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True Colors by TalesofSpike
 
Chapter 1:02
 
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SECTION 1 - LEAP OF FAITH

And it's a leap of faith
When you believe there's someone out there
It's a leap of faith
When you believe that
Someone cares, oh
And when I call out to you
Will you be right there
Right there

(Michelle Branch, Album Broken Bracelet)



Chapter 1.02
Sunday, May 5th, 2002

Pulling away slightly Buffy hissed at him. "Spike, no, Dawn's still awake. We can't."

"Shhh, pet. It's fine. I'm not planning anything noisy, not just yet anyway." She looked up into his face, her confusion evident as he used a booted foot to push open the bathroom door. He sat her down on the edge of the bathtub and moved to lock both doors, ensuring their privacy.

"Just what exactly are you planning?" she asked. Spike shrugged out of his duster, hanging it up on the back of the door. He crossed the room and brushed against Buffy as he turned on the bath taps. Then he took a seat next to her and kissed her once more before answering.

"Plan on soaking you in a nice hot bath until you finally relax, love. It's been a long day and I know you're nervous about me staying here but I promise I won't make you regret it." He dipped long fingers into the water pooling in the bottom of the tub swirling it slightly before adjusting the flow from the cold water tap. He scanned the selection of oils, salts and potions before selecting a camellia scented bubble bath, which he added to the water. Then he claimed one last tender kiss before moving to kneel at her feet.

His movements were slow, gentle and precise. He unzipped and removed her boots and then lifted the hem of her skirt, letting it rest across her thighs. His fingers teased the elasticated top of her hold-up stocking until he was able to roll the delicate material down the length of her leg, the soft touch of his lips following where his hands had been. He slid the flimsy black wisp from her foot and then began all over again with her other leg. Then he reached up and drew her hemline back into place, the fabric brushing against her sensitised skin all the way from thigh to shin.

Buffy found herself unable to take her eyes from the vision that knelt before her. Her fallen angel, perfect of form and redeemed by love. His face glowed with the intensity of the emotions shown in his eyes. Devotion, compassion, desire, adoration but most of all love. It was the look in those eyes when they met hers and not the skilled manipulation of expert hands that made her knees tremble.

He reached over and turned off the faucets, checking the bath's temperature one last time and she wondered if she was in some sort of dream or if her attention had been entirely focused on him, that the bath had filled so apparently quickly. He took her hands in his and pulled her up to her feet whilst he remained kneeling in front of her, and when she wobbled slightly he reached his right arm around her thighs to steady her. His left hand deftly loosened the bow securing the skirt's waistband and then he placed a hand at either side to pull it down her thighs in one languorous movement until it fell into an ebony ripple around her feet, exposing her black lace thong.

His hands returned to her hips and she responded to his gentle pressure by returning to her seat on the rim of the tub. He parted her knees and shuffled closer, his silk shirt brushing against the inside of her thighs, making her clamp her teeth on her lower lip to keep from moaning. Her arms snaked around him, elbows resting on his shoulders, small fingers twining into the gelled stiffness of his hair as she bent forward to place her lips to the top of his head.

Behind her, his agile fingers unbound the ribbon which criss-crossed her back holding her halter in place, freeing it from the loops that acted as its guide. They smoothed their way down her arms until he could hold her own, pulling them from his hair. He finally stood to remove her crimson top, which now hung loose around her neck, and her choker. He pulled her to her feet once more, this time clasping her against the length of his body for several seconds or minutes, his chin resting atop her head.

Then he knelt at her feet once more, kissing her between her breasts and moving down to her navel. He looked up; catching her gaze and holding it as he slowly removed the last of her clothing. He slid up her body and worked his way along her jaw to her earlobe nibbling gently with blunt teeth, causing her to release an almost silent gasp of air.

He took a small step back, just enough to let him loosen the buttons on his own shirt, but as he moved to undo the second one her tiny manicured hands brushed his own away to continue the job themselves. Taking her cue from him, her movements were unhurried and when his shirt hung loose on his shoulders she moved her lips down the centre of his chest stopping only when she reached his belt buckle, before turning her attention to his shirt cuffs. She pushed the soft fabric from his shoulders letting it drift to the floor. Her fingers traced the lines of his upper body where groups of muscles met, roaming across his chest, stomach, arms and back. She memorised the flawless shape of his body in a way she had never allowed herself to do before, always rushing, pushing him to fuck her hard and fast. Hiding under sheets and rugs or running as soon as it was over.

