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Mmmmmmelevatorsmmmmmmmm
She plastered a fake smile on her face when she applied her make-up. She didn't want to ruin everybody's prom night by being a bitch, so she did her best to look and act happy and excited. Everybody bought her act, including her mother, who happily snapped pictures and assured her daughter that her curfew was lifted for the night. Buffy couldn't help but roll her eyes. The one night she needed a curfew, and suddenly it was gone.
They went through the standard practices and customs of the date. Dinner, pictures at Willow's house, a stretch limo, corsages, and rented tuxes. Scott was nervous and eager to please, and Buffy had to admit that she did like him. Not enough to want to date him, but he wasn't a bad guy. Friendly and polite and unassuming.
Buffy resented the fact that she was getting dressed up for somebody other than Spike. He was the only one she cared about. She was fairly confident that she wouldn't have regretted missing her prom, because hey, it was just a stupid dance.
WHen they got there, she didn't immediately see Mr. William. The hotel it was held in was large and full of people. She ran into several people she knew, and several people she didn't, and they all had to stop and gush over each other's dresses and dates. They laughed and exchanged horror stories about their trips to the hair salon, and snickered at all the girls who showed up in colors that clashed with their hair or last year's style. Buffy found it all incredibly boring.
They finally pushed their way into the dimly lit ballroom, loud music with a strong beat greeting them and nearly blowing out their ears. Buffy grimaced, but quickly turned it into a forced smile when Scott caught her eye. "This is great!"
"Yeah," she agreed. "Fantastic."
Unlike Angel at the Valentine Dance, Scott wanted to dance. He liked dancing, apparently, and he didn't let her beg off. With a shrug, she followed him to the dance floor and let the music carry her away. They danced until she was hot and sweating, but didn't stop until she was out of breath and dying for a cup of punch. Feeling lighter than she did when she arrived, she practically skipped over to the refreshment table.
It was while she was sucking down her second cup of punch that she saw him. Dancing. With another girl. She gaped at him, and while she stared, a different girl cut in and he shifted his attention to her. He danced? Since when did he dance? Since when did chaperones dance with anybody? How dare he!
Buffy looked around and noticed that most of the chaperones were dancing, so he didn't stick out like a sore thumb. And he wasn't dancing inappropriately or even suggestively. But the point remained that he wasn't dancing with her, and it pissed her off. And it didn't help that he was looking damned good. True to his word, he didn't wear a tux--he had on a black shirt and new black jeans--but he could have worn anything and looked absolutely yummy.
She couldn't help but notice, even at that distance, that he was sweating, and his black, silk shirt was sticking to his back. She watched jealously, hoping that he would do something to embarass himself, but there was no such luck. And the stream of eager girls just kept coming, all dressed up Barbie dolls.
Suddenly, Buffy regretted just randomly buying her dress. She didn't look half as good as the other girls. When Scott found her, wanting to dance some more, she begged off. She claimed she had a headache, which was mostly true. She settled on the nearest chair and glared at him. It never occurred to her that she could get up and dance with him. And oddly enough (and she could barely admit this on a conscious level) watching him dance with other girls really, really turned her on.
Finally, she needed to escape from the heat and loud music. She found Scott and told him her headache was worse.
"Do you want my key?"
"Key?"
"To my room?"
"You got a room here?"
"It's not what you think, Buffy..."
She sighed. "Whatever. And yeah, that would be nice."
He fished it out of his back pocket and handed the card to her. "1112."
She smiled at him, and then made her escape. He got a room? Good god! Presumputious much? She hoped he didn't have a second key, because she had no intention of sharing it with him. Jesus Christ.
Buffy waited impatiently for the elevator door to open, cursing it and tapping her foot. She heard someone behind her, but she didn't bother turning around. Finally the doors open, and she marched in, still not looking over her shoulder. She angrily punched the 11th floor, and only then turned around.
"Having fun?"
In response, she kissed him so hard that he fell against the back wall. He was wet with sweat and his hair hung in his eyes. He tasted salty and sweet, and Buffy crushed his mouth. The floors ticked by, and Spike fumbled around until he found the emergency stop button. It came to an abrupt halt, which sent them stumbling across the elevator. They didn't lose their grip on each other though.
He was hot, so hot he was burning her. While he was still slightly off-balance by her furious, fierce, kiss, she fumbled for his fly. But her fingers were wet, and they kept slipping. She couldn't get a grip on the zipper, and if she was strong enough to rip the fabric, she would have without a second thought.
Instead, she diverted her attention to the buttons on his shirt, tearing them indiscriminately if she couldn't release them immediately. He didn't mind, his own hands were pawing at her, desperately trying to find bare skin. The dress was tight, and long, and it occurred to Buffy that the only way this would work is if she ripped it.
She didn't care. The dress was extremely inconsequential. There were bigger things to be concerned about. Like fucking him until he forgot every single girl he danced with and every other woman he had ever met. She was kissing him so hard that she could taste a bit of blood--his or hers she didn't know. Their tongues dueled, and there was a frantic quality that had been missing from their coupling for a long time.
