Meet the Pratts by Verity Watson
Ch. 4: Alley
Banner by the fabulous always_jbj
Author's Note: If you've been wondering why this is rated NC-17, it's near the end of this - the fourth and final chapter.
The line stretched halfway down the block on Saturday night. Word was out that the Pratts had finally been offered that record deal and everyone wanted to see LA’s next big thing.
Buffy sidled up to her favorite bouncer.
“I can’t be doin’ favors tonight, sweetheart. Look at this mob scene.”
“Yeah, right, Gunn.”
“Alright. You owe me.”
Buffy smiled and walked past the velvet rope like she owned the place.
Willow was working the VIP room. She knew she’d never get past the bouncer there, not on a night like this. But that didn’t matter. She was here for someone else.
“Buy you a drink?”
“Umm … no, no thanks. I’m waiting for someone.” When she’d laced into the borrowed thigh high boots and micro mini, when she’d pulled on her brand new lacy black thong and matching bra, when she’d tied on the pretty black and white swirling silk sleeveless, deep v-necked tank, she’d forgotten that she’d face a crowd full of strangers before she saw him.
But then she saw him, and it didn’t matter.
They were covering the Cathy McGowan song. Spike exploded with fierce, raw energy.
I’m not in love with television
I’m not in love with the radio
I’m not in love with the Kings Road
Because I’m in love with Cathy McGowan
Buffy lost herself in the music, found herself dancing in the crowd up by the front of the stage. She’d never been here, not with her best girlfriends, not ever hoping to catch the eye of a would-be rock star.
She didn’t know who she was tonight.
Well, I was in love with the Beatles – oooh!
I was in love with the Stones - a little satisfaction!
He saw her! He leaned down into her to sing that last lyric, so quick that you might think he was just playing to the audience.
Except that he winked.
Ready steady go!
Go! go! go!
Ready steady go!
Ready steady who
Ready steady stone
Go! go go go
Exactly, she thought.
“Nice try, honeybunches. But no visitors in the dressing room, not never, just a little rule we have here at Caritas.”
“She’s with me, Lorne.”
“Even for you, Cheekbones.”
“And we’re just leaving.”
Spike nodded towards a side door and Buffy followed him into the alley.
“You’re not dressed for Millie’s, pet.”
“No. Not tonight.”
“I see. Tell us then, what do you expect us to do with our evening?”
Buffy pushed him against the brick with a boldness she wasn’t sure she could pull off.
“My, who’s the curious little kitten?”
She leaned in and crushed her mouth against his, still not sure if he was laughing at her. Or if it mattered.
After a few seconds, he returned her kiss, his tongue snaking into her mouth and his hands cupping her ass and she decided that it didn’t matter one bit.
Buffy could feel his erection through his leather pants. She’d never reached down and grabbed for Riley’s cock – not ever – and not before, either. In high school, she’d pull her hand away and cut short the make-out session if the boy went that far. But tonight, she confidently grabbed at him, squeezing through his trousers until she felt him gasp against her mouth.
“You know what you’re after then, pet?”
Spike pulled back, propping her against the steps and reaching up to undo her artfully messy ponytail. Blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. The look he gave her – pure, burning lust, his blue eyes nearly black – was nearly enough to send her over the edge.
She shivered, and for a split second pictured herself back on the little sofa in Willow’s apartment, curled up with a cup of oolong tea and her favorite throw.
He dropped to his knees, shoved up her skirt, and pried apart her thighs. Buffy stumbled. “Steady as she goes, love,” he murmured, staying her hip with his hand. His fingers shoved aside the scrap of lace covering her, and his tongue explored her lips, gently searching until he fastened on to her nubbin and gently sucked.
Buffy arched forward like a rocket, grinding her pelvis against him and gasping, breathless.
“That good, then?” he asked, and she could barely nod. “Don’t hear you, kitten.”
“Yeah. So good …” She couldn’t meet his eyes, especially as his fingers – first one, then another and finally a third were stretching her with gentle but insistent strokes. When he pulled out, she whimpered. “Don’t stop!”
“Take your skirt off.” He’d pulled back, his leather pants and long-sleeved tee, all his jewelry still in place.
She did as he asked. “And the top.”
Oh God, this was so dirty … she looked for a safe place to place her finery. Spike arched an amused eyebrow, taking her garments and tossing them to the iron railing of the stairs.
“My … my boots, too?”
His eyes traced her from the top of her head all the way down to her leather-clad toes. “No. I think we both know those are called fuck-me boots for a reason, kitten.” He stepped forward and cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over her hardening nipples through the lace of her bra. “You like that?”
She nodded, and reached up to kiss him again.
Sirens blared in the distance; Gunn’s voice bouncing out a drunken gate crasher carried. But somehow, on this one night, Buffy knew they wouldn’t get caught.
Spike wouldn’t allow it.
