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Pairing: George Karim x Reader, Lucy x Lockwood but they aren’t in the spotlight.
Tags: Explicit sexual content (18+), mutual obsession, marking/biting, movie night, reader is GN but afab (sorry amab folks). for more tags take a peak at my ao3 !
Word Count: 11.2k
Summary: Movie night with Lockwood and Co goes awry. When does it not?
A/N: part TWO! Finally lol. Don’t need to have read part one to fully understand, but it does help. Once again, crossposted on my Ao3! I’m also working on a strawpages to post fics to in light of Ao3’s recent difficulties. And lastly, if you’re interested with being tagged when I post fics, just reply to any post or send it through my asks!
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<= Part One
“I still can’t believe you know my size?”
You had your back to George, folding the clothes you kept in his room neatly as you sat on the edge of the bed.
“Why not, angel? Or would you rather Lockwood do your laundry?”
You paused to let the scenario wash over you, and you shuddered. George’s answering huff of laughter from behind you had you smiling softly.
“Yuck, love. Don’t give me nightmares.” You placed what used to be George’s shirt in your clothes pile.
He was beside you now, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek, which you accepted happily.
“‘S just funny, is all.”
“Mm?” Another kiss.
“You were totally peeping.”
He froze, lips still attached to your cheek, and you pulled away and looked at him. His expression morphs into a smug smile when you see his own ‘deer in headlights’ wide eyes.
“Ah, so I was right.” You nodded.
“Well, no.”
You watched silently, blinking as you waited for him to walk into your trap, trying desperately not to smile.
“Maybe once. Or twice…” He admitted sheepishly. “But it was around your birthday, and there was that jumper you liked.” He was pulling on the hem of your sleep shirt.
Damn. So not the sexy ‘he’s wanted me for so long’ you were looking for, but instead the sweet ‘he’s wanted me for so long’. As if he would do that to you. Be considerate and careful, and want to make sure everything is perfect for you.
“And then…”
“Oh?” You perked up,
“And then I had to, um, rummage through your drawers when Lucy asked. But that’s just because–”
You cut him off with a kiss, and he looked like he was in trouble; you laughed at his preciousness.
“Oh, love,” You murmured sympathetically. “You’ve had your hand basically inside of me, and you think I’m going to be mad at you?”
“I didn’t tell you what I did after.” He smirked, flipping it on you, and you felt your cheeks heat at the implication.
“I see.” Was your stilted response. Attempting to recover, you said, “You could always tell me.” He grinned at your reaction, but you could see he was considering whether to keep teasing you or not. His hand hovered near your cheek before finally settling at the base of your throat and pulling you into a heated kiss.
After almost a month of being together, he was still able to get your brain to shut down. Secretly, you hoped he would never stop having that ability.
After a moment, he pulls away and laughs, nudging your shoulder, “C’mon, you had to have known I liked you.”
“You liked me before that night?”
“I’ve liked you for a long time, Angel.” George rolled his eyes affectionately.
“That’s embarrassing.” You blurted, and he stared at you. “I mean… I meant to say, you too.”
“You even managed to make that sound genuine.” He said flatly, and you smiled, putting the last of the folded clothes beside you and patting his cheek. Your smile widening when he leaned into your hand.
“Thanks, honey, I do try.”
You paused just to observe his face, the way his eyebrows curved, his eyelashes touching his skin, the softness of him. You cleared your throat and removed your palm from his face.
“I just mean, I didn’t realise. I’d liked you for a long time before, too.”
He chuckled shortly, “I know,” and you squawked.
“What do you mean you know?”
“Your eyes would dilate when you looked at me.”
“And you saw that?” You asked, not doubting him but wanting to tease him all the same. “With your eagle eyes?” You gestured vaguely at his glasses.
He rolled said eyes at you, “And you… let me near you in a way you wouldn’t with Lockwood or Lucy.”
“Well, I didn’t want Lockwood or Lucy near me the same way I wanted you to be.”
He smiled softly at that.
“I just… had rationalised it. That you did that because we were friends or that it was because of some other possible reason I had failed to consider, and I thought I was being pretty obvious.”
You nodded. “That sounds about right.”
“Because it is, love.”
“Oh shut up, would you?”
You’d both leaned closer to each other, faces mere hairs’ widths apart, and you leaned closer still. Waiting for him to retaliate.
“Make me.” He smiled.
“Oh, George.” You sighed, and you saw his eyes soften sweetly. “You know I will.” You leaned closer and kissed him, finally.
You could feel him smile into the kiss before he deepened it. Slowly, he pushed you to roll onto your back, continuing to kiss you as he moved to lean above you on his elbows, bracketing you underneath him. George slotted one of his legs between yours to lie across you more comfortably.
The pair of you continued like this for a while, just enjoying the ability to do so after pining for one another for so long.
Then, his knee rose, grinding against your mound, and you whined into his mouth.
“So needy.”
“Can’t help it when it’s you.”
He smiled in response. Said smile quickly disappeared at the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind you.
Lockwood looked awkward but smug nonetheless.
“What do you want?” George grumbled.
“I did knock.” He said matter-of-factly.
You raised a hand to your mouth to smother a laugh. When George turned to look at you curiously, you whispered, “Not nice, is it?” And he sighed exasperatedly at you, turning back to his friend.
“Well? Come on, Lockwood, I was busy.”
“I could tell. Lucy wanted to know if you two would join us for a movie night.”
“Really? We haven’t had one of those in ages.” You piped up from beneath George, and he rolled off of you properly so you could both speak to the other man.
“Yes, well. I suppose she’s just in the mood for it.”
That caught your attention, and you narrowed your eyes. “What are you up to, Anthony?”
He hissed a breath, raising his hands in mock surrender “Nothing, I swear. Not speaking on her behalf, though.”
You groaned at that piece of information. Lucy was definitely up to something. Begrudgingly, you sat up. “I suppose I should go see if she wants any help setting up.” George made a sound of annoyance when you got out of bed, but was quickly soothed when you leaned over to capture his lips in a short, sweet kiss.
“So that’s a yes?” Lockwood clarified.
“Yes,” You stood in front of him, waving your hand to indicate that he should stop leaning on the doorframe so you could move through to interrogate Lucy.
“What are you up to?” You accused from the stairway up to the attic.
“Hm?” She acted oblivious. “Oh, you mean movie night? Lockwood did ask you, right?”
“Yes, he did, we’re coming.”
“Oh, so you and George, it’s a we now?”
“I–” you stuttered, fully stepping into your shared room, now flustered as your cheeks warmed. “Yes. It was before, and it still is now. You still haven’t answered me.”
“Do you think World’s End or Hot Fuzz would be better?” Lucy deflected effortlessly.
You sighed frustratedly before answering, blinking harshly for a moment to re-centre. “No Shaun of the Dead? Hot Fuzz.”
She nodded, then turned to face you finally.
It was unnerving, the way she could just watch you with those far-too-knowing eyes.
“Which does George like better?”
You open your mouth to speak, but catch yourself before answering, “What makes you think I’ll know?”
“You’ve only been obsessed with him for, oh, I don't know… the whole time you’ve been here.” She smiles at you, tilting her head like she’s just said something completely normal. You squinted at her suspiciously before answering with a grumble.
“He likes Shaun of the Dead… then Hot Fuzz. But that didn't sway my answer.”
“Mhmm.”
“At all.” You stressed, completely lying.
She hums again.
“Come on, Lucy, we haven’t had a movie night in ages, and suddenly you spring it on us? What are you really doing?”
She at least has the decency to look sheepish.
“I thought maybe it could be like a double date…”
“Luce—“
“But at home, where we could just hang out! No pressure. We hardly ever get to just sit around and enjoy the quiet.”
You sighed, “You’re right. I don’t know why I was so insistent you were plotting something.”
“Oh, I am, just not this.” She joked, “Go look in the library to see if there are any DVDs I missed. I’ll join you in a second.”
“Yes, boss.” You saluted, earning a small laugh from the girl, and you smiled to yourself as you walked away.
Lucy was right. It had been a long time since you’d all last gotten to act your age together. Something silly like a movie night double date was exactly what you’d all need to right yourselves. It’d go perfectly, and you’d hold George’s hand under the cover of darkness or maybe brush against him when you both go for popcorn like in the movies— speaking of.
“Luce?” You call, turning back around to enter the room.
“Mm?” She doesn’t look up, too busy inspecting the Hot Fuzz disc for scratches.
“Do we have popcorn? Or drinks?” You rub the back of your neck and yawn, bottoms appearing from underneath your— or was it George’s? Who even knows at this point— shirt.
“Um, I think so? Might need more, though. Perhaps you could take George out and get some more,” her gaze flicks towards you suspiciously.
Ok, so what you had previously thought she was up to may not have been the case at all.
“Lucy…”
“Yes, Angel?” She uses his pet name for you. “I wonder why it is that stuck? Maybe he likes you, too.” Lucy smiles like the cat that got the cream.
Defeatedly, you respond, “I’ll ask him.”
You can’t help but think about how this situation gets curiouser and curiouser.
“But,” you add, “I’m not convincing him. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to,”
She nods amicably, a small, knowing smile graces her face, and she sends you on your way.
It isn’t until halfway to George’s room that you’d both never told Lucy that you and George had started dating, nor had you denied it when she said ‘double date’. Technically, this was your first official date– other Arif runs didn't count. Neither did the gala nor it's… Pleasant aftermath.
Lockwood, unfortunately, already knew because he’d come up to ask if you’d known where George was, only to find the other boy in your bed and your sleeping body with fresh love bites galore. That was super fun and totally what you wanted to happen the night after. Not at all did it lead to an uncomfortable (but successful) discussion with George about what you were to each other, and you’d asked Lockwood to keep it quiet until the two of you got more comfortable with each other. Which he miraculously had, you suspected George had called in a favour.
Despite being one of the most talented agents in the country, perhaps the best if she let you be honest. When she was off the clock, Lucy didn’t want to be observant or on high alert; it had taken hard work to let herself enjoy being present. Sometimes she’d let herself just chalk things up to funny coincidences, just for the sake of being able to do that after years of constant paranoia, even during the day.
It was one of the many things you loved about her, and it was excellent around her birthday and other gift-giving holidays.
But it now means she may think she’s setting the pair of you up, somehow having missed how touchy the two of you were, or certainly how those lovebites you’d gotten the night of the gala never seemed to fade, reappearing in different spots, even.
You could work with this. Messing with her a bit as revenge for… well, a number of things, to be honest. This would be fun.
“Georgie.”
“Mm?” He grunted, not looking up from the comic he had picked up in your absence.
“Come with me to Arif’s?”
“What for?”
“Food and drink for movie night.”
He made a noise of acceptance, finally marking his page and putting the comic to the side. He looked at you awkwardly for a moment.
“I need to get ready.”
“Ok? Just put your pants on, and let’s go. Your shirt is decent.” You moved towards him, crowding his space. “Unless? Is it not decent?”
“I— Angel, spare me, would you?”
“Let me check.” You bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take an exaggerated sniff before placing a sweet kiss on the exposed skin. Sitting back up, you pull a face of mock disgust.
“Maybe you’re right. Better take all your clothes off.”
George rolls his eyes, “It’s not that.”
“Then what, sweetums?”
He ignores the pet name, hands fidgeting in his lap, “We’ve not gotten changed in front of each other before.”
“This is true.”
“I…” George hesitates, looking every bit like he wants the world to open up and swallow him whole.
“Are you nervous?”
He lets out a sigh in response, “It’s silly, isn’t it?”
“Only a little. But need I remind you that you’ve walked in on me moaning your name before, and you stayed through that. Even did more than stay. I don’t think I could ever let you leave, honeybunches.”
That seems to snap him out of it. “God, angel, honeybunches?”
“Should I have added the ‘of oats’?”
“Definitely not.” He looks at you fondly, and you feel yourself smile in response. You pat his leg comfortingly before moving to the other side of the bed, leaning back in an effort to look incredibly casual.
“Come on, if we have to go soon, I want to get my eye candy in now.”
He rolls his eyes once more, warmly this time, as he shakes his head softly. “Go ahead then. Lap it up.”
Although you know he’s joking, he does quickly get changed while you’re still in the room, and you take a moment to admire his vulnerability with you. You love it, his openness, even if he has difficulty expressing it, doesn’t mean it’s for lack of trying. You want him to be able to be this vulnerable always, to ask for whatever his heart desires and for you to give it to him. It’s then and there that you begin your evil plan to have him pleading for you by the end of the night.
George clears his throat, and you attempt to smile innocently.
“Was it that bad?” He jokes, though you can hear the insecurity bleed through in his voice.
“Not at all, I was overcome with lust and had to take a moment,”
“Sure.”
You smile wider now, leaning up to kiss him softly before rolling off the bed and offering your hand to him.
The air outside was beginning to gain its crispness, cool breezes making the trees lining the streets sway.
“Apple of my eye?”
“No.”
“Kitten?”
“No? Kitten?”
“Hmm. Lovebug? My Main Squeeze? Hot Stuff? Oh! I know, Sexy Pants.” You nodded sagely as his face morphed from confusion to sputtering out a shocked laugh.
“Definitely not.”
You let the fake wisdom fall from your face, and you grinned at him, squeezing his hand in response to his mirroring smile. “Why not Sexy Pants?”
“Angel, think of the consequences.”
You hummed. “I suppose. Wouldn’t want Lucy having that particular ammo. And you don't even wear pants unless you have to.”
You walked in comfortable silence for a moment before adding, “Speaking of–” You smile, unable to help yourself. “I don’t think she knows that we’re actually together.”
“Oh?” He paused to face you fully.
“Yeah, which is kind of worrying because we’re not exactly hiding it, but also I have this terrible feeling that we were already acting like this before.”
“And why is that terrible?”
“Because we could have been together way earlier!”
“That was already established. Angel, what’s the real problem?”