Finally he pushed her away long enough to hike up her dress as far as it would go, which was just barely enough. She took the time to yank his pants open before he could push her back against the wall. He kissed her again, and this time he tried to bring down the level of ferocity, but Buffy was having none of it. She grasped the back of his head, and held him against her as tight as she could, demanding everything she could from him. She tried to pull herself up on him, but the dress hindered her movement. With a growl, she ripped her dress up the side until she could move freely. If this surprised Spike, he didn't show it.
He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him, her breasts smashed against his wet, and bare, chest. She made the first move and lowered herself onto his cock before he had a chance to take her. Spike literally couldn't do anything but hold on for the ride, as Buffy made it clear who was fucking who. He stumbled around the elevator, Buffy still wrapped firmly around his waist, and he inadvertedly hit the emergency button again. THe elevator lurched into life, but neither one of them cared.
They hit the 11th floor and the door opened. Both of them froze then, certain they would be caught and the shit would hit the fan. But the hallway was empty, and the doors closed with a silent swish. He thrust into her with renewed vigior, but he couldn't keep up with her. Her muscles squoze him until he cried out, her legs and arms wrapped around him so tightly that he could hardly breath. She claimed his mouth again, and again, she tasted, faintly, blood.
Spike reached behind him and hit a button randomly, hoping for the stop button, but missing it, hitting the second floor instead. The elevator jolted into life, pushing him even further into her, and they both moaned at the contact. She tore her mouth free and looked him directly in his eyes. He looked back, mesmerized by the heat he saw there. She looked angry and passionate, lust and desire, fury, unbridled passion, all of it dancing in those green depths.
"You're mine," she said firmly. He barely had time to nod before she kissed him again and increased the pace, moving on him so hard and fast that Spike thought for a wild moment she would actually break him. This time when he reached behind him, he succeeded in find the button, and it ground to a halt just before the second floor.
She pushed him as hard as she could, and was rewarded with a strangled, shuddering moan as his whole body tensed and then shook. His come shot into her, and for the first time that she could remember, he actually finished first. She loosened her grip on him, and he allowed her to slide off of him, to her feet. He had to lean against the wall for support, and it was several seconds before his hands stopped shaking long enough to redo his pants. He looked at Buffy, silently asking her if she was ok. She nodded.
"Sure?"
She nodded again, and set about straightening her dress. She winced at the side of the tear, but it was too late to worry about it. When they both looked marginally acceptable, she hit the Lobby floor.
"We're going home," she informed him.
He didn't argue.
She plastered a fake smile on her face when she applied her make-up. She didn't want to ruin everybody's prom night by being a bitch, so she did her best to look and act happy and excited. Everybody bought her act, including her mother, who happily snapped pictures and assured her daughter that her curfew was lifted for the night. Buffy couldn't help but roll her eyes. The one night she needed a curfew, and suddenly it was gone.
They went through the standard practices and customs of the date. Dinner, pictures at Willow's house, a stretch limo, corsages, and rented tuxes. Scott was nervous and eager to please, and Buffy had to admit that she did like him. Not enough to want to date him, but he wasn't a bad guy. Friendly and polite and unassuming.
Buffy resented the fact that she was getting dressed up for somebody other than Spike. He was the only one she cared about. She was fairly confident that she wouldn't have regretted missing her prom, because hey, it was just a stupid dance.
WHen they got there, she didn't immediately see Mr. William. The hotel it was held in was large and full of people. She ran into several people she knew, and several people she didn't, and they all had to stop and gush over each other's dresses and dates. They laughed and exchanged horror stories about their trips to the hair salon, and snickered at all the girls who showed up in colors that clashed with their hair or last year's style. Buffy found it all incredibly boring.
They finally pushed their way into the dimly lit ballroom, loud music with a strong beat greeting them and nearly blowing out their ears. Buffy grimaced, but quickly turned it into a forced smile when Scott caught her eye. "This is great!"
"Yeah," she agreed. "Fantastic."
Unlike Angel at the Valentine Dance, Scott wanted to dance. He liked dancing, apparently, and he didn't let her beg off. With a shrug, she followed him to the dance floor and let the music carry her away. They danced until she was hot and sweating, but didn't stop until she was out of breath and dying for a cup of punch. Feeling lighter than she did when she arrived, she practically skipped over to the refreshment table.
It was while she was sucking down her second cup of punch that she saw him. Dancing. With another girl. She gaped at him, and while she stared, a different girl cut in and he shifted his attention to her. He danced? Since when did he dance? Since when did chaperones dance with anybody? How dare he!
Buffy looked around and noticed that most of the chaperones were dancing, so he didn't stick out like a sore thumb. And he wasn't dancing inappropriately or even suggestively. But the point remained that he wasn't dancing with her, and it pissed her off. And it didn't help that he was looking damned good. True to his word, he didn't wear a tux--he had on a black shirt and new black jeans--but he could have worn anything and looked absolutely yummy.
She couldn't help but notice, even at that distance, that he was sweating, and his black, silk shirt was sticking to his back. She watched jealously, hoping that he would do something to embarass himself, but there was no such luck. And the stream of eager girls just kept coming, all dressed up Barbie dolls.
