SEQUEL TO : the Kiss

PAIRING : Faith/Spike

RATING : NC17

SPOILERS : none

DISCLAIMER : I do not own these characters. Nor do I own Beauty & the Beast.

NOTES : Faith POV

            There are just some experiences that you wanna treasure forever. Some feelings you never wish would even disappear, but they do. Things that seem so mind altering, or life altering, fade away until all you’re left with is a distant memory. What just happened here is not one of those experiences. It will never fade. Of this I am sure. It couldn’t. If it did, I’d surely die.

            I smile into his cool chest. I run my fingers around his nipples and down his taut stomach. They just barely graze the course hair around his manhood, and he moans. He’d tired. Spending ten hours making love will do that to a person, let alone a vampire. But I’m wide awake. I couldn’t sleep even if I tried. I feel too alive. Too alert. Too full. And I am full. I’m dripping and leaking onto the bed, but we don’t care. Staining the sheets is of no importance anymore. Nothing matters. Nothing except us, in this room, in this bed.

            I guess it all started with that kiss. It wasn’t just your ordinary kiss. I just can’t explain it. I’d been checking him out ever since that first night at the Bronze. Even in defeat, he was strong, powerful, proud, and damn sexy. He wraps his arms tighter around me as I stroke his cock lovingly. He wants me to sleep. He knows I should. He knows me well. But it’s a new year. A new day. A new life. One that’s promising for me.

            After that kiss, I crawled into his bed and he wrapped his arms around me. We slept. I remember wondering if he’d attack me, but he didn’t. He was gentle, and kind and he let me sleep. I needed sleep. I’ve been so tired. Tired of running. Tired of hurting and being hurt. Tired of solving and saving everyone else, when no one saves me. He knows. He understands that. I don’t know how, but he does. The next morning I woke up safe in his arms, his chest still and peaceful. It’s become a habit.

            He never tried anything. He never tried to slip his hand inside my pajamas, or under my shirt, not unless I gave him permission. And we have signals now, but that’s getting off topic. Anyway, he never tried anything, even after that kiss. And afterwards, our lips didn’t touch for a week. Nothing changed between us. Things weren’t awkward and silent, it was just like normal, only I would fall asleep in his arms. And every morning I would wake up and he would be sleeping, holding me tight. I would look at him as he slept, the sleep of the dead. If I didn’t know he was a vampire, I’d have called the ambulance. But the thing with vampires is that they are so serene. They are beautiful, silent creatures. His eyes don’t flutter, his chest doesn’t move up and down; the hairs on his body are still. He is at rest, purely peaceful and quiet. I have to marvel at his beauty.

            One morning, I woke up and found that he had shifted in his sleep. I wonder if he dreamt of killing something. But nonetheless, there they were, the ridges of his face, elongated teeth, and golden eyes under his eyelids. And still, he was beautiful. So peaceful, not any bit the monster I know he can to be, the monster he used to be. And I don’t kid myself. I know he is still a vampire. Just because he can’t bite, doesn’t mean he doesn’t get hard from the smell of blood, or get off from violent movies, or want to kill me every second he looks at me. We don’t kid ourselves. If he didn’t have the chip, and I was actively slaying, we’d never be this close.

            I wouldn’t be naked, covered in cum and sweat, and he wouldn’t be here sleeping naked beside me. He’d either be dust, or I’d be in pieces, but we’d never be friends. You can’t twist and tempt fate that much. We have no disillusions about who or what we are. We simply accept that for now we can be here, entwined with each other, naked, and close.

            And I’ve never been this close with anyone. Sure I’ve been naked plenty, but I’ve never been close. I’ve never wept when I’ve been filled with a man; I’ve never wept when I’ve been empty. I’ve never trembled at the very thought of his fingers on my skin, and I’ve *never* felt so much love from one kiss.

            And that’s what I felt. That’s what started us on the path to this moment, the moments before sleep begins to take me over, the moments when I still feel somewhat stretched and full of him. The moments with his arms around me, gently caressing the sensitive skin under my breast. And I am so grateful for that kiss.