You frowned, thinking for a moment, truly trying to get to the bottom of the feeling that was now suddenly at the forefront of your mind.
“I just– our work isn’t the safest, and I… I don’t know, it’s not that I think you’ll get hurt, but I don’t… I don’t know.”
He brushed your arm with his hand. “Oh, Angel. Where’s this coming from?”
“I don’t know. I like you very much, and I like that you like me very much. I just also wish there was a way I could make you happy always.”
He laughed softly. “I think I know the feeling.” George took your hands in his, fondly rubbing his thumb over the skin there and thought for a moment.
“What if we told Lucy?”
“Why?” You were confused.
“What if we told Lucy at movie night that we were together?” He asked again. “That way we’re officially official. Everyone in the house would know, and we would be able to get away with more.”
“Maybe even do more double dates?” You looked at him hopefully, moving so that you could begin walking again more properly.
“More double dates?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you, Lucy is trying to set us up and thinks this movie night is a secret double date.”
“Ah.” He shrugged, “Well, if that’s what you want, sure. But I’m not always so good at sharing you.”
You laughed at that. “I had noticed. Even when we were fake together that was true.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him look at you in question, so you continued. “Marking me up, hand around my waist when we were talking to Kipps. You were very believable, Georgie.”
“I seem to remember someone enjoying that.”
“You remember correctly, even if you saying ‘one more for good luck’ and then brushing it with your hand in front of our friends haunts me to this day.”
“Haunts you?”
“You aren’t always around to walk in on me, love.”
You felt his hand grip yours tighter momentarily as he registered what you had said.
“I see.”
Smiling, you turned your head to watch his face properly, glancing at the path in front of you quickly beforehand to make sure there weren’t any stray tripping hazards.
“What?” You asked, acting innocently. “Surely you didn’t expect that to be a one-time thing? I don't usually start out with a full-blown fantasy. Gotta work my way up, be inspired—”
“I hadn't… not considered it.” He says, cutting you off. His face was contorting, in what you previously registered as discomfort, but now knew meant he was desperately trying to think of something, anything, else.
“Oh, George, if only you truly knew what you do to me. How you make me feel.” You rested your head on his shoulder, and he grunted.
“I think I have some idea.”
You continued, emboldened by his reaction, and enjoying how your plan to tease him was already working. “If only you knew what I wanted you to do to me, what I want to do for you.” You whispered, walking two fingers up his arm. “All you need to do is ask.”
“Angel, please.”
“Yes?”
“If you don’t stop, I’m going to have to drag you off somewhere.”
“I didn’t know you were into that.”
“Angel.” He pleaded, warning you.
“Imagine if you had known what I was wearing under that dress?” You added, head tipped as though lost in thought.
“That’s it.” He pulled you into an alleyway. Kissing you feverishly, you let yourself be caught in the moment, laughing in surprise and kissing back, before reluctantly pulling away.
“I think– I think,” you stutter, aiming to recollect yourself and failing miserably.
“Oh, do you, Angel?” George responded, a smug smile gracing his face.
“Yes, often and loudly.” You bit back, you pushed your hair out of your face before readjusting George’s glasses. Only to have him completely disregard your efforts, leaning down to push his face into your neck, much as you had done earlier.
“What I mean to say is, while telling Lucy and the double dates are one idea… I also have another.”
“Mm?”
“What if we had some fun with it?”
He pulled back to look you in the eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Lucy has no idea. We have the advantage.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “You want to get revenge.”
“Quite.” You smiled, “Not for long. Just until… Until it stops being funny.”
“So, never?”
“You're right. Though I suspect if we're, uh, to be wed and have lots of little Georges that may just clue her in.”
George's face was contorting again.
You put a finger to your chin and gazed upwards, as though in deep thought. “So maybe just until tomorrow.”
His expression was still pinched, eyes focused on the wall behind you.
“What?” Real concern laced your voice.
“Little Georges?”
“Oh.” You responded. “Don't um– don't feel like I'm saying we have to– I'm not even sure. What with the state of the world and all… Please don't be scared off by that I–”
“You've thought about it?”
You hesitated, “...idly.”
“But we–”
“You're very handsome, you know.” You blurt, catching him off guard. “And as it's been established so many times… I have thought that frequently since I met you. It was honestly making me nuts. I'm surprised Lucy's ears didn't fall off with how much I went on about you.”
“Since we met?” He says, almost dumbstruck.
“Yes, George. Since then.” You respond, cheeks heating, you offer your hand to him and walk to the entrance of the alley. “We should go… Arif's will be closed soon. What would they say if we showed up to movie night with no popcorn?”
George righted himself, putting his hand in yours as you continued your journey. “I imagine we'd never hear the end of it.” He muttered.
The bell above the door tinkled as George opened it.
“After you,”
Softly, you spoke, “Thank you.” You ducked your head to hide a bashful smile as you entered.
The small shop was crammed with shelves. To your left, a wall of vending machines hummed softly, rows of chips lined the other side. On your right, the man himself.
“Evening, Arif.” You smiled at the older man.
“Ah, evening agents. Here to pick up?”
“Not…” You glanced at George. “Well, maybe.”
“It’s movie night.” George said, not stopping to look up from where he was inspecting the boxes of unpopped popcorn.
“Ahh, you’ve started those again. Maybe I’ll see you every week from now on?”
You leaned against the counter to watch George as he disappeared down the aisle while you were speaking to the shop owner.
“Every week?”
“Yes, Mr. Lockwood and Lucy used to come around all the time… Buying popcorn and fizzy drink.”
“Oh, those– we used to do movie night every once in a while, those were for their dates.”
Arif nodded. “They're doing well?” He asked.
“Yes. I think so. Just busy. Us too, but it must be harder for them” You looked over at George.
“And… you two? You are also doing well?”
You could feel heat prickle your cheeks. “What do you mean?”
“I may be an older man, but I’m not blind. You've liked Mr. Karim for some time now, I think.”
“Ah.”
“Him too. If you haven't already–”
You smiled, waving a hand in an attempt to clear the air to save yourself the embarrassment. “We’re good. And yes, I’m… We’re happy. I should probably make sure he's on track, actually.”
Arif nodded; his normally casual expression softened.
You petted the counter twice before tilting off to walk over to where George was.
“You alright, angel?”
“Yeah. I’m going to go get the drinks, ok?”
“Don’t forget the Fanta.”
“I won’t, I don’t need Lockwood going mental and spilling the beans early.”
George smiled ruefully, “No, we can’t have that.”
Arif's smile grew wider as he watched the two of you interact. George's hand brushes your arm as you walk to get the drinks. From around the corner, you could barely hear the pair, but you knew they were still talking about how George and yourself were an item now.
You came back, two large bottles in hand, your favourite in one hand and the other, Lockwood’s request.
“‘M back.” You placed the drinks on the counter next to the snacks George had picked up.
“Will you need a bag?”
“No thanks, Arif. I can carry them; have to put my big ghost hunting muscles to use.”
Arif laughed silently as he finished ringing you up.
“Big ghost hunting muscles?” George frowned good-naturedly, counting coins in the palm of his hand.
“Those chains are dreadfully heavy, I'll have you know.”
“Sure, angel.” George rolled his eyes, but you could tell by the way the corners of his eyes crinkled that he was trying not to laugh.
“You two have a nice night.”
“You too, Arif.” You picked up the bottles while George put the snacks into a backpack.
“Thank you.” You both called over your shoulders as you exited, squinting in the cold now that the sun had begun to set.
“Woof.”
George nodded, “I know. We should walk quickly.”
“Agreed.”
A beat of silence accented by footsteps.
“What was Arif asking you about?”
“Hm? Oh, us.” You answered.
“Us?”
You hummed, “Yeah. Wanted to see if we were a thing yet or not.”
George chuckled. “Never let anyone say that man is not a gossip.”
“He’s curious!” You laughed. “I happen to like that about him. Even if he does like to stick his nose in things. Maybe it reminds me of someone.”
“Oh, it does, does it?”
“Well, only maybe.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Yes.” You deadpanned. “Arif, the balding middle-aged man who runs the corner store and smells like burnt sugar and instant coffee, is going to steal me away from you.”
“I knew it.”
You smiled, watching his face and bumping his shoulder with your own.
“What?” He asked after nudging you back, looping his pinkie through your own.
“Nothing, I just like you.”
George rolled his eyes, a small smile gracing his face.
“You'd better cut that out soon, yeah? Lucy will be watching us from the window.”
You groaned at the reminder. “This is going to be fun, right? Not just us pretending to not be together.”
“Well, in all fairness, angel, we haven’t exactly been… hiding it.”
“This is true. But still, before I have to stop–” You shift, turning to him as you awkwardly manoeuvre yourself to kiss him on the cheek. “Much better.”
“Lockwood, Luce, we’re home!”
The click of George locking the door for the night came from behind you before Anthony’s responding “In here!” rang out, muffled slightly through the walls.
You walked through, helping George put the bags on the table as well as depositing your bounty, greeted by Lucy spreading out the stack of DVDs.
Surprised, George said, “Oh, Lucy, you didn't say we would be using those.”
“Had to root around your room for this one.” She waved the Hot Fuzz case.
“I would have gone to get it for you if I'd–”
Lucy waved her hand dismissively, cracking open the case and popping it into the DVD player. “It was no trouble.”
George made troubled eye contact with you, but you just shrugged it off, going to sit down on one of the armchairs.
“Oh, actually, Lockwood was going to sit there.” Lucy cut you off.
“Oh. I'll just–”
“You should probably sit next to George. Who will be sitting on the lounge.”
“I will?”
Lucy elbowed him, making a face that read something like ‘do it or else. Please. Or else.’
“Right. Yes, I will… be sitting there.” He makes sure to turn his head so you can catch a glance of conspiratorial eye contact, and you barely refrain from laughing. Instead, you feign surprise and minimal amounts of outrage at Lucy.
“I noticed there are more clothes in your wardrobe than usual.” She commented idly, to which George paused, saving his reaction for when he had more information.
“Ah, Lucy didn't tell you so she could snoop.” you muttered, and the other agent bristled.
“Collect Intel! Don't think I didn't notice that they were your clothes.”
Lockwood sighed and clicked pause on the remote.
“Where did you end up finding Hot Fuzz then?” You redirected.
“In his bookshelf–”
“So I suppose looking in his closet came before.” You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow.
“It… May have.”
“Lucy.”
“It’s not what you think, at least it wasn’t at first.”
“Ok, now would be a good time to explain.” You raised a brow at her. To the side, Lockwood cleared his throat before rising from the armchair.
“I’m going to go get the biscuit tin. George?”
George shook his head and dismissed him with a small hand wave. “No, I think I want to hear her side of things.”
Anthony nodded before excusing himself.
“So I really was going to get the DVD and then I thought ‘well, maybe I can gather some information’ for, well, you…” She glanced at you. “So that you could ask him on a date! But then I saw how many of your clothes were in his wardrobe, and at first I was like ‘wow, weird—‘“ George made a noise of protest. “But I know you would have noticed they were missing. So really, I have one thing to say.”
You shared a look with George. “Ok…?”
“Come on, Lucy, spit it out.”
“Have you been having night terrors again? Because you know I don’t mind sleeping next to you if that’s what you were worried about.”
You couldn't help it. You melted.
“Aw, no, Luce, I haven’t had another since Kitten Whiskers and I started going out.”
“I see,” she nodded, pausing.
“I thought we were going to keep it a secret, sweetness. Also, no.”
“Damn it.” You muttered. At least you got kitten whiskers in.
“YOU CALL GEORGE KITTEN WHISKERS?” Lucy all but shouts as her mental puzzle pieces snap into place.
“Apparently not.” You sigh in fake defeat.
“And you’re going out?”
“Yes. Lucy, you know how much I fancy him.” You mumbled the ending, making sure to look super interested in the smudge on the floor.
“Please don’t let Kitten Whiskers stick.”
“I thought you liked Shrek? I like sweetness, by the way.”
“Good grief, is that what we were like?” Lockwood mumbles, not unnoticed.
“Worse.” George confirms grimly.
“So… how did it happen?” Lucy asks, the movie completely forgotten.
“Um, well.” Your cheeks heat. “So– so the gala, and then. Well then, we were home.” You fiddle with the blanket, glancing at Anthony, then down at your hands. “Maybe it would be better as a… Roomies night thing. If you catch my meaning.”
Lockwood’s expression was a mix of pride and abject horror.
“Played that super cool, Angel.”
“Shut up!”
“And you? Or George? Who made the first move?”
“Umm… that one's harder to answer.”
Lucy looked confused, now.
“Just because of the order of things. When I tell you how it happened, you can… help me figure it out.”
That seemed to placate her; she nodded sagely, turning back to smile at Sergeant Angel on the screen. Fitting.
“I have more questions.”
“I know Luce.”
“Can I click play now?”
You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Anthony.”
“Don't think I didn't notice you weren't surprised.” Lucy murmured, to which Lockwood promptly began the movie again, considering it a fine distraction.
Now that your interrogation was saved for what was likely later that very evening, the rest of movie night went off without a hitch. After Hot Fuzz was the Lockwood and Lucy pick, which is (naturally) one of the 'Lara Croft Tomb Raider's. During which, you'd reorganised yourselves so that you were now seated very similarly to your evening the other night, your back to his chest, blanket over both of you.
Fortunately, you had seen whichever Lara Croft this was before.
Unfortunately, you weren't sure which film it was because you were distracted for the majority of the film; all you could focus on was the feeling of George absentmindedly drawing circles on your thigh with his thumb.
“Angel.” George whispers, not looking away from the screen.
“Hm?” You murmur, not looking away from the movement on your leg.
“Are you alright?”
“What? Yeah. Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”
“What just happened in the film?”
“Uh, she kicked someone in the head…?”
“Lucky guess. Are you sure you're feeling alright?”
“Yes, Georgie. The– your hand is a little distracting, is all, but I'm ok.”