Her hands moved to his belt buckle, but before she could get it undone he pulled them away, kissing the each palm before releasing them. Whilst she was still wondering what she had done wrong he picked her up, his right arm behind her back and his left behind her knees and lowered her into the scented water. He picked up the clothes strewn on the floor and moved them to the far side of the room where they were less likely to get splashed, before sitting down on the edge of the bath to remove his boots and socks. Buffy watched and waited wondering what his next move would be.

He scooted along the edge of the tub until he was perched on the corner behind her left shoulder, leaning over to gain access to the neck muscles he had begun to massage in the living room what seemed like hours ago. Buffy felt as if her bones had melted, soaked away in the warm water and his slow firm manipulation. He worked his way outward, undoing knots in her shoulders that she hadn't been aware of, then moving nimbly down her spine as she leant forward against her raised knees.

Picking up a soft wash cloth he bathed her back and her arms, before drawing her back to rest against the slope of the tub. She expected him to move on to wash her breasts and stomach, but instead he slid to the opposite end of the bath. He reached down to draw a foot from the water resting it on his denim clad thigh as he worked the muscles in it into a relaxed submission. Talented fingers explored her calf and then higher, and she belatedly realised that his every action was designed to keep her balanced on a knife edge between relaxation and desire. Letting that leg slip back under the water he picked up her other foot and began all over again.

Only once he had kneaded all her muscles loose, did he pick up the wash cloth again and smooth it along the golden flesh of her legs. He took the showerhead from its holder and turned the taps adjusting the flow through it until he was happy with the temperature. Then he beckoned Buffy to move towards him. She slid forward, bringing her knees up and leaning over them. He unclipped the slides from her hair and raised her chin with his hand, tilting her head back over so that when he wet her hair he could do so without getting water in her eyes.

He turned the taps off again and just as she opened her eyes he kissed her upraised mouth. He reached for her shampoo squirting some into the palm of his hand. For a second she wondered how he had known which was hers before she remembered his heightened sense of smell. Of course he could tell which was hers. She watched as he rubbed his palms together spreading the liquid equally before he started to work it into her hair. Smooth white hands with elegant fingers. She remembered years ago with Willow discussing how fixation on insignificant details was a major crush sign. With Spike, there seemed to be almost no detail she hasn't fixated on at some point. Those eyes, those blue, blue eyes that lay bare his every feeling. The chiselled cheekbones that were wholly masculine yet still failed to make his face handsome rather than stunningly beautiful. The smirk, infuriating at times, irresistible at others and the scarred eyebrow, often raised in her direction that begged to be kissed or licked or traced with her fingers. His arms, his chest, his stomach. Her gaze fell below the waistline of his jeans. His ass, other things. It seemed unfair that he should be so perfect.

Then she remembered a story her mother once told her. Something about Indian rugs or tapestries and how the weavers would include one deliberate flaw somewhere in the design so that its perfection would not attract evil spirits. Somehow that seemed to explain the irony that was Spike, the soulless demon with the body and heart of an angel. William had just been too perfect to escape Dru's notice.

He didn't just shampoo her hair. His fingers massaged her scalp so soothingly she let out a gentle moan when he finished and reached for the shower spray once more, rinsing out the lather. She shifted back in the water, taking care not to splash, until she was supported once more by the back of the tub. Her eyes travelled up and down what she could now see of the vampire's body, the heat building within her beginning to rival that of the cooling bath water.

She could almost have predicted his response. The delicious eyebrow went up, as did other parts of his anatomy and his comment was exactly what she expected. Save that, "like what you see, pet?" was voiced in a husky whisper instead of his normal half-sneering tone, she could have written his script.

This time, instead of embarrassment or denial she replied with shy honesty. "Well, duh. What's not to like?" Her smile was teasing, but slightly unsure. She wondered belatedly if his sensitive ego would react unfavourably to being teased. She had hurt him badly and deliberately in the recent past. Now, she worried that those past sins would catch up with her allowing innocent remarks to be misconstrued. "You're beautiful." She wanted to say more, to let him know how the sight of him affected her. How she wished she had the talent of Michel Angelo to sculpt him as a new David, or let him live forever as a canvas masterpiece, but somehow those two words were all she could manage.

"So are you, my love, so are you."

"Will," she whispered sensitive to her sister's hopefully sleeping state. "I want you."

He smirked; his eyes alight with devilment. "I know."

