Viewpoint

by Salieri

"I have to go."

Leaving Spike's crypt was always a multiple step process. Step one was getting the words out. Steps two through infinity involved pulling together the necessary effort to make each individual muscle obey her brain. The problem these days was that her brain wasn't offering much in the way of help.

Buffy's head felt stuffy, her body slightly numb and still buzzing with the afterglow of orgasm. It would be so easy to lie there, just for a little longer. Lie there and maybe sleep a little, sprawled as she was on the floor, lying legs apart like a marionette whose strings had suddenly been cut.

What time is it?

If it was before midnight, she could stay. Midnight meant that tomorrow had come, and tomorrow was another chance to somehow get things right. This day was already ruined -- had been ruined from the moment she'd seen him lounging in the parking lot outside the Doublemeat Palace. It was like cheating on a diet -- once you've blown it, you may as well give it up for the day and start fresh tomorrow.

She'd been starting fresh every day for the past two months. It hadn't made a bit of difference.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll fix everything.

The cool, damp air of the crypt blew across her skin, raising goose bumps and making her nipples tighten. As she blinked drowsily at the ceiling, she felt Spike's hand inch up her arm and brush softly over her fingers where they lay curled limply next to her head. It was a soothing gesture, almost enough to put her to sleep. She turned her head to see him grinning down at her with the smuggest, most self-satisfied look she'd ever seen. She rolled her eyes. He was...God, he was preening. He was such a guy, sometimes.

That's it. It's really time to go.

She rolled to her knees with a groan and started searching for her underwear. Spike poked at her upturned ass, and she swatted him away. He still hadn't lost the grin, and with an aggrieved sigh she gave him a shove, rolling him over to see if her missing underwear was hiding underneath him. No dice.

"Seems to me you should leave the knickers off entirely," Spike said, studying his fingernails. "They go missing more often than not."

"Yeah," she said dryly. "And you'd have nothing at all to do with that, right?" He blinked innocently at her, and she sighed again. "Are you going to help me look, or are you just going to lie there looking like the cat that swallowed the...." She broke off. "Never mind," she muttered, but it was too late. She'd already given him all the opening he'd need. He had to have the filthiest mind in the universe.

"No, go on," Spike said. "If I'm remembering correctly, I wasn't the one doing the swallowing." He still hadn't moved from his spot on the floor, lying there like a large cat, muscles relaxed and cock soft and wet against his thigh. Her stomach clenched, and she looked away. "Admit it," he goaded, eyes glittering. "It was the best you've ever had."

She snorted in disbelief. "You're really full of yourself, aren't you?" He merely shrugged serenely, reaching down to cup and stroke himself idly. The naturally languid sensuality he never failed to exhibit made her bones melt and her mouth dry up.

"That's right," he said confidently. "You can't tell me any of those other little boys you've been with have done anything close to what we've been up to. That last bit, with the leg? Didn't know you could scream that loud, Slayer."

Buffy felt her face flush, and she abandoned the Case of the Disappearing Underwear. She felt a sudden urge to wipe that smirk off his face.

"Did you say little boys, Spike?" she asked innocently. "'Cause, I know it's probably been a while since you've seen Angel, but 'little' isn't exactly the word that comes to mind." She bit back a giggle at the sudden look of fury that crossed his face. To tell the truth, she couldn't for the life of her say which of them was better endowed. Her memories of Angel were pretty much limited to their first time together. He had seemed absolutely enormous at the time, but she couldn't tell if it was objective fact or her own inexperience talking.

"Oh, please," Spike snorted. He lewdly grabbed his erection and ran his thumb over the head. "You can't say your soldier gave you anything like this." His voice was confident to the point of arrogance, but she could see the cracks in the facade. She had to turn away before she let out the hysterical giggle she could feel welling up. Men. They were way too easy to mess with.

"I don't know, Spike," she said thoughtfully, moving to gather the rest of her clothes together. "I mean, did you see how tall Riley is? If we're just going by proportions, then...oof!"

Her breath was knocked out of her as a heavy weight landed on her back. Her legs collapsed underneath her, and she winced at the sudden rug burns. Spike grabbed her by the hips, fingers digging in painfully, and unceremoniously hauled her ass upright. She struggled to get her hands firmly planted, but before she could center herself Spike thrust himself inside her in one long push. She let out a grunt that turned into a long moan.

"Yeah," Spike sneered quietly, dangerously. "Take it, you bitch."