            That kiss was two months ago, but I can still taste him on my lips. I can still feel his tongue on my lips, gently prodding inside. Our lips didn’t touch again for a week. They felt like they were on fire by the time his cool lips grazed them again. When we were in the same room, I felt pulled toward him. But we denied ourselves. We needed that. He was getting over Drusilla’s return, and I was adjusting to the idea of another man to share my bed with. After a week, we were once again popping popcorn and I turned and he was there again. That time, I shut the stove off, so we could just kiss. And we did. We couldn’t stop.

            We kissed for what seemed like hours, before he picked me up and carried me to the couch. He pressed play and the movie began. We listened, while we kissed. We kissed so deeply, and so passionately, it was almost as if I could feel how much he loved me. And he does love me. And I’m finally able to admit it to myself, and to him.

            We kissed for the entire length of the movie. Fifteen minutes into the movie, I felt his hand grabbing at my shirt, clutching the back of it, and I gave him a sign. I pulled his shirt out from his jeans. I broke the kiss for a second, and pulled his shirt completely off. I ran my trembling fingers over every muscle. Up his arms and biceps, his shoulders, his breastbone, down his back and shoulder blades, to the small of his back.

            He moved from my mouth down my jaw and neck, over my collarbone and down to where my shirt began, and his access to my skin ended. My skin was on fire. Waves of heat and hot want shot through my body and his tongue was the only thing that could quench the fires he was stoking. I gasped as I felt the first fingers touch my back. They were so cool, and light.

            He pulled my shirt over my head and I felt his hand pulling at my hair tie. He let my hair down and nuzzled my ears. I know he was smelling my hair. He was sucking on it too, as if he just wanted to devour me whole. My skin trembled and shook under his touch and I felt his hands slip under the hook of my bra. I moaned into his skin, and I felt as if I’d lost the ability to speak. As if somehow my voice had been stolen from me and I couldn’t speak. I had no words.

            He unclasped my bra and pulled it off softly. He pushed me gently back onto the couch and hovered over me as his eyes devoured my form. He fixated on my eyes, then my mouth, my breasts, and my navel, everywhere. I remember how I used to feel exposed and used when guys would get my shirt off, but with Spike I didn’t feel that way. I felt worshipped, adored, revered, and loved.

And by the way he looks at me sometimes, I can almost believe that he knows about my past. I think he does. Which is good because I don’t have the words, I didn’t then. And I remember being so nervous. I was quaking, and quivering under him as his tongue trailed down to my rosy nipples that were pebbled and hot to his mouth. His tongue laved one gently, while a hand caressed the other and teased the sensitive skin under my breast. I was on fire; my body felt like it would explode from the sheer joy and pleasure.

I started shaking and getting dizzy, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t scream, or moan, and I opened my mouth as if to moan, but all sound was lost and all I could do was arch my hips into his body and gasp for air as I felt my very first orgasm rip through my body, pouring out of my glands, flooding my skin, and my eyes with the most pleasure I’d ever felt. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t even feel. It was just too much all at once and I cried.

He continued his loving assault of my body, moving to kiss my navel and suck on it. I wasn’t sure if he was even going to try going further, because he wasn’t and I was sure he was hard. So I again gave him a sign. I wanted him. No I *needed* him inside me. I needed to feel that pleasure; I needed to feel my best friend stroking me from the inside. I needed that intimate touch that only he could provide. No other had ever touched me like that. No other had ever made me weep from the sheer joy of touch.

I slid my hands to his zipper and unbuckled his belt. I made quick of the button and fly, and he caught my hands and looked at me, as if to say it wasn’t necessary. But I just looked at him, because I couldn’t say anything at the time, even if I tried or had wanted to.

I just pushed his jeans down, and he pushed me gently back to work my zipper. It was as if he didn’t want me to worry, or have to do anything. As if he knew this was my first time. As if he knew all the other times previous, and all the guys before, were just making use of my body, were just using me as a storage place for their hard-ons. As if he knew that all I’d ever felt was pain and hurt. As if he knew I’d never had an orgasm. As if he felt the same way.

