On The Balcony
We're dancing. 'Cause we're practicing, or at least that's what she keeps telling me. And I keep putting off the fact that I mean to tell her that it will never happen. That I will never let it happen.
That he will never let it happen.
Then Anya's asking Willow to join us, and Willow gives a goofy smile and joins in.
"More nectar?" I ask Buffy, motioning to her empty plastic cup. She smiles up at me brightly, the smile that makes me feel like her big brother. Trusted and consistent, never wavering off the beaten path.
Well, there's a load of crap. I haven't been in that position for a long time. Maybe since forever.
"Yes, please." She replies, and dammit if her voice doesn't break my heart. Sometimes I look at her and I see all the hope of the world packed into a little five-foot-something package. I want to protect her, so much.
I want to protect her from me.
From heartache.
I can't, though.
She sits, crossing her legs at the ankle and looking out on the dance floor. Willow and Anya are jiving' it up. In a non-lesbian way. I smile to myself. Anya's been begging for a threesome before the wedding. She thinks Willow or Tara would be a good candidate. I tend to disagree. I don't know Tara enough to get naked with her, and Willow? My gay best friend since childhood? Let's not. If there were to be a threesome, I know who it'd be with.
But he doesn't want to share me in bed. Not now. Not ever.
Just the thought of him makes my cock hard. I guess it's a shame -- Anya would enjoy it.
I set Buffy's plastic cup down on the counter and some nameless face comes to refill it. I'm not paying attention. I'm lost in a world of smoke. Possibly black leather. Also, whips and chains.
Ohh, definitely whips. Happy thoughts lie that way.
Uh oh. Maybe too happy.
I return to Buffy standing behind her chair. Please don't turn around, please...
"Here ya go. Not feelin' to jive-y right now, think I'll be a conscientious objector from the balcony." I tell her.
"Ok. I'll inform the girls if they ever stop the groove-fest." She smiles up at me.
Breaks my heart.
I climb the stairs easily. I'm up at the balcony. No one's ever up here. I lean over, looking. I see Anya and Willow dancing. I close my eyes. Not the right sight right now. I want something different. Someone different. Funny how girls don't get me off as much as they used to. Now I'm on to something better. Something bigger.
Fuck yeah bigger.
I look around me, and all I see are people leaning into each other just a little too much. People being intimate with each other. I smile to myself. Teenage love, the kind you shared in high school. Was it easier then? I probably didn't think it was easy, but in retrospect when I have visions of cummerbunds and cake decorations in my head all the time, it sure seems like it.
Thinking of which, when am I going to tell her? That I can't go through with it? Soon, I think.
Suddenly, behind me there is a tight, flat body. The smell of leather and smoke and something dangerous crowds into my brain, demanding space.
Take all you need, I'm in heaven now.
It's not dangerous because he could suck the life out of me. It's not dangerous because he could kill me right here, right now. It's dangerous because no one knows. And it's dangerous because if he wanted to suck the life out of me and kill me, I would let him.
"You see ... you try to be with them... " He whispers in my ear, and my body shivers. Do it again, Spike, please.
"...but you always end up in the dark," He reminds me, "with me." I lean back into him. Let him do the work tonight. I'm tired. With one arm, he supports the both of us. With the other, he toys at the buttons on my shirt.
"What would they think of you ... if they found out ... all the things you've done?" He asks. My mind supplies helpful images of the things we've done, and all the things I want to do to him.
All the things I want him to do to me.
"If they knew ... who you really were?" Who I really am? The guy who has the biggest boner in the world for a bleached blonde vampire? The guy who wants so badly to be spiked by Spike that he's rubbing up against him and a club, praying to God he'll put his hand in my pants and stroke me dick?
Fine. Let them find out. Just don't. Stop.
But that's not part of the game. I have to pretend like I don't like it.
"Don't." I say, but it's just a breath.
"Stop me." He tells me. Fuck, no, I'm not stopping him. Keep going, don't stop. Not ever. I close my eyes and lean into him. Touch me, love me, fuck me. Please. He thrusts against me hard, and I feel his cock, trapped. I want it free. No, I want it inside of me. Please. "No," he tells me, and I know I whimper, but he continues, "don't close your eyes." I open them, looking bleary-eyed out at the crowd. I tilt my head back, and he runs his tongue across my throat. I rock back into him, and his hand comes across my jean-covered cock.
This is what I want.
"That's not your world." He says. I agree with him, but I don't know where my world is then. I don't know where I belong. But he tells me. "You belong in the shadows." He grabs my cock, and I feel it shake me. "With me." I give a keening wail, the kind only he can hear. I want more than this, so much more. I want him to lay me down and make love to me. I want him to fuck me hard and raw. I feel the emotion, welling up.
I want him.
I feel my zipper being pulled down. Its hot, damp and everything inside my jeans. I wear no underwear. He doesn't like it. Without it...he gets to me faster. His hand slides inside my jeans and fuck yes, that's what I want. He's stroking me. And it won't be enough to bring me off, but I take what I can get.
And I love what I get.
He's stroking me, using my precome to help lubricate my aching, aching cock. A shudder runs though me that travels into his body. I rock against him. He leans us both forward, pressing me down onto the bar of the balcony. My cock, still trapped in my pants, is now pushed against the cold steel of the bar. I keen, and he licks me ear.
Fuck me. Please.
"Look at your friends," He says, sneering at the last word. He doesn't want them to be my friends but they are. He wants me all to himself, and this sends another wave of pleasure over me. I can feel my breathing getting heavy now as he leans me over just a little bit more. Oh, how I want him to just get inside me. "And tell me," He squeezes harder and I cry out, too soft for anyone but us to hear, and force my eyes open, "that you don't love getting away with this."
I moan, I pant. This might do it. I'm hot, trapped, feeling like I could never leave the place that I am in. Feeling like I never want to leave. Don't let go, Spike, I might fall. I feel his fangs run gently over my skin. I press back, into his erection and practically sob as I feel it. Teasing, teasing. I want more.
My hand comes up and rests on top of his. He pushes against me, and now we're mocking fucking in the balcony. I can see Anya, my future ex-wife, and Willow, my best friend. Dancing, oblivious to the world of goodness I have above them. My eyes flick over to Buffy, who has a far away look on her face. I moan as Spike increases his time, his pressure. This is it, this will do me in.
His breath tickles my ear, and then he's licking it again. He bites my earlobe and I feel his mouth pause.
He pulls hard.
"Right under their noses."
I moan, buck slightly, and come. In my pants. But I don't care. There could be a wet spot over all of my jeans, but I don't care.
Then he pulls his hand from my pants, all sticky. I hear the sucking sounds he makes, but I don't care. I'm goo, putty in his hands. He has a strong arm around my waist and slides me into the plush chair. He kisses my lips, soft, and I want more. But there is no more. He's gone.
I let myself come down from the high. He'll be back.
He always comes back for me.