She considered fighting him for about half a second, but instead dropped back down to her elbows, her forehead hitting the floor. God, she loved this position. She'd never tell him that, but she suspected he knew anyway. She felt incredibly open and exposed, folded almost in half as she was, her legs spread wide and her back arched. Spike's bony hips hit the curve of her ass with every thrust, and he felt immense inside her. She screwed her eyes shut and wiggled back against him, grunting quietly with each impact. She felt full and swollen, still slightly bruised from their previous efforts. The extra edge of pain just made her more frantic, and she pushed back, pushed through the pain, to get to the ecstasy she knew waited beyond. She felt Spike begin to slow his thrusts.

"Huh? No!" she whined, circling her hips and jerking back and forth to try to set him in motion again.

He held her hips firmly, pinching her skin warningly, and she subsided with a sulk to see what he had planned. She kept her eyes closed, rocking her hips and squeezing her muscles to keep her arousal on a slow burn. She felt Spike lean to the side, heard him flailing for something, and then heard a noise that made her blood run cold: a kind of whirring click.

Buffy whipped her head around to see Spike holding up an old-fashioned Polaroid camera. He gave her an evil smirk -- and God, did he have any other kind? -- grabbing the underdeveloped square of film as it was ejected. He arched his eyebrows and waved the photograph tauntingly.

"Smile for the birdie, Slayer."

The rush of panic was almost enough to choke her. With a screech of rage, Buffy shoved him back and disengaged herself, whirling on him and landing an elbow to his chest. He fell to the floor and rolled back to his feet fluidly, holding the picture out of her reach the entire time.

"Hey now, none of that," he scolded, grinning when she kicked at him. "Nice view," he said, gesturing between her legs. He sounded as if he was trying not to laugh. She wanted to kill him.

"Spike," she warned, her voice hard, but he merely shook his head and waved the developing picture in the air with a grin. He was bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, which did interesting things to his erection. She feinted to the left and he made a rush past her on the other side. She dove and managed to catch one of his ankles, bringing him down in a heap. He was full-out laughing now, as she had never heard him laugh before, and she couldn't help but join in. It was more of a hysterical reflex than anything approaching real joy, but it warmed the pit of her stomach.

He finally lay on his back in surrender, his grin never faltering even when she crawled on top of him and smacked him in the chest. It was a weak blow, and they both knew it. He waggled his eyebrows at her and waved the photograph, but she ignored it and grabbed his erection, fitting him inside her and sliding down to sit flat against his pelvis. She began a slow switch of her hips, clenching her muscles every time she rocked back and forth. Spike groaned and let out a wheeze.

"Now," she said primly. "Are you going to let me have it?"

Spike's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, but he shook his head stubbornly. Buffy shrugged casually and held herself completely still, pinching his ribs warningly when he tried to move underneath her. She remained stationary, only squeezing him inside her in a rhythmic clench and release. She snatched his free hand and held it tightly to keep his grabby fingers away from her breasts.

"Oh, for the love of..." Spike broke off with a groan of defeat. "Fine, take it!"

He tossed the photograph at her, and she caught it with a grin of triumph. He grabbed her ass and tried to force her to move against him again, but she pulled herself away and rolled off.

"I wanna look," she said. "And you know I'm not letting you keep this." He shook his head with a look of utter frustration.

"Never seen such a bloody tease, Slayer, and that's the truth," he muttered, rolling his head back against the ground. Buffy ignored him and stared at the photograph. Her breath caught in her throat.

It took her a moment to make out what she was seeing. This close up, and without any other visual cues, the image was briefly a mere mass of undifferentiated body parts. Almost half of the picture was taken up by the open globes of her ass. The camera had caught Spike in mid-thrust, and she could see the length of his cock as it emerged. It looked as if about half of him was still buried within her, and the visible part of his cock was wet and shiny with her juices. She could see his thumb and one of his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, gripping her tightly enough to leave a bruise.

She'd never really thought about what she looked like down there from the guy's point of view. She was seeing herself as Spike saw her as he fucked her, and her palms grew wet with sweat at the utter earthiness of the image. She could see every last detail -- the clenched bud of her ass, the way her swollen pussy wrapped around his disembodied cock, the bruised curve of her bottom.

It was at once the most obscene and the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

She wasn't aware of Spike sneaking up until he wrapped himself around her back, hooking his chin over her shoulder and looking at their picture with her. After a moment, he tipped her down to the ground again. She followed obediently, dropping her head to the ground and raising her ass to the air as he slid inside her once again. He took her without words, moving silently in a steady, graceful rhythm as she pushed back against him in counterpoint.

Even as her muscles finally, finally clenched in blissful release, she never once looked away from the photograph.