“My hand?” He shifted, brushing his hand against you as he looked. “Oh, I see.”
George goes to remove himself, but not before you gently grab his wrist.
“I didn't say it was bad. Just distracting.”
You lift your head to find he was already watching you. Something calculating and knowing in his gaze. His hand moves further up your leg.
“George.” You whisper, scandalised.
“Yes?” He responds, the very image of innocence. Or he would be if his self-satisfied smirk wasn't so obvious.
"What are you doing?"
George hummed lowly. "Nothing. Touching you."
"Which is it?" You hissed, flustered as his touch slides closer and closer to your most intimate zones.
"We have two options." He murmurs, disregarding your question. "I can stop, we watch the movie, or—"
"Or. I pick whatever or is." You said, rushing the words out.
Honestly, you couldn't care less what 'or' was at the moment, as long as it continued whatever this was. His quiet laugh tickled your ear.
"Follow my lead," George whispers. He yawns suddenly, startling you slightly. "How much longer does this have?"
Lockwood tapped the remote, and the timeline flashed on screen. "Twenty minutes. Not including credits."
George grunts, stretching. "Budge up, I need to use the lavatory."
"Need it paused?" Lucy asks, not looking up from the screen.
"No need." He responds, resting his hand on your shoulder as he stands and walks off. "Seen it before."
His footsteps disappear, and you sigh, surveying the scene.
"Need a refill?" You ask, referring to one of the empty popcorn bowls.
Lockwood lifts his hand, "No, thank you. We were thinking of ordering pizza for tea."
"Mm." Standing, stretching and hearing your shoulders pop. "I'm going to go refill my drink anyway. Want me to find the menu?"
Lucy hums in response. You grab your cup, leaving the room at a carefully casual pace.
"Back in a moment."
Nothing prepares you for the way George appears behind you in the kitchen, seemingly out of thin air. You gasp in surprise when your arm is suddenly touched.
The hand on your arm moves up as George pulls you towards him, gentler than he had been on the walk to Arif's, but just as urgent.
"This." He murmurs, and he leans in to kiss you. His voice sends a wash of heat over your skin.
The moment your lips touch, he's moving, shifting his arms so that his warm hands could rest on your waist. Long, deft fingers, curl around your sides. Those wonderful fingers.
It probably could have been more graceful, but between his glasses and enthusiasm, there was moderate success. He tasted sugary, whatever he'd drank before slipping away earlier lingering.
George pulls back briefly after his glasses brush against your cheek—one of his hands moves to reach upwards but you beat him to it, sliding his glasses and readjusting them so that they wouldn't bump you or press against him uncomfortably.
You slow a moment, just to watch his eyes as he struggles to focus on your face from this close.
This time you initiate the kiss, the frantic energy dissipating as you both just enjoy each other, taking small pauses to breathe. The floorboard creaks, probably from him shifting his weight as he presses forward.
You reach for his arms, hands grasping just above his elbows to bring the both of your bodies ever closer.
And then he torturously, no, traitorously moves his mouth out of reach.
"What are you doing?" You asked, blinking to regain composure.
"We better get back. They'll wonder where we are if we're gone too long."
"You're pure evil." You whined, tipping your head to rest on his shoulder. His hands hadn't left your waist. "I'll get you back for this."
"Sure you will, love. Don't forget the menu."
Lockwood and Lucy either hadn't noticed or didn't care. And as you sat there miraculously keeping your grumbling to a minimum through the remainder of the movie, and then had to keep just sitting beside George while eating your dinner, your plan to get back at him became clearer and clearer.
"I think I'm going to go to bed." You say, rubbing a serviette between your fingers. "This was fun, we should do it more often." You continue with a smile, ignoring George's curious gaze.
"Definitely." Lucy agrees, pleased.
Lockwood stretches out, leaning back as he addresses George. "Maybe next time we'll pick the movies."
George hums, eyes not leaving you as you exit the room.
Phase one, complete… Technically. Now, to just throw him off the scent. Distracting him wouldn't be difficult, but keeping him distracted was another story altogether.
Phase two, unfortunately, involved wearing basic lingerie under your pyjamas. Unfortunate only in that the lacy hemmed bralette wasn't the most comfortable, but a necessary sacrifice to one-up his earlier betrayal. You wore your slouchiest top over it, enough that the neckhole would slide and reveal it, given how pleased George had been revealing lacy underthings the first time you'd been together, this would be a hit. Now all you had to do was take your place (seat) on stage (your bed) and try not to look like you were waiting around when he did eventually turn up.
Two knocks come from the doorframe, but you don't look up from what you're reading.
"Come in."
"You alright?" It was George. He too had changed into pyjamas, wearing comic-print shorts under a long top. Not too different from what you were wearing, all things considered.
"Yeah, Georgie. Why do you ask?"
"You left in a hurry." He says, soft-spoken. Uncertainty crept into his tone.
"Oh, George. Nothing bad, I promise." You assured him, sitting up from your pillows to make sure that the pyjama top fell just so and would reveal the bralette's straps to him. "I just needed to be alone for a moment—present company not included."
When he looked up finally, you could tell the moment he saw the lacey strap.
"What's that?"
"What's what?" You smiled. Hook, line, and sinker.
He walked over and rubbed the strap between his fingers.
"Ohh, this. Just something I put on."
George looked pleased, a little suspicious, but pleased. He hooked his fingers under the strap and ran them over your shoulder and back again.
"I kind of… had an idea for this evening." You continued.
"Is that so?" He looked amused now, removing his hand from your shoulder to brush stray hairs off of your face.
"Yeah. You inspired me." You stood up, kissed him softly and pushed him down onto the bed. "Anthony a bit, too, actually."
George grunts but stays laying down, "Please don't mention Lockwood right now."
He shifted while you leaned over him, peppering soft kisses all over his face, but always making sure to just miss his lips.
Your ankle hooked around the leg of a chair that you'd set up earlier, and that you'd successfully distracted him from, and you pulled it into place.
Just as he had done to you earlier, your touch disappeared from him.
"What?"
"I think it's only fair that I get to see what I do to you, don't you?"
George nodded slowly.
"I want you to touch yourself." Thankful your voice didn't unceremoniously crack, you sat down in the chair and crossed your legs.
He stared at you for a long moment.
When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "Angel… Are you sure?"
"We don't have to, but I would like to see it happen." Your eyes wandered to the growing bulge between his legs, moving to his parted lips, and then taking in his whole lovely face. "I'd like it even more if you told me what you were thinking, while you did it."
Even in the dim lighting, you could tell his face was flushed. "Ok. Alright. Will you be doing it…as well?"
You smiled. "Maybe, but I don't imagine I'll be keeping my hands to myself for very long."
His hand moved down to grip himself over his pyjama bottoms, sating himself for a moment. "You really want to know what I think about?"
You bit your lip at the sight before you, the way he's looking at you—uncertain but almost too curious (turned on) to care, but doing it anyway. "Definitely. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were stalling love."
"I am a little."
"What for? What's making you nervous?" You ask genuinely.
"'S the first time you're seeing me like this. All exposed…" He hesitates before continuing. "Want it to be good for you."
You feel a pulse of arousal rush through you at his confession.
"Trust me, Georgie. If you could see what I'm seeing, you wouldn't think that was an issue. We could put music on, or do something else entirely if you'd prefer."
George inspects you for a moment, any hint of untruth. When finding none, his head falls back onto your pillow. The tip of his tongue pushes through his lips, wetting them. "Music, please." With restless anticipation he watches you turn on the speaker to a playlist you know he likes, sound softly filling the room, before continuing. "If it wasn't regular stuff, it would usually be, um, during a case, when I was researching."
The chair creaks softly as you sat back, trying not to squirm in your seat, and watch as he palms himself. 'Regular stuff' could be found out later, he clearly had a scenario in mind.
"You would find me, maybe in the library—"
"The one at home or in the city?"
"Either." He let out a heavy breath, and his hand slid into his shorts. His mind already slipping into the well-worn fantasy.
"Keep going, Georgie. Want to see you." You suggest, eyes on the curve of his dick.
George nods absent-mindedly, thoughts occupied by his imagination as he pushes the bottoms down just enough so that you can see him stroking. An appreciative noise left your mouth before you could think to stop it.
"You would tell me to take a break, tell me you wanted to help me. Could see how tense I was."
"That I know a way to get you to relax?"
He groaned, dark eyes fluttering shut as you said the words aloud. "Yeah, something like that. We'd have to find somewhere secluded."
You hummed, rising from the chair. Why had you set up the stupid thing anyway? You wanted to touch him, to stop teasing and just have him. Feeling his skin would have to do. George's eyes followed you as you took your place at the end of the bed, not unlike what had happened after the gala. He had yet to take his glasses off, but you could see how flushed he was beneath them.
"We'd have to be quiet if we were in the library," You brush your hand over his warm skin, "Unless you wanted to be caught." You watched his reaction carefully, the way his hips jumped.
"Was that another fantasy?"
He hesitates, but ultimately gives in. "Yes. Us being caught, me being caught."
"It's pretty hot." You laugh softly, brushing your hand along his thigh. "Worked out for me."
You tried (and failed) not to be distracted by how wound up you were getting just from watching him and reliving the memory.
George smiled slightly, slowing his stroking.
"Did, didn't it?"
There was a moment of silence, and you'd decided you'd had enough. Though this fantasy would certainly be explored at a later date, George looked sufficiently teased in the way his skin had a light mist of sweat; he looked so hard it must have ached.
"Can I touch you, love?"
"Please, angel."
Leaning forward, you gently pressed your lips to his hot skin, and George's breath hitched. You let your lips linger before softly kissing upwards, briefly sitting up from the bed to move yourself closer to his face. You let your hand slip under his shirt, bunching up the fabric, revealing more of him to you.
His skin twitched as you did so, your hands trailed upwards, lingering for a moment to brush over his nipple, until gradually he had sat up and his shirt had been completely removed. You traced your hand back down his front, smiling at his soft moan when you grazed his chest again.
"You're wearing too many clothes," He moans, running his hand over your bare shoulder, pulling the strap between his fingers just to feel the fabric.
"I know, love, let me just remember where I put it." You muttered, feeling around the side of your bed.
"Put what?" So many questions. He was trying to tug the shirt over your head as you were pulling the box free.
In place of an explanation, you presented him with a box of condoms and simply said, "This."
"Is this a new box?"
"Yeah." You pull your arm in, sliding the top over your head. George considers you and the information for a moment, flipping the cardboard around in his hand.
"How many're in there?"
"Plenty, I'm sure." You say, trying to hide the amusement and failing.
"How long until they expire?"
"George, surely we won't have to worry about that. Help me out of my pyjamas." You answer, half exasperated, half endeared.
To his credit, George did begin assisting you, but he did so with a smile that gave the impression that he was very pleased with that information, indeed.
Turning your attention back to him, you placed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. You draw him closer, and at the same time, lean your hands on his nape, using your nails to gently scratch at the downy hairs there.
His hair's now a dark mess, mussed from your hands and from fidgeting under your gaze. The curls reflect the dim lighting of the room, and if you focus, the spectral glow of the ghost lamps outside. You try to smooth them back into place for him, but everything seems to move in slow motion now, his touches slow, his kisses slow. The way he looks at you with such affection makes your brain feel like mush.
George encourages you on to your back with a gentle pressure of his hand against your shoulder, his nose bumping yours as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. There's a heat growing in your body, somewhere below your chest, as his lips connect and he holds himself over you. Where had your pyjama bottoms gone?
You kiss back, hands trailing to hold him in place. George's hand traces your waist and moves upwards to rest just below your breast. The bralette pushed further and further upwards as his hand searched for more to explore.
You reciprocate the best you can, making space for him between your legs so that he has a place to stand. Lifting his shirt with your arm as you rake your nails over his chest (trying not to break the kisses to catch a glimpse), in response, George presses warm kisses from your cheek to your jaw, each time feeling like a spark against your skin.
You twist your head, accommodating, scratching his side in the way you know he likes as he tenderly sucks a half-hearted lovebite onto your neck.
"These are nice," He says, fiddling with the lace of the lingerie once more.
"Thought you'd like them."
"I'm beginning to think you don't own normal underwear."
"You're welcome." You say, only pretending to be put out.
"So nice I almost don't want to take them off." He mumbles.
You try to picture yourself as he's seeing you. Mostly naked apart from clothes you've chosen for his enjoyment (although his enjoyment leads to your enjoyment, so who is it really for in the end?). Well-fed from dinner, but there's a hunger from a different sort of motivation lingering in the way your affections keep pulling him close to you, trying to get him to hurry and to touch you and to let you make him feel good, make each other feel good.
"Thought I was meant to be the one teasing you," You whisper, gasping when his finger glides over your clothed mound and catches your most sensitive spot.
"Consider your teasing sufficient, angel," He says, finally kicking off his bottoms and climbing over you, holding himself up with his forearms either side of you.
You spit into your hand, wanting to let him settle above you but also being impatient and wanting as much of him as he could ever possibly give you, and reach in between your bodies to feel him. His breath hitches when you take his cock into your hands, his hand on your waist grips so much so that you wonder if you'd be able to feel it later.
He's thicker than you had thought he would be; the hair at the base felt trimmed, neat. You let your hand slide to the underside of his shaft and pause, experimentally wrapping your hand around him, feeling the veined ridges as you spread the saliva in your palm with a loose stroke. The length of him jumps.
"You're so pretty." You say mostly to yourself.
You swipe your thumb across the head, his skin flushed and warm, collecting the precum gathering there and using it to aid as you stroked him. He groans, hands flexing where they rest beside your head.
"You wanna touch me?" You murmur, knowing the answer but asking anyway.
"Please."
You try your best to play it cool, ignoring how your breath hitches at his response and acting like him saying please hasn't always made you feel warm all over. "Never have to say please Georgie… go ahead."