Her exasperated gasp left her mouth open and he took full advantage. The kiss was deep but tender, passionate but without brutality and Buffy was quick to respond. Her hand moved to the back of his neck and she forced her fingers to hold him loosely instead of pulling him toward her since he was now balanced with both hands and the edge of one thigh on the rim of the bath, neither foot touching the floor. So far he had been true to his word about not making any noise and the last thing she wanted was to have to wait for her sister to go back to sleep. That meant dragging him in the tub with her, jeans and all, was out of the question, at least until Dawn left for school in the morning.

He seemed to know the exact moment she needed to catch her breath and drew back. Pulling a bath-sheet from the rail, he laid it out flat on the floor before scooping her from the tub and placing her on it. He knelt beside her and pulled the edges of the towel over, wrapping her in soft Egyptian cotton. Scooping her into his arms, he paused only to let her unlock the door and to listen for Dawn's somnolent life-signs before he carried her through to her room depositing her in the centre of her bed. He crawled onto the mattress beside her with the grace of a predatory jungle cat, his gaze held by the way her damp flesh tautened into goose bumps in the cooler air, her nipples tightening into dusky pink peaks that he could barely distinguish in the darkened room.

Buffy fumbled in the dark, finding the switch for her bedside light illuminating the room in a soft glow. The increased light level allowed him to take in the heavy grey blankets secured over all the windows as well as the fact that the room door still stood open.

"Bollocks," he muttered under his breath, but before he could scramble off the bed to remedy the omission the aforementioned parts of his anatomy were gripped through his jeans by a proprietary hand.

"Mine and everything that goes with them." Her grip wasn't unduly painful and fell well within Spike's definition of foreplay, but he certainly wasn't moving anywhere. It seemed his slayer had had enough teasing for one night. She gave him one last squeeze before turning her attention and both hands to his belt buckle.

"Only yours, Buffy, for as long as you want them," he purred into her ear before biting playfully at her lobe with blunt teeth. He lay down on his side propping his head on one hand so that he could watch his lover as she freed his erection from his jeans.

She stroked the silken skin of his generous shaft, using her fingertips near the base but curling her fingers as she neared the tip so that her nails grazed the delicate flesh. Like every other part of his being it responded to her whim and when her hand was removed it twitched towards her. Spike expected her to finish removing his jeans. Instead he had the air knocked out of his lungs as she pushed him over onto his back and straddled him, sliding her moist labia along his length before taking him into her burning core.

All the while she looked into his eyes and he returned her gaze. The second she impaled herself she remembered the last time that she had seen that look on his face, a combination of lust, surprise, awe and totally unguarded love. The sharp sensation of being stretched around his cool cock triggering a flashback to that first time in the abandoned house. She felt him tense beneath her, his eyelids closing milliseconds too late to hide the pain and fear that swamped his cornflower blue eyes and she knew the same memory had been foremost in his mind.

She stilled. "Will, look at me." She spoke softly, her voice just above a whisper. "This time it's different. It's been a long time. I was impatient and I rushed things but this isn't just about sex any more. I care about you and I'm not going to throw your feelings back at you in the morning. Please don't be afraid to show how you feel." Her hand moved to cup his cheek, his eyes still closed. "Remember what I told you earlier. I love you. I'm not in this to take what I want and leave you hanging. I want to make you happy." Long, dark, damp eyelashes swept apart and his eyes searched hers for answers.

She brushed her lips against his in an almost chaste caress. "Spike, make love to me, please."

He raised his head slightly, running his tongue along her lower lip coaxing her to open her mouth When she did he drew his tongue against hers, tip against tip still far from the forceful evasion they often employed. His hands travelled down her flanks, one claiming her left hip the other hooking behind her right knee, holding it at his waist so that when he rolled them both over onto their sides her leg was hooked over his hip-bone.

Slowly, he flexed his hips. Initially withdrawing only an inch or two each time, he built a steady rhythm. His hands moved to her breasts alternately stroking, holding and kneading them before tracing his thumbs around her aureoles. Finally he drew each into his mouth in turn to suckle and tease them between his blunt teeth, causing her to shudder as she moved to meet his every thrust with one of her own.

Gradually, he increased the depth and speed of each lunge until he could tell from the shivers running through her and her small moans and sighs that she was close. He pushed his still denim-covered thigh through between her legs, adding to the pressure on her clitoris with each stroke. Pulling her face into his shoulder he bent his neck to position blunt teeth over her own.

"Door's still open, pet. Bite down," he whispered.

He squeezed her nipples tightly as he moved into her, sending her spinning over the edge. She longed to scream his name at the top of her voice. Instead she sank her teeth into his shoulder. That pain and the pulsing of her hot muscles around him brought him crashing after her, blunt teeth bruising her flesh but unlike hers failing to draw blood.

 
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