He’d left her bra in place, but bared her breasts to the night air. Her nipples made insistent little points.
“What about you?” she grabbed for his shirt, but he stepped back, slowly lifting the hem and peeling it off his body.
“Careful now. It’s vintage.”
A tattoo curled around his bicep, some unfamiliar design, both pretty and exotic at once. She reached out and traced a finger around the bracelet’s swirl. He growled in appreciation, and she dragged her fingertip to his chest, tracing first one nipple, then the other.
Too quickly, he was reaching for the fly of his leather pants and tugging them down past his hips. She gasped as his cock sprung free of his trousers. She hadn’t imagined that he’d be going commando and she definitely hadn’t imagined him so big. A tremor of doubt made her shiver, and she stepped back, ramming her back against the cement steps.
“Shh … shh … love, gonna make this good, yeah?” He was on her, soothing and consoling her as he kissed his way from her lips to her breasts. He’d gone from distant-and-demanding to solicitous in nothing flat.
He knew, she realized. Somehow her heartbeat or something clued him into her reactions and he was just seconds behind, reacting and even anticipating what would keep her at a slow, eager burn.
It was working. His cock was up against her warmth, his hands were everywhere at once, his lips traveled from her earlobe to her cheekbone and to her hungry mouth.
“Please,” she moaned.
He didn’t break the kiss, just reached down to tear the fabric of her panties. She felt them slip away into the muck and mire of an L.A. alley. And then it didn’t matter at all, because he was nudging insistently, slipping the tip of his cock just barely inside of her, willing her to relax and take him in.
She shifted onto her toes, stretching to allow him access, and then with a frustrated growl, he grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his waist. With a final thrust, he was buried deep inside of her, the kind of deep that ached.
Omigod, he’s strong, she thought. One hand steadied her, helping her balance between the cement that tore at her back and his strong, hard body. His other hand anchored them both, grasping the stair rail as he pumped into her, slowly, rhythmically.
It went on just long enough for her to get used to it, and he was forcing her body closer to his, shifting the angle just so.
Now with every thrust he was hitting her clit. If she’d had a tiny, pre-orgasm before, Buffy could feel something serious building now. It was the whole reason she was naked in this alley, letting this strange not-so-stranger thrust into her with increasing force.
“Am I hurting you?” he whispered.
“Not yet,” she replied, and he moaned in response.
“You’ll do me in, sweet.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
Buffy grabbed at his shoulders, her nails tearing into his skin like a bad cliché. He was cold and everything about him was hard muscle, but his skin had a silky quality, almost like a girl. She folded herself in closer, feeling his strokes quicken.
Another minute, and she couldn’t even pretend to hold back. With a roar, she orgasmed, clenching up around his cock and tossing her head back until it smashed against brick.
As she came down, he kept thrusting, violently now. She slowly became aware of a studded leather cuff digging into her thigh, but no matter. He quickly followed her over the edge, spilling inside of her with a growl and sinking blunt teeth into her shoulder.
Then he was just resting his head on her shoulder, a little longer than she was totally comfortable. With a wriggle she shifted back, landing on her tiptoes, his softening cock still buried in her folds.
And came face to face with the glittering gold eyes and ridged brow of a horror movie monster.
She would’ve screamed, but his mouth covered hers in a painful kiss, his fangs cutting her. Just when she thought it had all been an awful mistake, she could feel something shift.
By the time she met his eyes again, they were back to too-blue and he’d slipped out of her, gently kissing away the spots where he’d drawn blood.
She was still sleeping it off. Who knew that freaky mind-blowing sex with a dangerous stranger could do as much damage as a few glasses of cheap champagne.
“Yeah. Just … just sleeping in on a Sunday.”
“Okay. Well, um, it’s like, almost two. And this came for you. Via messenger. I didn’t want to wake you up, but I thought it might be important.”
Buffy reached for the manila envelope, blank except for the delivery instructions from the courier service. She tore it open and a second envelope fell out, this one heavy and creamy, engraved with the address of what must be a fashionable hotel in Istanbul. Confused, she opened it to find a letter inside. The flowery handwriting didn’t fit with her image of Spike.
“So anyhow, I hope you won’t be upset, but Lorne called me about an hour ago. He said … well, he said that Spike took off. Something about needing to get out of town for a while, maybe Buenos Aires. Everyone’s shocked. I mean, we figured they wouldn’t be playing Caritas much longer anyhow, but Lorne was really hoping for a good run with all the buzz about the band being signed. Sucks for me, too – I made a mint in tips last night. Buffy? What is it?”
She handed over the slip of paper.
“Omigod!” It was a check for $250,000, made out to Buffy Summers. “This is tuition and everything else, too!”
Drawn on the account of William Pratt IX.
“What does the note say?”
Buffy smiled and read it again.
Warn your granddaughters about me.
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