He's all over you in seconds, pulling you close enough to feel your surprised exhale. "Do it 'cos you like it."
"You're not meant to know that." You mumble half-heartedly as he begins to undress you.
George makes an amused sound above you. "Pretty sure I know everything about you," he says, peppering hot open-mouthed kisses on your skin as he reveals it, "Or will do, some day."
You sigh, arching into his touch, lifting your hips to aid him in his quest. "George, from anyone else that would sound horrifically stalker-ish." You reply, unable to keep the endearment out of your airy tone.
You slid one hand along his shoulder, up the length of his neck, other hand still stroking him slowly. His pulse flutters as you pull him down for a heated kiss, skin only just on the right side of too-warm against you.
When you break apart again, just barely, breath still mingling with one another's, your hand continues it's exploration as he recovers from the momentary distraction and resumes his ministrations.
Drawing your fingers over the expanse of his cheek, feeling the barely-there facial hair that stubbornly remains, moving further up towards his temple and into his hairline. You comb your fingers through his hair—careful not to separate his curls too obviously—and are rewarded by George's appreciative noise of approval and him leaning into your touch.
Eyes dropping back to his face, you find him already watching you, his own gaze flicking to your mouth and lingering when your lips part.
Your hand pauses where it had been raking through his hair and cups his cheek.
"Love?"
"Mm?" His eyes don't move.
"Kiss me how you want to."
And he does. Closing the gap between the two of you, lips caressing each other's as your eyelids close gradually. You've stopped your movements with both hands, the one that had been in his hair now resting on his neck to feel his heartbeat under your palm. Quickly, the kiss grows, fuelled by the hungry desperation that the pair of you felt, crashing your lips against one another's.
You'd wanted this for so long, wanted him in his entirety for so unbelievably freaking long, and it showed now. Showed in the way you kissed each other feverishly. His slightly chapped lips moving against yours as he allowed you to push him up so that you could lean up into him as you merged your faces together.
Showed in the way his breathing became shallower and you broke apart only to breathe.
As if moving of their own accord, your hips begun to grind against him, gasping as your naked waist catches against him.
George groans into the kiss. His lips, and no doubt your own, are now verifiably kiss swollen. He can't help but exhale sharp breaths from his nose as he kissed you, your tongue slid over his lip, sucking it into your mouth just to hear his answering groan.
He breaks apart fully, using the moment to drop his head in the junction of your shoulder, sucking love bites into your neck like he had at the gala.
George's hands grip your hips and aid you in grinding against him, careful of his delicate flesh against the soft fabric of your underwear.
"Fuck," He hissed, then ever conscious of you he asked, "What do you need?"
Something about the desperation in his voice made the heat stirring within you even more molten (if that was even possible).
"You. Want—need you, George," You panted, and were rewarded with a hot kiss on your jaw.
"Have me," He says, his attention shifting lower. He thumbs the elastic band of your underwear until both it and the lace roll downward. You lift your hips to help him, and he removes the garment from you.
“Fuck, you were just made for me, yeah? All mine,” George murmurs, "All yours, too." He adds, even quieter.
"Mine." You say, breathlessly.
His fingers grace your undoubtedly hot flesh, feeling the wetness gathering there.
"Never stop surprising me."
"Really?"
He huffs, amusement evident. "You know I'm prone to hyperbole. You really liked watching me that much?"
"You've been kissing me for so long," You say after nodding, already moving forwards to kiss him again.
"You started it," He says, a hairs' width away from you, closing the gap before you can retort.
In retaliation, you grip him in your palm, just to hear him hiss—skating the border between pain and pleasure. "Put the condom on," You murmur into his cheek.
The foil crinkles as the packet is ripped open. He rolls it on with surprising ease before turning his attention back to you.
His thumb skips over your clit, pressing just enough to leave you aching for more with none of the relief his touch normally brings.
"More." You tell him.
He pauses, humming and pretending to think about, enjoying regaining the upper-hand in this situation.
"Please, Georgie," You say, watching as his head dips to the hollow of your throat, kissing softly there before sitting back and properly situating himself between your legs.
"Fuck. Ok. Ok," He says, testing your preparedness with two eager fingers. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, are you really going to make me beg?"
"No, of course not Angel." He answers, though you can see the thought file itself away for later. He has one hand on your thigh and the other holding his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance.
The stretch is… a lot. He takes it slow, not that you mind, you quite enjoy watching his face contort and the wonderful closeness. It helps to distract you from the growing pinching feeling. George is watching you too, using cues you don't know you're giving to pace himself. He must like what he sees, now that you're allowing it to go slack. You gasp with every gentle push into you, every movement until he has to be half way inside.
He bends over you, checking your face and using the hand that had been guiding him to instead play with the bundle of nerves you so eagerly want him to. You whine from under your breath and he visibly perks up at the sound.
"Make that noise again?"
You hum, when he does the same motion you let another whine slip out. The music that has been playing this entire time changes, but it's faded entirely from your thoughts. The only thing on your mind are George and yourself, and before long the sting dissipates and he starts to move again.
You're panting, trying to keep your noises mostly to yourself so that you can better hear him, but it seems he has a similar idea. His breath fans across your collar and the top of your chest as he touches his hips to the back of your thighs, a rough sigh of relief ripped from him.
"How's that? Are you alright?"
You swallow, "Fuck, George."
He stays impossibly still as you wrap your hands around his shoulders, pulling him down for a kiss, unable to answer intelligibly other than making an affirmative noise when he prompts again.
You ache, but the feeling of fullness is so good, something deeper than good, but words other than 'nice' escape you.
He shifts slightly as he deepens the kiss, the blunt head of his cock rubbing against a sensitive spot inside of you, and you gasp, breaking the kiss.
"Feels so good," You whisper into his mouth.
He takes this as a sign, pulling out to push in again, the feeling causes a shiver to course down your spine, like plush electricity. The sound of your connection is borderline pornographic, an erotic slapping of his thighs hitting your own, and he moans.
It was all worth it, all the stupid ghosts and pining, just for that moan.
"Could you—" You gasp, "Faster, please?"
He grunts, obliging your request. He shoves his forearms under your arms, boxing you in in an effort to get better leverage. His curls brush against your collarbones when he presses his forehead to your chest, kissing the skin in reach.
He shifts his focus down, sucking a nipple into his mouth as his thrusts find rhythm. Each flick of his tongue, each soft bite and twisting suck he makes sends little bolts of pleasure straight to your growing orgasm.
He unlatches to decorate your skin with a lavish array of lovebites, but you're too busy getting fucked out to notice, every thrust seems to hit deeper and deeper into your throbbing cunt and manages to pull another sound from you.
Your panting prevents you from moaning loudly, so instead you find yourself mewling and letting out breathy sounds of pleasure.
"You hear that?" He asks, pulling away and out at the same time. "Hear how wet you are?"
He wipes a nail over your increasingly sensitive (and now slightly bruised) nipples, scraping them only slightly. He pouts, a touch without sincerity, when you jump. "Sorry angel…Not your fault I'm addicted to marking you, is it?"
"George!" You say, skin warm with a potent mix of embarrassment and arousal.
"'S true," He takes your hips into his hands and thrusts into you unapologetically, cock prodding your g-spot with abandon. "Look so good when they work."
He brings his hand down, long fingers spreading you open, slowing his pace and thrusting more shallowly. You can feel the skin stretch as he opens you up, following the shape around where you're joined.
His thumb press into your clit and draws tight, messy circles in time with the rhythm of his thrusts.
You cup your aching chest, feeling the movement through the bruises. The wetness between you spreads, creating a sticky mess that leaves your skin wet with slick. George's fingers fight to find purchase as he spreads your folds and press into the sensitive nerves. His wrist must ache.
He moans (again!), looking upwards toward the ceiling, his throat bared in a beautiful display of tan skin. You stare at him, unabashed in your attraction. "You're so— You're. You have no idea do you?" He rambles, out of breath.
"Wha?" You slur.
"Lucky you're mine."
You whine, breath hitching. "Nuh uh. Lucky you're mine."
His eyes find yours, surprise evident. "Say that again. Please, angel, please."
"Lucky you're mine, Georgie," You answer without missing a beat.
You're rewarded by him snapping his hips, holding your hips tightly as he ruts into you. He's barely moved back before he's pushing back in again, moulding you together. As he leans forward the motion becomes even more like he's just grinding against you, dark curls press into your clit.
"You look even better than I could have imagined," He whispers, grinding down, pulling out and then thudding back in.
Your face screws up, mouth open soundlessly.
"You like that? Should I do it again?"
You nod, opening your arms to embrace him. He falls into you again, letting you wrap around and squeeze him so tightly that you can feel the imprint of his ribs against your skin, feeling the short hairs on his chest as he continues to move against you.
You clench your eyes shut, huffing into his hair as you try to pull him closer, deeper into you as he rocks into you deliciously over and over and over.
"Making such a mess of me," He murmurs, mostly to himself.
You're not surprised, the night air isn't doing either of you any favours, skin damp with sweat among other things. You wouldn't be shocked to find out you were melting into the sheets. The thatch of hair around his cock and the soft skin of your thighs are especially victim to this, the sound of him fucking into your slick heat loud against the silence of your room.
"Would you—? My clit—?"
He presses his finger back where you want them, definitely contorting strangely to do so.
"Sorry, angel. You're squeezing me a little, had to readjust. I have you."
You can feel your legs start to shake as he continues pushing into you, partly from exertion but mostly, joyously, from pleasure. He begins to rub faster circles into your clit, pressing down a touch more, the coil tightens brusquely, snapping and leaving you orgasming hard. You open your mouth to warn him but fail, resulting in a choked out moan and twisting your head into the pillow harshly, your arms loosening their grasp significantly.
"Shit!" He gasps, "Fuck me, thought you were gripping me earlier." His forearms move under your shoulder blades now, fucking into that extra snugness before it becomes to sensitive.
His mouth hangs open as he pants, brows furrowed.
"Y'Close?"
He nods, head hanging for a moment before you begin talking again.
"Gonna cum for me Georgie?" Your climax is fading now, your mental faculties returning, meaning you get to enjoy the resulting moan fully.
You slide your arms around him, scratching from his shoulders to the base of his spine then back up, his hips staggering into you.
"Fuck," He groans through gritted teeth, as you clench around him and the drag must feel great, better yet when he gets his final burst of energy and his thrusts get deeper and harder, stuttering slightly as he closes in on the finish line. You clamp your knees around him, pulling him close.
"Fuck," He says again, teeth closing around the soft flesh of your shoulder, rougher than he had probably meant to, while he cums. His breath hitches, slowing until he drops his weight onto you, tired from the way the energy seeps out of you post orgasm.
"Sorry, Love." He murmurs, kissing the mark softly.
You both hiss when he sits up, not pulling out yet, just gaining the height to kiss your cheek sweetly like he hadn't just fucked you so hard you felt like your orgasm completely stole your breath. Your heart is still beating fast when he lets his head rest against your chest to listen to it.
You keep scratching his back softly.
"Are you alright?" He asks.
"Yes. Yes I am." You have more you want to say, but the mind fog hasn't completely left you.
You sit like this in silence for a moment, enjoying each other's company, but George groans and pushes himself up off of you.
"I'll get a towel," He explains simply, his matter-of-fact tone alive and well.
You hum, hoping the scrape of your nails against his skin adequately conveys your fondness for him.
You wince slightly when he pulls out, soreness more evident now then it had been moments ago. Watching affectionately as he pulls the condom off, ties it, and then disappears into the small adjoining bathroom to toss it into the bin.
When he returns, damp washcloth in hand, he passes it to you and sits beside you on the bed. "I'll do it, just give me a moment."
You smile at him, falling back against the bed and closing your eyes to rest. The warm water on the towel feels good against your chest. He kisses your knee gently, taking the cloth from you and wiping the soft flesh of your thighs, he's especially kind when brushing the cloth over your centre. Trying to clean off as much as he can.
Your chest aches while you watch him, face focused, as he follows through on his task.
He's already cleaned himself off, and he leaves momentarily to put the towel into the hamper.
"Who bought the condoms?" He asks, re-entering the room.
"I'll answer yours if you answer mine, honey pie," You say quietly.
He stares at you, both ignoring the pet name and urging you to keep talking.
"I asked Lucy if she had any, so I suppose Lockwood bought them."
George grimaces as he flops into bed with you. "Alright. Your question."
"What did you mean by regular stuff?"
"Nothing gets by you," He murmurs, arm resting on your side. "Sometimes it was domestic, like that time you brought home those aniseed rings just for me. Do you remember?"
"'Course."
"Then I would kiss you to say thank you, and it would escalate."
"I would have been over the moon for that."
"Mmm?" He hums, sitting up to pepper your face with kisses.
Tags: Smut! Aged up characters obv :), no use of y/n, all of Lockwood & Co., Brief Quill Kipps interaction.
6.7k words
a/n: I love George and just had to get in on the fun.. crossposted on ao3 as well, so if you've come from there and already read this, hi!
Part Two =>
George Casper Karim was unbearable. There’s simply no other way to put it.
His big stupid head was always getting in your way, correcting you, and complaining when you forgot who took the biscuit last and helped yourself. You could hear him in your head, “Really, you ought to have gotten it by now!”
But oh, how you loathe to admit that you needed him, how helpful it was when he ironed your clothes before a client came round, and the comfort of coming home from a particularly draining case to warm food placed wordlessly in front of you.
And he could be sweet. He could. As uncomfortable with touch as he was, he’d brush your shoulder with his hand if he could tell you really needed it; he’d stand close on cold nights walking home, Lockwood and Lucy would too, but they readily shared their space like that, George didn’t.
It didn’t help that sometimes you’d catch yourself watching his side profile as he researched or the quiet admittance that he looked like an Angel as the sun illuminated his hair in a halo of curls as he helped you up after tripping and landing on the pavement, even though he was laughing at you.
There were just no other words. He was unbearable. You had the inability to bear him.
You wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him so hard his world spun so he could feel just a fraction of what he did to you. Shrink him down, trap him in your pocket, and feed him to his heart’s content so he is always warm, safe, and happy. Ugh, he was just the worst. Ever.
So it’s safe to say you have no idea why you agreed to this.
Rotwell’s was holding its annual celebration, and Lockwood & Co was invited. Well, most of Lockwood & Co, Skull obviously couldn’t come, no matter how annoyingly they asked. Despite the agency not being in any immediate danger, for once, Lockwood still deemed it essential to be partially undercover to try and snoop out new cases that were particularly interesting (read: dangerous, life-threatening or otherwise malignant), and for some reason that meant George and you had to be a couple for the evening.
Anthony Lockwood wouldn’t get to be a ghost. You were sure of it. He was going straight to hell. Sorry, Luce.
“I’m going to die.” The pillow muffled your voice as you lay face down in Lucy’s bed,
“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.”
“It’s not like you’ve had to pretend to date one of them, Lucy.”
“Well…”
You stared at the girl opposite you, “He’s… done this before…?”
She nodded solemnly, betrayed by her eyes sparkling with mirth. Groaning, you rolled back over.
“Did you have to be with George?”
“No, mine was with Lockwood.”
Deep down, you refused to admit that that made you pleased. If she had said otherwise, it might have stoked useless jealousy in the pit of your stomach.
After a moment, you sat up, nodding and looking at what was prepared for tonight. You thankfully had a nice dress already, a velvet cranberry coloured thing with mesh sleeves that opened at the elbow and draped elegantly. It'd been a gift as congratulations on joining the agency and moving out from your family. Lucy had painted your nails with some sheer iridescent polish, matching the shine to the silver on your accessories.
George’s outfit remained to be seen, but the way Lockwood smiled when you showed what you’d be wearing, it matched somehow.
“Uhm, Luce?”
“Yes?”
“What– what is that?”
That was the two-piece set on top of your dress, but it was clearly meant to be worn beneath.
“Oh.” She smiled awkwardly, “There was a two-for-one sale.”
“I see.” Accepting this, you picked the garments up, and she turned back to fixing her makeup. “How did you know my size?”
She froze.
“Lucy?”
“You aren’t gonna like it.”
“What did you do!”
“You aren’t the… only one that does your laundry.”
George.
You turned to face her fully, “You. You.” The words wouldn’t come out.
“It’s fine! He just checked for me quickly. He probably doesn’t even remember.”
Eyes unblinking, you stared at her. “I don’t think I can do this.” having said that, you flung yourself back onto the bed.
“You don’t even have to wear it, I just saw that the colour I picked out matched your dress, so I put it out for you. Please get up.” She pleaded. “I don’t think I told him what it was for, either,” she was speaking like she was conversing with a wild animal.
Relenting, you got back up. “These feel expensive.”
“Hence the two-for-one,”
“They won’t show under my dress?”
Lucy grinned wolfishly, “The plan is to be hidden until the last moment, so no. They’re pretty comfortable too. I’ve worn mine a few times.”
“Oh ew, Lucy.”
“All I’m saying is it’s a hit for both parties.”
You couldn’t help but make a face.
“Not that George will be seeing them, anyway… but I guess it’s good to be in the right state of mind…”
She dragged out the E in “Exactly.”
✧☽────•⋆°˖⋅✹⋅˖°⋆
You felt pretty. The lingerie did match your dress nicely and fit perfectly, you noted with mixed emotions. And your hair, makeup and accessories all seemed to be working together and playing nicely for once.
“Don’t you two look excellent!” Lockwood said, sidling beside Lucy and giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek, “Come here; I want to look at you both properly.”
You did as he said, pretending to be doing it unwillingly but feeling very pleased inside.
“Yeah? D’you think it’ll go with George’s?”
“Oh, you haven’t seen him yet, have you?”
You shook your head no, and he turned to holler the other man’s name through the house. George, to his credit, arrived very shortly after. You half expected him to be in a too-big dress shirt and borrowed pants, but you were begrudgingly surprised.
“Oh.” You whispered.
“Oh?” George answered from the doorway.
His suit was a rich burgundy, and while you wore silver, he wore a simple gold chain. The shirt was off-white and a wispy ghost-patterned teal tie.
“You look smart.” You provided.
“I am smart.” He deadpanned.
To that, you rolled your eyes, “You know what I mean. You look good. Clean up well. Whatever,” you averted your gaze and waved your hand in an ‘and so on’ motion. You could feel your face warming, avoiding Lucy’s all-too-knowing expression.
“Ah. Thanks,” and after a moment, he quietly added, “Your dress is nice.”
“Thank you.” You looked up to see his eyes already waiting to meet yours, goosebumps dancing on your skin in reaction.
Lockwood groaned loudly.
“Shut up, Lockwood.” Lucy chided.
“Are they going to be like this all night?”
George broke his gaze first, turning his attention to the taller man. “You’re the one that wanted us to be dating.”
Temporarily throwing your nerves to the wind, you decided that maybe you could have fun with this. You walked to stand beside him, dramatically throwing an arm around him before facing Lockwood and Lucy, “Yeah, what my honey said!”
“My honey?” George questioned, a confused smile on his face.
“We need pet names. If we were really dating, I’d settle for nothing less.” You smiled resolutely, then added. “You don’t like honey? What about… snookums?” He shook his head. “Sweetie pie? Light of my life? My heart? All I hold dearest?” He shook his head no to each one, pausing at my heart, which you would definitely be filing away for later.
“Any normal one like love or babe will do fine, thanks.”
“You spoil my fun, love.”
Distantly, you could hear Anthony retch as Lucy and George sent him twin glares.
“What about you?”
“Hm?”
“Well, you need a pet name too, don’t you?” He asked, and you realised that you hadn’t really put much thought into it. You tried to think back to things on tv or in books.
“Um, I’m not sure. What do you think?”
The pair of you continued to ponder when you stumbled on the memory of when he’d made you both laugh so hard your sides hurt.
You’d gone to Arif’s with him, eating one of the doughnuts as you walked back to 35 Portland Row when you’d unexplainably dropped it and, in your effort to catch it mid-tumble, tripped on a gap in the concrete and fell yourself.
Annoyed and hurt, you’d looked up at George to see him already offering a hand to help you up, but he was laughing. And as much as you wanted to pout, his laughter was infectious. The sun behind his head illuminating the edges of his hair and the sides of his face, which had a chocolate smear and sprinkles on either side of his mouth from his own doughnut, and you couldn’t help but laugh too. The memory made you smile even now.
“What about angel?” You said softly.
“Angel? I can do that.” He nodded, eyes narrowed in curiosity, having noted your mood shift.
With a clap, Lockwood announced, “Great, well, now that that’s settled, we better get going. The gala starts soon, and we wouldn’t want you two lovebirds to miss your first public appearance as a couple.”
You made a face alongside George.
“No… we wouldn’t want that… not at all…”
✧☽────•⋆°˖⋅✹⋅˖°⋆
The gala was bustling. Rotwell’s was flaunting a new hall they had built recently, a temporary centrepiece to the room being a large fountain that was probably meant to be some sort of vase but ended up looking like an urn overflowing.
Standing at the entrance nervously, you felt George’s hand slip into your own, and you tilted your head in silent question, to which he’d shrugged and simply said, “Looked like you needed it.”
You smiled gratefully and began walking in, greeting a few people you only sort of knew and avoiding the ones you wanted to.
“So, what’s the plan again?”
“Lockwood wants us to schmooze, basically. Find out what the top agencies are interested in. Personally, I want to know what technology is coming out soon.”
“Course you do, babe.”
His eyes flicked to yours briefly before focusing ahead once more.
“So…” You started nervously, “Who to speak to first?”
“Rather the devil you know?” He answered, and you saw him nod his head to the left, which made you turn and see Quill Kipps walking straight for you.
You smiled at the offending man before turning to your date and whispering, “Great…” smiling wider when you realised that George held back a snort of amusement.
“Fancy seeing you two here tonight. I don’t suppose Lockwood’s here.”
“He’s around somewhere. Why d’you ask Kipps?”
“Oh, nothing.” He was pretending to be distracted. That much was obvious. “You look good, by the way.”
That was not what you were expecting. You could feel George wrap his arm around your waist, the palm of his hand warm on your hip, and you could tell that the action wasn’t unnoticed by the other man.
“I– Thank you, Quill.”
He nodded, then answered your earlier question,
“I’m surprised he’d let you off without a short leash, is all, after what happened last time.”
The last time he was referring to was you shouting rather angrily at someone holding up the line at the toilets, who happened to be an honoured guest of that event. Not your finest moment, and the reminder caused your cheeks to heat furiously.
“Well, he did, something about my George being able to keep me in line.” You smiled fondly at George as you worked your budding relationship into the conversation.
“Not that they need to be kept in line, anyway.” He added.
“Ah, well.” Kipps nodded in faux disinterest before tacking on, “Never thought someone would go for you, Karim. But I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures.”
George opened his mouth to retort, but you interrupted before he got the chance,
“Excuse you? What did you just say about my boyfriend?”
Quill seemed genuinely surprised at your aggression, floundering to come up with a witty remark as you continued.
“I’ll have you know that your failure to recognise his brilliance is going to bite you in the arse one day. He is more caring, more funny– more intelligent than you will ever be.” You turned to George, who was wearing a similarly surprised expression, “C’mon love, let’s go speak to someone who won’t behave so rudely.”
And with that, you pulled him off to somewhere secluded, shadow barely disguising the two of you as your own expression slipped, revealing your nerves. “Was that ok? I didn’t push it, did I?”
“No, no, you were great. Very believable…” He trailed off, “Did you really mean that?”
“What? Of course, I meant it. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”
He nodded wordlessly, not making eye contact. “Well, it definitely started the rumour mill. At this rate, we’ll be in one of Lockwood’s gossip columns by the end of the week.” You followed his eye line to see Kipps speaking to another agent and glancing at the pair of you, and you groaned, resting your head on George’s shoulder.
“Should we put on a show for them?” There was something about the way he said it that you knew meant trouble.
“You’re starting to sound like our fearless leader.”
He huffed at that, but you could tell it wasn’t without humour.
“Just trust me, yeah?”
You moved your head and looked into his eyes.
“I already do.”
He pulled you until your back was against the wall, and his back was to the crowd. His face was so close now. Had he always had a freckle there? It was so cute… Oh please, please don’t be thinking he was cute right now. You made eye contact, and he smiled reassuringly, murmuring, “Trust me.” His expression went serious once more before leaning down and kissing just below your ear, causing you to make a small noise of pleasant surprise. You felt his lips curve into a smile when he kissed you lower against the side of your neck.
“George.” his name came out more breathily than you had hoped. Another soft kiss, barely grazing the skin this time.
“Yes, angel?”
“I think. I think you’ve made your point.”
“One more for good luck.”
Surprising you with his boldness, he kissed you again before standing up straight and reverted to his usual awkward forwardness.
“I, um, didn’t want to kiss your lips in case that wasn’t alright with you, first.”
“So you… kissed my neck?”
“It’s more intimate than kissing your cheek.” He said as a way of answer.
“True.” You conceded. “And for future reference, I’m ok with kissing as long as you are.”
He nodded but didn’t continue, turning around to the sea of people and searching for the other members of the agency.
“Should we see what the others got up to? Hopefully, they spoke to someone better than we did.”
George did a thin smile before turning back and saying, “I think I can see Lockwood and Lucy.”
“Lead the way.”
As you walked behind him, you couldn’t help but gingerly raise a hand to touch where he’d kissed you last.
“So, how lucky have you two been?” You asked the other couple, and Lucy smirked.
“Not as lucky as you. I saw that.”
“Saw what?” Lockwood asked, and she rolled her eyes.
“Those two necking it in the corner.”
“What?! And you didn’t point it out? How could you, Lucy? I thought we loved each other.”
“I’ll have you know those were tactical kisses.” George butt in.
“Yes. Kipps was rather rude, and Georgie here was displaying gratitude for me defending his honour.”
Anthony grimaced at the mention of the other agent but brightened again, “Defended his honour?”
“Apparently, I’m caring, funny, and intelligent.”
You were either on fire or just embarrassed.
“Why’d you go and tell him that? Now he’s going to get a big head.”
“Bigger than yours?” You quipped, and Lucy smiled. “And it’s true, anyway.” You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Hence us ‘necking’ in the corner,” George added. “More fuel for the gossip train.”
“Besides, it’s not like getting kissed was terrible.”
“Oh really?” Lucy raised a brow at you, and you silently tried to blow her up with your mind and then yourself for bringing it up. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw George studying your face.
“And it’s good for our cover.” You deflected, watching her eyes glint as a silent reminder that this conversation was not over.
“You didn’t happen to bring makeup with you, did you?” Lockwood asked, suddenly distracting you.
“Uh, no. Why?”
“Just that ol’ loverboy may have overdone it.”
At that, you slapped a hand over your neck, “George Casper Karim, did you give me a hickey?” You hissed. Surely you would have noticed, and Anthony was just ribbing you.
George rubbed his neck awkwardly, “I– maybe? I couldn’t tell ‘cause we were in the dark, and now you’re covering it.”
You turned to Lucy and Lockwood with pleading eyes, Lucy shaking with repressed silent laughter.
“He staked his claim.” That was all you got out of her.
Hesitantly you removed your hand and tilted your head to George in resignation.
“Oh yeah, there it is.” He brushed two fingers over the tender spot so casually, in a way that melted your insides had you not been so mortified.
“George!”
“My bad,” he added apologetically.
Lockwood smiled ruthlessly. “Well, now there’s no doubt about who’s dating who.”
“This is maybe the most embarrassed I’ve ever been.”
“I thought the kissing wasn’t so bad.” Lucy teased.
“It wasn’t, but now I’m going to have to cover it up to leave the house.”