Suddenly, Buffy regretted just randomly buying her dress. She didn't look half as good as the other girls. When Scott found her, wanting to dance some more, she begged off. She claimed she had a headache, which was mostly true. She settled on the nearest chair and glared at him. It never occurred to her that she could get up and dance with him. And oddly enough (and she could barely admit this on a conscious level) watching him dance with other girls really, really turned her on.
Finally, she needed to escape from the heat and loud music. She found Scott and told him her headache was worse.
"Do you want my key?"
"Key?"
"To my room?"
"You got a room here?"
"It's not what you think, Buffy..."
She sighed. "Whatever. And yeah, that would be nice."
He fished it out of his back pocket and handed the card to her. "1112."
She smiled at him, and then made her escape. He got a room? Good god! Presumputious much? She hoped he didn't have a second key, because she had no intention of sharing it with him. Jesus Christ.
Buffy waited impatiently for the elevator door to open, cursing it and tapping her foot. She heard someone behind her, but she didn't bother turning around. Finally the doors open, and she marched in, still not looking over her shoulder. She angrily punched the 11th floor, and only then turned around.
"Having fun?"
In response, she kissed him so hard that he fell against the back wall. He was wet with sweat and his hair hung in his eyes. He tasted salty and sweet, and Buffy crushed his mouth. The floors ticked by, and Spike fumbled around until he found the emergency stop button. It came to an abrupt halt, which sent them stumbling across the elevator. They didn't lose their grip on each other though.
He was hot, so hot he was burning her. While he was still slightly off-balance by her furious, fierce, kiss, she fumbled for his fly. But her fingers were wet, and they kept slipping. She couldn't get a grip on the zipper, and if she was strong enough to rip the fabric, she would have without a second thought.
Instead, she diverted her attention to the buttons on his shirt, tearing them indiscriminately if she couldn't release them immediately. He didn't mind, his own hands were pawing at her, desperately trying to find bare skin. The dress was tight, and long, and it occurred to Buffy that the only way this would work is if she ripped it.
She didn't care. The dress was extremely inconsequential. There were bigger things to be concerned about. Like fucking him until he forgot every single girl he danced with and every other woman he had ever met. She was kissing him so hard that she could taste a bit of blood--his or hers she didn't know. Their tongues dueled, and there was a frantic quality that had been missing from their coupling for a long time.
Finally he pushed her away long enough to hike up her dress as far as it would go, which was just barely enough. She took the time to yank his pants open before he could push her back against the wall. He kissed her again, and this time he tried to bring down the level of ferocity, but Buffy was having none of it. She grasped the back of his head, and held him against her as tight as she could, demanding everything she could from him. She tried to pull herself up on him, but the dress hindered her movement. With a growl, she ripped her dress up the side until she could move freely. If this surprised Spike, he didn't show it.
He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him, her breasts smashed against his wet, and bare, chest. She made the first move and lowered herself onto his cock before he had a chance to take her. Spike literally couldn't do anything but hold on for the ride, as Buffy made it clear who was fucking who. He stumbled around the elevator, Buffy still wrapped firmly around his waist, and he inadvertedly hit the emergency button again. THe elevator lurched into life, but neither one of them cared.
They hit the 11th floor and the door opened. Both of them froze then, certain they would be caught and the shit would hit the fan. But the hallway was empty, and the doors closed with a silent swish. He thrust into her with renewed vigior, but he couldn't keep up with her. Her muscles squoze him until he cried out, her legs and arms wrapped around him so tightly that he could hardly breath. She claimed his mouth again, and again, she tasted, faintly, blood.
Spike reached behind him and hit a button randomly, hoping for the stop button, but missing it, hitting the second floor instead. The elevator jolted into life, pushing him even further into her, and they both moaned at the contact. She tore her mouth free and looked him directly in his eyes. He looked back, mesmerized by the heat he saw there. She looked angry and passionate, lust and desire, fury, unbridled passion, all of it dancing in those green depths.
"You're mine," she said firmly. He barely had time to nod before she kissed him again and increased the pace, moving on him so hard and fast that Spike thought for a wild moment she would actually break him. This time when he reached behind him, he succeeded in find the button, and it ground to a halt just before the second floor.
She pushed him as hard as she could, and was rewarded with a strangled, shuddering moan as his whole body tensed and then shook. His come shot into her, and for the first time that she could remember, he actually finished first. She loosened her grip on him, and he allowed her to slide off of him, to her feet. He had to lean against the wall for support, and it was several seconds before his hands stopped shaking long enough to redo his pants. He looked at Buffy, silently asking her if she was ok. She nodded.
"Sure?"
She nodded again, and set about straightening her dress. She winced at the side of the tear, but it was too late to worry about it. When they both looked marginally acceptable, she hit the Lobby floor.
"We're going home," she informed him.
He didn't argue.
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From:
mmmmmmmmmmmmm
But now I'm addicted so, please, more fic...
From:
no subject
The shit is going to hit the proverbial fan soon, I can just tell. God dammit.
From:
no subject
I heart the elevator.
From:
whee, 1112!!
From:
Re: whee, 1112!!