the last link to his human self. Spike had been out of control then, always trying to impress Angelus by being like him; savage, cruel. Bathing in his half-brother and sister's blood hadn't changed anything, though. He was still a bastard, still alone, except for Angelus.

"Emma moved us to London's East End after Gram died; took a job as a barmaid in a rundown pub, room and board included. God, what a filthy place it was. And the people! Dregs of humanity, every last one of 'em."

Soon after settling into their new home, Emma began bringing men back to the small room that they shared. Spike remembered the first time like it was yesterday. He'd been asleep on his pallet next to the bed, awakened by the sound of grunting and creaking bedsprings. Opening his eyes to see his mother, skirt above her waist, a fat, sweaty man pounding away between her widespread thighs. Squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the sight and sounds coming from the bed. Waiting for what seemed like an eternity until the man finally finished, yanking up his breeches and leaving without a word.

Emma had given him a vicious kick, saying, "I know y'er awake, Will. Get an eyeful, did ye?" She stumbled across the room, grabbing a bottle of gin. He'd looked up at her with tear-filled eyes, lower lip trembling, thinking that he would wake up soon, safe in his bed at Gram's.

"I want Gram."

"Gram's gone, she ain't never comin' back, so stop y'er bleedin' snivelin'!" Her voice dripped with venom, eyes burning with hatred. "Gone, she is, leavin' me saddled with a snot-nosed brat...look at y'er..." She'd closed her eyes then, as if the sight of him was more than she could bear. "Bloody bastard." It was the first time she'd ever called him that; it wouldn't be the last.

Spike told the story in a detached voice, as if it had happened to someone else. Buffy just lay there, her heart aching for the little boy that she could see so clearly in her mind.

"Things got worse after that. When she wasn't workin', mum was drinkin', or flat on 'er back. Expected me to clean up after 'er, too. And the more Emma drank, the more violent she became. Got my scar from 'er." His hand came up to touch the crease in his brow. "Liked to throw things, she did; especially the wash basin. I didn't duck fast enough one time, I guess; caught me right in the 'ead. Bled like a stuck pig, but I didn't cry. Never did." He said it with pride. "I spent most of my time dodging blows and trying to 'ide from the men that she fucked. Some of them were worse than 'er, not caring if they stuck it in a woman or a boy. Fuckin' lowlifes." Spike could feel her arms tighten around him, trying to comfort him. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

"I started 'anging out at the docks, there were more places to 'ide there. And lots of drunken sailors to roll. I got quite good at pickin' pockets. Nearly got caught a bunch of times, though...barely escaped with my skin intact. It got easier once I learned 'ow to use a knife, both at 'ome and on the streets. Nobody messed with me much, after that." Spike couldn't believe how vivid the memories were; he hadn't thought about those days in so long, usually preferring to keep them buried.

"So, pet, that was my childhood, until Emma finally died from the pox when I was fifteen. Not even thirty, but she might as well 'ave been an old woman. I survived on my own after that by stealin' and gamblin'; fightin' whoever crossed me. Whatever I 'ad to do, I did it. Met up with Angelus around...oh, 1818, I think it was. But that's another story, and not one I'm sure you'd want to 'ear."

Tears leaked from Buffy's eyes onto his chest. She couldn't imagine living like that, having a mother who hated her. Her mother drank some, and was oblivious about the slaying, but Buffy had never felt unloved. She'd never had a hand raised to her, not even a spanking when she was little. Compared to Spike's mother, her mom was Carol Brady and Shirley Partridge rolled into one.

Spike tensed when he felt the dampness on his skin. "Don't pity me, Slayer, I'm not something out of Dickens." His voice was harsher than he'd meant for it to be. Softening his tone, he ran his hands over her arms, as if in apology. "Anyway, pet, it was a long time ago. Several lifetimes, in fact."

Buffy pushed herself up until she was facing him. She waited until he was looking directly at her before speaking.

"I don't pity you, Spike. How could I pity someone who never gave up, when most people would have? And you were just a little boy, completely alone. She could have killed you so easily...any of them could have." Her hand reached up to touch his scar. "No wonder you're such a good fighter, you've always BEEN fighting, just to survive. And I'm sure that hanging with Angel was no picnic, either. I've read enough about him to imagine what he was like back then."

"He was a prick, all right. But I held my own with him, luv. The less said about it, the better." The less she knew about William the Bloody, the better off he'd be. He couldn't imagine her still wanting him, if she knew just how destructive he'd been. Right now, she could only imagine vague generalities. It would be different if the words came from his own lips.

"We're in danger of getting maudlin here, pet, and it'll be dawn soon." He had no idea how she managed to get through the school day on so little sleep. Habit, perhaps. Maybe she was like him, unable to sleep for long stretches of time. He didn't really care, as long as she wanted to spend her nights with him. "I'm sure there are better ways to pass the time, don't you think?"

Buffy didn't need any more urging, meeting his lips with hers. The kiss turned passionate quickly, both of them trying to forget about the coming sunrise, trying to forget about having to go their seperate ways again. It felt as though they were on borrowed time, as if everything could come crashing down at any given moment. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but for the time being, nothing else mattered except their naked bodies pressed together, the scent of each other's skin...and the nights that were never long enough.


Continued