“Or don’t.” George shrugged, and you looked at him. That, combined with the continued hold around your waist was definitely another thing to file away, even when in a fake relationship, George was a little possessive. “‘S not the worst state anyone’s ever seen us in.”
“But what if Arif asks?”
Anthony and Lucy stared at you quizzically. Silently asking, ‘That’s what you’re worried about?’
“Just tell him I gave it to you.” he paused as if remembering that the circumstances weren’t exactly common, “For a case.”
You nodded defeatedly.
“I suppose.”
“Besides.” George had that look in his eye. “You’re the one that liked it.”
Causing the others to laugh as you swatted his arm.
“And you didn’t? One more for good luck?” You reminded him. And he smiled in a way that had heat stirring in your belly.
“I think that was the good luck one,” and he touched the side of your neck again before letting the arm fall to his side. And you struggled not to react so visibly that the others would tease you for it, avoiding Lucy’s eyes specifically.
Something in the air tonight was making George cheeky and touchy, and it was turning you into a swooning damsel. To combat this, you rolled your eyes at his smile, turning to your friends and wrapping an arm around George’s as a tether at the same time.
“But really, did you find anything out?”
“Not much, no,” Lockwood answered.
“He’s lying. Someone from Fittes said that Satchell’s is going to be coming out with some kind of iron tape so that we can do perimeters easier. But that’s still in development.”
Your focus drifted in and out as she recounted what they’d learnt, Lockwood and George’s infrequent additions sometimes catching your attention as you gazed at the closest reflective surface you could, trying to catch a glimpse of the lovebite he’d given you.
“Hello? Is anybody home?” Lucy was waving a hand in front of your face.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I asked what you’d thought of going to the archives with George and me tomorrow, research some of that case I was just talking about.”
She’d been talking about a case? Oops.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I think I’m just more tired than I realised.”
She looked at you suspiciously but ultimately relented. “Ok. I’m about done for the night, too. Lockwood?”
“I’m more than happy with how tonight’s turned out. I’ll have to figure out how we can use you two to get more cases.”
You looked at George worriedly and saw him reflect your expression.
✧☽────•⋆°˖⋅✹⋅˖°⋆
The cab ride home made you realise how overwhelming the gala had been, even in the short time you’d been present. When you’d gotten home, you’d changed almost immediately. You truly were tired of being there, at the very least. And damn it. You were getting all worked up again thinking about earlier. You closed your door, too distracted to notice it didn’t click shut as usual.
Whilst you had changed out of the dress and bra, you couldn’t be bothered to change out of the underwear, vowing to properly clean yourself in the morning and into your comfiest pyjamas. The night was warm enough for cotton shorts, a loose top covering your torso.
Thus faces your new dilemma.
Trying to calm yourself and focus on something other than the sexual tension so suddenly evident between yourself and George without acknowledging tonight’s event, which is precisely how you ended up with a hand in your pyjama shorts.
Your hands moved lower, under the lingerie Lucy had so graciously gifted you— fuck, don’t think about her right now.
You bite your lip to stop a whimper, panting heavily as your fingers move against you as you try to recall the way he’d repeatedly placed an arm around you possessively tonight, the warmth of his hand against your hip still being fresh in your memory.
Vaguely, you could hear footsteps in the hallway, trying to be quieter as you continued to work yourself and resuming once you thought you heard the footsteps fade.
Your eyes squeezed shut, imagining it was George’s between your legs.
Maybe you’d be able to run your hand through his hair and see how soft it was for yourself as he went down on you.
Moaning softly as you tipped your head back onto your pillow, exposing the very neck he’d kissed earlier, and if you focused, you could feel his answering smile against the column of flesh.
“G.. ge-“
You couldn’t bring yourself to finish stuttering out the whisper of his name, trying to imagine what his touches could have been if you’d both not been fully clothed. Wishing that you hadn’t stopped him earlier to see truly how far he would have gone.
The sound of your door swinging broke through your thoughts, your hand stopping as you paused, opening one eye slowly to see George leaning smugly against the doorframe. Your legs clenched together.
“No, please, don’t stop on my account.”
You let out a long, low groan, sliding your hands out of your shorts and rolling over to hide your burning cheeks in your bed.
“How long?”
“Long enough.”
You groaned again. This was beyond embarrassing. It was humiliating. Sure, he’d been in various states of undress around you. But that was just normal stuff, coming out of his room not wearing pants, he’s done that around everyone, and he certainly hadn’t been caught pleasuring himself by the person he was jerking off thinking of.
“You. You should’ve knocked. You can’t just come in!”
George huffed a laugh, “Your door was unlocked, and you weren’t answering. I wanted to see if you needed anything washed to go to the archives tomorrow.”
He paused, apparently intent on enjoying the moment, “But it seems you need a hand with something else, don’t you, angel?”
You would have to move to another country. Wales could always use agents, right? Surely? Maybe there you could find some other hot guy to pine over and hope he gave you his affection. Because this was getting to the point of mortification.
George chuckled, and you heard the floorboards creak, then felt the bed dip down. Your eyes widened where you were hiding your face. Was he sitting on your bed?
“I take back what I said earlier, this is officially the most embarrassed I’ve ever been.”
“Look at me, please?”
Slowly, you turned your head to face him. His expression was unlike anything you’d seen from him yet, he looked like he was going to eat you alive.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed. We all do it.”
He said matter-of-factly, and despite yourself, you nodded.
“Even you?” You wrinkled your nose and made a face of mock surprise, which had him wryly looking at you.
“I’m not going to answer that.” He said, moving further up your bed, gesturing for you to sit up.
“What are you doing?” Your eyes narrowed as you watched him, face still hot despite him assuring you.
Surprisingly forward tonight, George hummed. “Well… clearly, I interrupted you while you were doing something you needed to finish.” He paused, readjusting your pillow. “And I’d really like to help you finish. If that’s alright with you.” One of his hands touched the bare skin on your thigh, watching your reaction for any hesitation.
“That’s alright with me.”
It was astounding how quickly your embarrassment had snapped back into arousal.
You shuffled closer to the centre of the bed, and he slotted himself behind you. His legs wrapped around your own as he pulled your torso so that your back was flush with his chest.
You swallowed hard.
“Are you sure, angel?”
“Yes. Please.”
His face was just beside your head, above your right shoulder. Gradually, his hand snaked underneath your shorts, a soft “Wow,” escaping his lips as his fingers grazed the dampness of the underwear covering you.
You rested your head on his shoulder, exposing your neck again, which he rewarded by peppering it with kisses and soft bites.
His other hand moved to touch the soft skin underneath your shirt, and you could feel your breathing increase rapidly. This was real.
“Were you thinking of me?” He spoke so quietly you almost missed it, and you whimpered. “Hm? Were you touching yourself while thinking of me?”
“Yes.” You responded, already feeling lightheaded under his care.
Beside your ear, he inhaled sharply. “All this just thinking of me?” He seemed in awe.
“Yeah, Georgie.” You confirmed.
He shifted his hands to pull the shorts down and kissed your neck in a way you knew it left another mark.
Briefly, he felt the material of your underwear again, running his finger along the underside of the elastic.
“These feel special.”
“They’re— Lucy got them for me.”
“You were wearing lingerie tonight?”
“You knew that she was buying lingerie?”
“Yeah? She asked me what colours you liked, and I… prodded.”
You didn’t know whether to focus on the fact that he had known what she bought you, or that he had informed what it was that was bought, or even that he knew what you liked to the point of being consulted.
“If it’s anything, thank goodness you didn’t tell me.”
“Huh?”
“We wouldn’t have made it through the gala.”
You turned to look at him and realised he was being serious. His desire to see you in them would have been made into his most recent obsession.
“M— maybe I’ll put the set on for you some other time.”
He smiled, moving your shirt collar so that he could kiss your shoulder.
“I’d really like that, sweetheart.”
His hand slipped into your underwear, mimicking your earlier motions of collecting from between your moist folds. His fingers slid back and forth a few passes until you whined impatiently.
“So wet,” he murmured. “I think I can get you wetter.” He whispered against your ear, a promise.
The pad of his middle finger drew slow circles around your clit, and the hand in your shirt moved upwards to gently knead your breast, causing your nipples to stiffen.
“Oh, George.” You sighed pleasantly, and he groaned quietly in response.
“Have to be quieter for me, love. Not that I don’t want to hear you, just that I don’t want the others to as well.” He increased the pressure, and you fought back a moan, “Think you can do that for me, angel?” and you nodded quickly, not trusting your ability to speak at the moment.
“Such a good girl for me,” he praised.
You didn’t even remember how he’d ended up on your bed, embarrassment lost under his skilful hands.
“Please.” you whimpered, hips squirming against him, his fingers moving faster against you. Simultaneously, he rolled the nipple in his hand between his fingers, causing a low whine to slip through your lips.
“Shhh, that’s it, love.” He nipped at the skin of your neck softly, soothing it soon after by placing soft kisses against it. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”
You turned your head, wanting to see him even if it was through half-lidded eyes.
The sight of him had you sucking in a quick breath; his eyebrows pinched together, mouth slightly ajar, and cheeks reddened. His eyes had that look in them again, which you were quickly realising was something akin to heat or desire. George looked almost blissed out as he focused on giving you pleasure.
You released a soft moan, panting as he continued, and his brow creased further. His eyes snapped shut as he listened to the broken noises you struggled to suppress, causing you to realise that he was getting off on this. He was enjoying making you fight not to make pleased little noises, the evidence of the effect of him on you. You wanted to kiss him desperately.
Your left hand moved sluggishly upwards, hesitantly cupping his cheek, and you gently traced your thumb down the cheekbone. His eyes flew open, and he turned slightly so that his gaze landed on your face. Fuck, he looked so good. He raised the same brows you had been observing earlier in silent question, and you felt yourself growing shy despite the circumstances you were currently in.
“Mm?”
You bit your lip, still gently tracing the shape of his cheek and being partially distracted by his actions. Tentatively you moved your face closer to his, lifting slightly off of his shoulder and tilting your head for a better angle. Your gaze kept flicking to his lips, then back to his eyes. He licked his lips, readjusting slightly so you could continue forward more comfortably.
“Please?” You whispered, and he nodded.
Your lips barely connected at first before moving ever closer, George finally understanding your earlier wordless begging and further uniting the two of you. Urgently you tried to convey your feelings for him in this– possibly single– kiss. The hand that was on his cheek was now against his jaw, fingers playing with the hair peeking out from behind his ear. Your other hand now came to a loose grip around the wrist that was down your shorts, taking pleasure in just feeling the rotation before falling to your side again.
You moved back to take a breath, his hand that was under your top moved around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You could feel him hard against your back. Then, it moved to join his other hand under your underwear, avoiding the wonderful movements made by his fingers, rubbing along your folds, and a moment later, you felt one of his long fingers pressing into you, both testing and teasing. A pleased sigh slipping out of him as he realised how easy it was for him to move in and out of you before he added another finger, making your jaw go slack as you fought off the noises he was willing to escape.
He took that reaction as an opportunity to kiss you deeper, lips moving languidly against your own, drawing soft aborted moans from you.
You pulled back again to look down at yourself, his tan arms against your skin, shirt ridden up from his earlier touching.
Breathlessly, your gaze shifted to his face again and whimpered, “George.”
He looked into your eyes and smiled. That had your heartbeat quickening, the butterflies in your stomach causing your orgasm to approach more rapidly. His smile grew as he felt you clench down on him.
“Just for my smile?” He looked pleasantly confused. And you groaned against him.
“Y’r so pretty.” You slurred against him, lust-drunk. “‘S not my fault.”
He hummed in amusement.
Your eyes fluttered shut, hips moving against him as his fingers pumped in and out of you, his others working just as relentlessly against your clit. Shuddering as he kissed just below your ear, where it connected with your jaw. Breathy whines became quiet needy moans, and you couldn't help but tilt his head so slightly to press your own kisses to the side of his mouth and cheek.
“So good to me. Y’r so good t’ me, George.”
And you heard him groan in response. Once again, you clenched in reaction.
“Let go for me, angel.” He murmured, softly biting where he could reach. “I know you’re close. I can feel it.”
He was right, you were close. His warmth pressed against you, combined with his hands and the kisses and bites he had been determinedly leaving on your throat, had you just at your tipping point.
He increased the pressure of his fingers, angling the others just so, and you couldn’t help but moan at it as your back arched.
“Geo— Georgie.” You whispered, the pet name sounding all the more affectionate in your haze.
“Let go for me, please? I’d really like to see it, love.”
And you did.
His odd fascination with you spurring him to continue his ministrations in order to draw it out as long as he could, watching your face contort, and your chest rise and fall, not stopping until you shook in his arms.
Slowly, he removed his hands from your shorts, leaving you to recover in his embrace.
Your mind was completely devoid of comprehensible thoughts, face angled into the crook of his neck as you regained sentience after the mind-numbing orgasm he had just gifted you with. You kissed at the skin there, the pair of you sighing contentedly at the feeling.
You felt him shift behind you and started to awaken further from what felt like a very strange but very good dream, and you realised what had just happened between each of you.
He has just caught you masturbating to him, and instead of running for the hills, he… did that. You had let him— invited him to do that. You must have stiffened against him because he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“You… caught me in a private moment and stayed, is all.”
“Mm? All of which I thought was quite nice.”
You frowned at him, but you knew he could see you didn’t mean it.
“‘S just odd. That’s all.” Then, quieter as you looked away, you added, “I didn’t know you even liked me.” And he scoffed, drawing your attention once again.
“I lay into you like a vampire in public, and you didn’t think I liked you?”
“Well, when you say it like that.”
He shifted, and you felt the bulge of his hardness against your back again. He had gotten hard just getting you off. Your eyes widened as he stuck the two fingers he’d just been fucking into you inside of his mouth. His eyes shut briefly, and you saw his cheeks hollow as he sucked your arousal off of his fingers.