I lifted my hips and before I knew it, we were both completely naked. His eyes raked over me, taking me in again, making me feel worshipped. And I too took him in. Every part of his body was perfect. Well-sculpted chest, defined muscles, tight ass, hard thighs, taut abs, muscular legs, beautiful penis, waiting to enter me.

He kissed his way down my body until I felt his cool tongue reach my throbbing sex. I was more alive than I’d ever been, and wetter than I ever thought possible. His fingers glided into me, his tongue applied pressure to my clit and I exploded again, as if I’d never been touched there before. Because I hadn’t been. It had always been about the guy, never about my pleasure.

And I was weeping the whole time Spike licked and drank my nectar, so he calls it. He sucked on my clit, and my thighs, ran his hands down my legs and up my stomach while he drank of me. I had only to arch into his touch, and wrap my hands around his neck. I played with the hair at the base of his head, and tried my best to whimper or moan but all the sound was gone.

I had only to cry. And when he finally swept up my body with his, and I felt his manhood rub against my sex, I cried some more. Only this time it wasn’t because I was being used, or raped, but because he wanted me to feel how much he cared. He wanted me to enjoy the experience. So he waited, he stared at me, locked his eyes with mine, as if he were trying to be inside me so he could feel what I was feeling.

I tried to tell him it was okay, but I couldn’t find the words. My senses were overloaded with the feel of his skin on mine, his forced breath on my lips, so I leaned up and captured his lips, tasting my first orgasms on his tongue. And I felt him slowly ease into my body. I spread my legs, raised my hips, trying in any way I could to make it pleasurable for him. But the look in his face as he entered my tight heat was that of pure ecstasy. I felt it too, as he eased into me, tears fell and my vagina quaked and trembled around him. I invited him into my body, into my heart, into my soul, the very existence of me. And he was unintrusive. He invited me into him and I wondered what I looked like to him. Did he see the same look in my eyes, as I did in his? I hope so.

When he was completely sheathed in my body, he waited. I could feel myself stretching to accommodate his girth. I could feel my soul stretching to accommodate and understand this knew feeling I felt. Love. And I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see or feel anything else but him as he started a languid rhythm.

I felt him pull out and ease back in, his mouth on mine, my breath ragged and labored as I gasped and tried to remember to breathe. I vaguely remember him telling me how much he loved me, and how beautiful I was, and how glorious I felt around him, but I honestly couldn’t focus on anything else but the feeling I got from inside myself. As if I’d never really ever felt worthy of love. As if I’d never thought I could ever feel this much from a man.

And as he made love to me, I wept. All my barriers, the pain, the hurt, all of it melted away and I was able to be me. Faith. I was able to find that girl I was once so proud of. I was able to let go of all the rage and sadness that had plagued me for years. I wept and he let me weep. He licked my tears before they could stain my face.

He stroked my insides, and sought out a place in my body that I never knew existed. It was like everything that had ever weighed me down was disappearing and melting away. As if he was absorbing all that pain, so he could replace it with elation, freedom, and love. I was finally able to moan and whimper as I arched my back into his body. I squeezed him tighter, pulled his body closer, answered his thrusts with my own and together we built a new rhythm.

We moved faster in unison, working towards our climax. And at last, as I felt my vagina start to shake, my body heat peaking, I whispered, “I love you, Spike.” And we exploded together; crashing into each other as I felt the cool rush of his seed flood my already gushing core. Waves crashing into each other, flowing out of me onto the bed, drizzling down my legs and his cock.

He nuzzled my neck while I gasped for air that didn’t seem to be available. And when finally I found that air, he looked at me and said, “I love you, Faith.”

We both laughed a bit and turned to the movie that was just finishing up. We watched as the rainbow spread over the boat and Spike looked back at me and smiled before resting his head on my breasts. I wrapped my arms around my lover and best friend, finally at peace. Having finally found my voice.

He slowly fell asleep, murmuring in his sleep, “My Ariel...”

~El Fin~