“Oh, that’s trouble.”
“How do you mean?”
“You taste really good, angel.”
You inhaled sharply, a second wave of lust washing over you, and he opened his eyes to do that small, knowing smirk at you, the same one he did when he knew something you didn’t, which was often.
You could feel your heart hammering in your chest.
“I’d like a repeat of this if you don’t mind.”
You rolled your eyes fondly at him. “You just reduced me to mush, and you think I wouldn’t want that to happen again?”
He huffed a laugh, gently nudging you to get you to flip over and lay properly onto him, bringing his hardness back to the forefront of your mind.
“Do you..?”
“What? Oh, no.”
You deflated slightly.
“As lovely as that would be, angel,” he continued, “I’m knackered, and I want your energy up for tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow? Besides the archives, I mean?”
“Oh, didn’t you know? You’re feeling kind of feverish, so I have to stay home and look after you, and would you please go with her, Lockwood? The archives can be terribly boring when you’re alone.” He was smiling at you as though recounting a funny story, and he pulled blankets over the pair of you, so he was planning to stay the night, it appeared. Or at least until early in the morning when he woke.
“George, are you trying to get me alone tomorrow?”
“Yes. Wasn’t that obvious?” he deadpanned, and you couldn’t help the fond smile in response, and you hummed instead of answering.
“Besides, if not tomorrow, I’ll find some other way to hear those pretty noises you make while you’re under me.”
Your cheeks burned, and you buried your face under his jaw.
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
“I certainly hope not, I don’t want to experiment on your ghost.”
“That was almost sweet?”
“I meant it.”
You were just dozing off when he broke the silence.
“Why angel?”
“Hm?”
“Your pet name, why an angel?”
“Oh.” You moved to get more comfortable now that you were more aware of your surroundings again. “It reminds me of you.”
He waited for you to continue, not letting you out of that so easily.
“Do you remember the time we went to Arif’s together? The grocery boy had left out some things, so we decided to pick up doughnuts on our way home.”
“Last summer?”
You nodded against his collarbone.
“And when we were walking home, and I dropped it for some reason–”
He cut you off, silently adding, “A bird flew right in front of us.”
“And I got so surprised I dropped it,” you amended, recalling the bird now, too. “But I tried to catch it and went tumbling into the pavement?”
A faint exhale of a laugh came from above you, and you knew he was laughing at you even now.
“When I looked up at you, the sun was right behind you and…” Suddenly shy, you drifted off.
“Yes?” He prompted.
“You were laughing, and I couldn’t find myself to care because the sun was behind you. It lit up the edges of your hair like a halo, that’s why. It’s… I really like that memory.”
“Hm.”
“What?”
“I… may have asked Lockwood to stay home so I could take you instead. You’ve liked me since then?”
You laughed suddenly, surprising yourself. “We’re totally useless. Probably longer– I bet if I asked Lucy to take Anthony instead of us tomorrow, she would. She’s probably sick of me pining.”
“She’s got no ground to stand on. She and Lockwood were way worse.” He complained.
“Yeah?”
“And I had to deal with it alone.”
“But not anymore,” you said softly. “You have me now.” and he hugged you tighter to him. “We might have to buy me a scarf, though.”
“Oh, definitely. Don’t let them see tomorrow, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
George Casper Karim was unbearable.
His big stupid head still told you off for taking the biscuit, but now it would bend down and kiss you softly too.
And he still was so helpful, but now you could really see how he picked favourites and was secretly incredibly pleased he chose you, even if it meant investing what must count as an industrial-grade concealer so that his dutiful ironing was the only thing that made an impression on the client.
But now, he was even sweeter. His touches lingered and were more frequent. He still wouldn’t touch the others as openly, but your space and his space soon became shared. He was unbearable.
He still rolled his eyes as you tried to find a nickname of his very own, admonishing you with a heatless “Angel.” but you knew, you just knew you’d find the perfect fit one day.
He made your world spin, and you couldn’t help but always feel warm, safe and happy with him.
Which, without your knowing, was infectious. Spread to him like a leaf unfurling.
Other Characters: Buffy and Willow, Xander (mentioned), minor original characters
Tags: EXPLICIT! Smut ahead! You are responsible for your own consumption of media, but please don't interact if you're under 18. No use of Y/N. Afab but gender-neutral.
Word Count: 4.3k . I don't. I don't know what possessed me.
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Series masterlist
Summary: While trying to get over a crush on a certain crispy-haired vampire, you end up falling right back into his arms
Or, the one where a night out with the girls goes wrong.
A/N: So What if I said I split up the last chapter and the first 1k(ish) of this one so it wasn't a monster chapter. It's not my fault the spirit of the holidays possessed me, and now we have 4k of smut. Happy Holidays, ya filthy animals.
You sighed, turning to Spike and hanging your head slightly.
“Well, that was a bust.”
“Hoping to go home with him, were you?”
You looked up at Spike before answering in a small voice. “Not really.”
Not for the first time tonight, Spike’s gaze was intense. His bright eyes observed you, focusing on your expression as you did the same in turn.
Unlike earlier, him checking you out didn’t feel quite so cold. Where before you felt like you were stalked prey, you now felt relief at the familiarity of him watching over you.
Spike squinted and then nodded towards the toilets, breaking the spell the two of you were under.
“Yeah, you’re a mess, love. Better go get cleaned up.”
“Thanks, Spike.” you said sarcastically but began walking through the throng of other dancers regardless.
You stopped before entering. “Oh, I need to tell Buffy and Willow—”
“Go. I’ll alert the neighbourhood watch.”
“Thanks, Spike.” You answered, this time sincerely, smiling from the doorway as he fake gagged and turned away to tell the girls.
You ran the tap, splashing cool water on your face. Thankfully, even though it was to cut costs, the Bronze had two gender-neutral toilets, both their rooms and only slightly larger than the regular stalls in the women’s and men’s bathrooms.
You grabbed paper towels from above the thick counters— probably only there so that drunk patrons couldn’t rip the sink out of the wall— grimacing at their gritty fibrous surface, muttering “In for a penny, in for a pound…” and then patting against the wetter spots of skin.
Your reflection looked much calmer now, not necessarily neater, but you felt better either way. Two sharp knocks echoed across the small room.
“Um, occupied?”
“‘S me.” Spike said against the door.
You straighten your posture and crack open the door, wincing as it creaks.
“Did you tell them?”
“Yeah, they wanted to come see you but…” He shrugged, petering off.
“Y’know for all that talk of being an evil vampire you sure are helpful.”
“Take that back.” He said, evidently flustered.
“No I don’t think I will. Thanks for helping me with that jerk, by the way.”
“It’s no problem. I can eat him too, if you’d like.”
“I had considered it.”
He smiled at you and for a moment you forgot to breathe, the smile was small but earnest, an expression that he rarely had after years of guarding his intentions.
You unfroze, remembering yourself and smiled back, no doubt he had caught the moment of unintentional hesitation, but if he had he didn’t mention it.
“So, why are you here?”
“Oh, you know, T.V. stations went to sleep, only the shopping channel’s on this time of night. Or my favourite: static.”
“Enlightening. Now, why are you really here?”
He raised a brow at your repeated question, “I was bored. There’s barely anything to do in Sunnydale. Or anyone for that matter.”
You roll your eyes, and the thought, ‘don’t remind me,’ floats behind your eyes, but you don’t get the chance to voice it when Spike continues,
“And it’s a good thing I did too. That guy was too handsy.”
You hummed in agreement. “Yes. How could I ever repay you?”
“I can think of a couple of ways.” the vamp joked. You hummed, agreeing as you quietly made a decision.
You sank to your knees, not breaking eye contact when your knees landed on the cool tile of the stall's floor.
“Oh, no, love. You don't have to do that.”
“What? I can't thank my knight in shining leather?”
“Well, when you put it that way. Far be it from me to refuse your gratitude.” He brushed the hair off of your face, and you grasped the material of his pants near his hips, hands warmed by his duster.
“Unless you don’t want me to.” You clarified.
“I never said that.” He responded quickly.
“So, to be clear, you do want me to suck you off in this bathroom right now?”
He groaned, nodding as he widened his stance for you to better slot against him and said, “Of course I do.”
You leaned against him, your legs straddling one of his own as you rested your head against his groin, tent growing from his clothed member beginning to strain against the fabric, and peered up at him.
“Do you promise?” You asked, teasing him now.
“Yes, love, I promise.”
“It’s good to check.”
“Sure.” He mumbled absent-mindedly while fumbling with his belt buckle.
You took pity on him, nudging his hands out of the way and then undoing the button and zipper of his jeans while you were at it. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants and the elastic of his briefs on either side of his hips and you gradually pull them halfway down his thighs, releasing him from the confines of his clothes.
Spike lets out a faint unbidden sigh of relief as his hard cock springs free, so quiet you're not certain he's even aware he made it.
You run your hands back up his thighs, fingertips lingering under his shirt, feeling the Adonis lines for yourself and emitting a soft, excited noise, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your breath quickens.
He was long, slightly curved, and not skinny. The head was only slightly paler than you had expected, though in consideration of his supernatural nature, it wasn't anything that couldn't be explained.
From Spike's perspective, he watched as you placed a kiss to where his torso met his thigh. Heard your heart beat faster, blood rushing in excitement as you become more aroused. More aroused because you wanted to blow him, even in this dingy stall.
Your warm, soft hand gently gripped the base of him, tilting him slightly to give an open-mouthed kiss to the shaft. Even as you shifted away, he could feel your warm breath against his skin, only making him all the more desperate for you.
Fortunately for Spike, you weren't the most patient either. You briefly removed your hand and spat into your palm, returning it to his dick almost immediately after. You held him more firmly and began to stroke him. Pumping the wetness over him with your fist.
You sat back, letting out an almost silent gasp as you felt the hard material of his boot make contact through your clothes and Spike's lips parted as he fought the urge to buck into your hand at this reaction.
It was then that he felt your warm tongue swipe over the head of his cock, swirling around it a few times to get used to the taste of him. Without realising he had closed his eyes, Spike opened them and looked down to find you looking up at him, bright, eager, eyes shining as you licked up the length of him.
“Is this all you wanted? Someone's cock in your mouth, hm?” His voice cracked as you sucked the tip of him into your mouth and hummed an affirmative to his question before releasing with a salacious ‘pop’.
“Not just anyone.”
“Is that so?”
You hummed around him again, not removing him from your plush lips as you sucked him further into your mouth, already wanting to take more of him in. The vibrations sent a shock wave of pleasure through Spike’s whole body, and he was practically salivating, watching you try to stimulate yourself as a result of his shuddered reaction.
“Go on, pet. Y’ can hump my boot if you'd like.”
You whined around him, body gyrating as you manoeuvred your legs to do so less awkwardly.
What you couldn't reach with your mouth, you continued to stroke with your hands, twisting around him in time with the motions of your tongue.
Spike hadn't expected your eagerness, hand reaching out to comb through the hairs on the side of your head, clutching you tightly. He also didn't expect you to moan because of that, and in a moment of weakness fucked into your mouth a fraction more, the sensation overwhelming him and causing his head to tip back as the vibrations from the moan you released in his hold washed over his senses.
But then you pulled back, tongue flat against the slit as you sucked at the same time as you twisted your fist at the base of him, the side of your palm brushing against surprisingly soft stubble that let you know that he wasn't, in fact, naturally hairless.
He whined at the feeling of it; thick, hot pleasure coiled throughout him, building at the base of his spine. Stopping himself from pushing you any further proved to be a herculean effort, though Spike had never been very good at holding himself back.
You ground your sensitive clit against the leather of his boot rhythmically, sloppier now as you got closer to finishing. Spike was making the most delicious half-rocking aborted motions like he wanted nothing more than to let go but was doing his absolute best to restrain himself for you.
Moments later, he felt your mouth slip off of him, replaced by the mind-numbingly languid strokes of both your hands against him and when he opened his mouth to ask if you needed to stop, his thoughts scattered, words dissipating into nothingness at the feeling of your warm breath against him as you spoke.
“Spike, you don't have to hold back with me.”
He exhaled sharply. Blinking as he fought to form a coherent sentence, Spike's normally quick wit had turned into a blank nothingness for him to draw from.
Finally, he settled on “Are you sure?”
“I've always wanted to try it.” You ran a thumb over the very tip of him, causing him to shudder and blink rapidly as he tried to keep his composure.
“You've never done it, but you…” Spike groaned, grabbing your chin and swiping his own thumb over your slick lips, “Fuck me, pet. It's really what you want.”
“Please, Spike? Use me.”
“How can I deny such pretty words?”
At that, he grasped each side of your head, hair bunching around his fingers as you guided his dick back into your mouth excitedly.
How were you so good at this? You had to have been designed in a lab. You were turning him on so effortlessly. Not the weirdest way he's gotten a lay.
He cursed, abdominal muscles tightening in anticipation as you took him deeper now. Your hands removed from his shaft to hold his hips again for stability.
Slowly, he tested your limits, pushing himself further into you, stalling when you released a happy moan from your full mouth.
“You're really letting me do this?” He asked once more.
You hummed agreeably along Spike’s cock, himself moaning because of it.
Without meaning to, you had stalled your motions, reminded when your neglected clit once again made contact with the material of his shoe, and you whined, bearing down to grind against it and build yourself back up again, nearing your peak much quicker this time.
As though you had switched roles, words came much easier to Spike now.
“Fuck, look at you like that, pet. So eager.”
Your rocking against him, desperate to hit the perfect spot over and over and over again, only served to turn him on more. Your search for friction proved that you were getting turned on by servicing him.
When he rolled his hips forward again, less experimentally than the last time, Spike could feel your throat relaxing. Inviting him in deeper.
A low, enraptured groan escaped Spike as he relinquished control over his other senses, allowing the feeling of you together engulf him.
Your nails dug into the bare flesh of his hips, letting him know he could sink into you further, encouraging him to do so.
Spike hissed in pleasure as he rutted into your mouth.
“You're good like this. Not giving me attitude.”
You glanced up at him as though to say that it was rude to talk with your mouth full, but the effect was lost when he took in the thin mist of sweat settling on your skin and the glassy quality taking over your eyes.
Instead, you suck harshly in retaliation, tightening your throat suddenly to overwhelm him before relaxing again to allow him to continue to fuck into your waiting mouth.
The groan torn out of him borders on feral, hands moving to better push you down onto his cock. Your eyes water, your nose almost brushing the stubble you felt earlier, and Spike holds you there. Holds you so far onto himself you worry you're going to gag any moment as he pants above you. So far that you don't even realise that you’re still grinding slowly against him.
After what feels like forever, he releases you and allows you a moment to breathe before rhythmically pulling you down onto him again.
“‘M close, precious. You?”
You blink, teary-eyed and hum an affirmative.
“So pretty.” He murmurs, and you aren’t entirely certain that it was meant to be out loud.
You hum again, almost non-committally, as you feel the ache in your jaw.
Spike’s thrusting grew sloppy, “Where, love?”
You tapped his thigh with your right hand before gesturing to your mouth.
“Inside?”
“Mhmm.”
He pumped once, twice, three more times, a groaned warning leaving his mouth moments before you felt him spilling into you.
His hips had stalled, so you pulled back, holding only the tip between closed lips and clumsily stroked his cock to prolong his orgasm.
Spike was breathing heavily above you, removing himself from your mouth at the same time as hauling you up.
“Did you…?” His voice peters off as he focuses on fixing his clothes, glancing up in time to catch you shaking your head and massaging your jaw.
“Let’s rectify that immediately.”
He lifts you so suddenly that you don’t have time to disguise your squeak, placing you on the counter. Despite your most recent activities, you feel your face heat in embarrassment at his crooked smirk in response to your surprise.
As Spike begins to kneel, you stop him, opening your mouth to protest.
“Oh, Spike, it’s fine. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Part of the fun is the thrill, love. I want to.”
“Are you sure? I’ve never… There’s never been someone who wanted to do this for me.”
Spike scoffs, “Then you’ve been with losers.”
“Oh, and you know better, hm?”
“About this and many other things.” He says, voice low. “I want to give you pleasure.”
Your mouth goes dry, “Ok.”
“Since apparently, you’ve only ever been with idiots…” Spike mutters, definitely intending to keep the thought to himself.
“Ok.” You say louder this time, and he looks at you cheekily.
He pulls you to the edge of the counter first, slotting himself between your legs at the same time as he puts his hands on either side of you on the counter so that he can lean in, kissing you excruciatingly softly. You can’t believe it.
When he pulls back to leave hot, biting kisses at your throat, you can’t help but stare at him wide-eyed, feeling like your brain is leaking out of your ears.
You’re so preoccupied with your thoughts that you don’t even register that he’s stopped kissing marks around your collar and has begun removing your clothes.
Spike leaves your top half and shoes on, opting instead to only remove the clothing barriers necessary. He finally kneels, running his fingers over the line of your cunt through your underwear to feel the wetness.
Though you had agreed for him to pleasure you, you squirm under his touch, fidgeting to stop yourself from closing your thighs. As though sensing this, he uses one hand to push your left leg away, effectively allowing him to pull your underwear to the side and repeat the motion he had earlier.
“Oh fuck.” You gasp, arching into him and then lifting your hips slightly to help him in his quest to free you. You place your clothes beneath you so that your bare skin doesn’t have to come in contact with the freezing countertop.
Spike’s touches grow bolder, fingers moving purposefully against your swollen entrance.
As you watch him, you notice that while his breathing has calmed down, he now looks as though he’s just shy of hyperventilating in excitement. Ever the loverboy.
“Is this from riding my shoe?”
“And you face-fucking me.”
“Ah, yes. We mustn’t forget that…” Spike’s voice made you aware that he probably never would forget it, or at least not for a very long, long time.
Your clit is aching so hard you feel as though your entire body is pulsing in time with it. Honestly, when you had left tonight, you had expected to maybe pick up a guy and kiss for a while to sate the bone-deep desire to be touched before retiring to the safety of your abode, where you could rub yourself to completion while imagining the scenario in front of you.
This was much better.
Spike, oblivious to your musing, has spent this time mapping your body with his hands, with the hand bracing your leg open, his thumb runs distracted, almost soothing circles as he kisses the other thigh. His free hand has made its home underneath what little clothing you still have on, finding your nipple with practised ease as he teases the sensitive skin there.
You shiver under all the attention, spreading your legs wider in encouragement, earlier embarrassment totally forgotten with the notion of Spike touching you properly.
The feeling of his warm breath against your mound is all the warning you get before he finally licks into you, top to bottom, so eagerly that the immediate relief you feel against your neglected flesh is palpable.
Wheezing, you tip your head back much the same as he had earlier, bumping your head on the tiles of the bathroom wall.
“Relax, love. Don’t want to damage that pretty head of yours.”
You whine at the removal of his mouth, wriggling slightly to tell him to get a move on, and he can’t help but huff a laugh.
This isn’t your first time being eaten out, almost surprisingly from the horror stories you’d heard. But this is different. This is Spike; he had maybe a century under his belt at this point, and the experience showed. Where other partners had offered in the past, once they actually got down to it, it was obviously because they felt some sense of duty, as though your pleasure was nothing more than an obligation when it came to having you fulfil their own desires in turn. Their focus shifted as soon as they thought they’d done a sufficient job to whatever they deemed the next step was.
In comparison, Spike seemed to relish at the opportunity, borderline worshipful in his actions. It’s nearly mind-blowing.
As your body goes lax against the countertop, Spike positions your legs up over his shoulders now that you’re making a concentrated effort to remain available to him. No longer holding your thighs agape, his thumb instead refocuses that circular motion against your clit so that while he explores other aspects of your mound, your hips don’t jump, and your aching flesh doesn’t feel neglected.
You try not to thrash under the attention, the action of holding you down alone has your heart squeezing tight in your chest.
Spike continues to lave his tongue against you, tasting. His movements— the softness of his tongue against you— create such delicious friction that you can see your chest moving as you pant, feeling as though your head is spinning.
“Fuck.” You gasp when Spike drags the muscle over your sensitive clit, hips jerking despite your best efforts. “Fuck, please. Please, Spike.”
Spike somehow pays close attention to each of your body’s cues. Every breath, whimper, and sharp intake of air. His movements reveal his desire to find what makes you react the most as he tries to match the motions to your sounds.
Your knees, still over his shoulders, tilt outwards. Conscious to not dig the heel of your shoes into his back, your toes clench uselessly within their confines.
Your breath stutters when he bears down more intensely, seemingly finding a pattern that draws the most satisfactory rhythm out of you, though you’re certainly not complaining.
“I’m close.” You moan, arm thrown over your face to muffle your noises. Even though the Bronze plays it’s music unbearably loud at times, you couldn’t risk people loitering outside the bathroom hearing you, much to Spike’s chagrin.
He sucks your clit into his mouth harshly, and you shudder against his face, vision blanking as you feel your orgasm finally, finally, wash over you. You can’t hold back your whines as the hot static pleasure radiates from the apex of your thighs out through what feels like the fibre of your being, writhing as Spike draws every last drop of pleasure that he can from you until you’re shivering with oversensitive aftershocks.
You have every intention of speaking, but after that, you can barely get words out, let alone calm your racing heart.
“Better?” Spike asks.
“Much,” You manage to respond, voice wavering, and you begin to redress.
As though sent from the Hellmouth herself, three knocks ring from the door, swiftly followed by Willow’s anxious calling of your name. Feeling like you’ve been plunged into cold water, you freeze, wide eyes staring at Spike with urgency as though he could magically grant you the ability to speak.
“Spike? Are you guys still in there?”
Spike groans, hanging his head. Thankfully, you find your voice again in time to interrupt whatever the vamp may have said.
“Yeah, Will, we’re still in here.”
“Oh good, ‘cause you know, Buffy and I were thinking of getting out of here, but we didn’t want to ditch you. Are you feeling better?”
From this side of the door, you could just make out Buffy’s snort and casual “I bet they do.”
“I am, thanks. Um, just give me a second, ok. I’m… I got more upset than I thought I would at that guy. Spike’s been…” You scramble to find an excuse. “Spike’s been telling me embarrassing stories.”
“I have not!” He responds indignantly, then shrinking back under your glare. “They’re not embarrassing anyway.”
“We’ll be out in a second.” You finish.
“Ok. We’ll be at the car.” Buffy says.
You finish redressing and, with Spike’s outstretched hand as guidance, gracefully find your footing on solid ground once more. Assessment of your reflection leaves you reluctantly optimistic that you don’t look like you just experienced a defining sexual encounter for this lifetime, though your lips were swollen and you’d have to cover your neck somehow. You glanced wordlessly at Spike, who was already watching you with an unexpected fondness in his eye.
“Can I wear your duster?”
“What?” Obviously, this was not the question he had expected.
You tilted your neck to more effectively point out the purple lovebites forming, “You freaking lay into me like some sort of— well.” You gesture at him, causing Spike to roll his eyes as he mentally finishes the sentence.
“Fine.” He hands the large leather coat over to you, pulling it back slightly before you grab it to ask, “And how will I be getting this back?”
“You’re coming home with me?”
“Oh, am I now?” He passed the duster to you, watching as you put it on and manoeuvred the collar to better hide the marks on your neck. His already poorly disguised amusement was not helped by the smug grin he wore.
“Obviously.” You paused, walking to the bathroom’s wretched door, “Unless you’re not game.”
“No, I’m game—”
“Good, for a second there, I thought your refractory period might take forever, considering your age.”
Spike guffawed at you. “Yeah, right. I’ll have you know my ‘refractory period’ is perfectly fine, thank you. Perfect even.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
Spike’s arm went beside your head as he opened the door for you, allowing you to keep your entirely too pleased smile to yourself as you excited and made your way out of the Bronze, feeling his presence close behind you the entire time.
As promised, Buffy and Willow stood steadfast around the car. Willow was already in her seat picking at something near the window, and Buffy outside of the driver’s side door, scanning the surroundings. Her expression was only slightly too stern, almost reminiscent of a bouncer or security guard off duty, ever the slayer.
You rubbed your eyes and yawned as you got closer, a perfect facsimile of exhaustion.
Which… Though you were tired, your body thrummed with the knowledge that your night was only just beginning.
“Hey guys.” Buffy smiled when she noticed your arrival, opening the door to let herself in.
“Hey Buff.”
Willow looked up from her seat in the Jeep, and you watched in real time as you noticed what you were wearing and tilted her head in silent question.
To answer, you hooked your hands under the flaps of the duster slightly, twirling as you walked so that the leather flared out around you.
“Pretty cool, right? I can see why he wears it. I feel like Dracula.” You paused, “Or maybe a leather princess.”
Buffy snorted, no doubt seeing the exasperated face Spike was making in reaction to your words.
“Hey, speaking of Dracula,” You leant against the open window into the car, “could we drop Spike off? I don’t wanna forget to give him the coat back and have to walk into the crypt at night.”
“Sure, that’s fine.” Buffy said, Willow nodding beside her, quiet now as the night caught up.
You whirled around to face Spike, recovering quickly as you startled at how close he was and gave him an exaggerated thumbs up before making your way to ‘your’ seat.
“Where to, Spike?” Buffy was watching him carefully through the rearview mirror. For his part, Spike was already looking out the window, watching the gradually moving night scenery through windows that weren’t blacked out for once.
“Oh, just their place is fine. I can walk back after there.”
Amusement coloured Buffy’s voice, “If you say so.”
A/N: chapter 2 yippee! As a reminder this comes out a week early on ao3! That link should take you directly to the work! Next update has smut I promise. It was originally supposed to be in this chapter, to be completely honest, but I like to keep chapters around 1.5k just for pacing/so I don't post ginormous ones and super short ones in the same work.
The Bronze, as always, was loud. Both through the other patrons speaking, and the live performers, music echoing through the street outside. As usual, a delicate concoction of booze, sweat, smoke (fake) and smoke (real) filled the air, creating the familiar slightly dank aroma of the club. Sunnydale didn't offer many other avenues of nightlife, if that wasn't already obvious. Though with the Hellmouth happily causing havoc this was probably for the best.
Naturally, your interest in the Bronze shifted in and out of focus, and your visit today felt almost nostalgic, especially with your goal and the girls.
Now, under the admittedly dim lighting of the entryway, you could better see Buffy and Willow’s respective outfits.
Buffy wore her hair loosely styled, somehow smooth despite recently dealing with the undead, a pale blue scoop-necked halter top, dark (black maybe, it was hard to tell in this lighting) mini skirt, and the boots you’d come to think of as part of her signature.
Willow’s red hair had been straightened. Willow’s top had long, slightly flared, sleeves and a neckline that came to a slight v, highlighting her thin choker beautifully; as well as a longer skirt that swayed when she moved.
Willow suddenly froze and groaned, “We forgot to show Spike the necklace.”
“I’m sure it’s fine, Will.” You reassured, “Besides, he always manages to turn up eventually.”
“That’s true…”
“Especially now that we have his favourite toy.” Buffy winked at you,
“I’m not Spike’s toy. He never plays with me. Not the way I want him to, anyway.”
“Ugh, too much information.” Willow wrinkled her nose.
“Hey, I’m not the one that brought him up after we agreed on no vampire talk.” You pointed it out.
“So, dancing or fuel first?” Buffy chirped.
"..."
“So, what can I get for you folks?” The bartender leaned in, a wide friendly smile on her face. The name tag (Hello Christine) hanging loosely off of her shirt glinted, drawing your eyes. Buffy leaned in in return, half-yelling over the music to order for the three of you.
“Two Shirley Temples and a virgin mojito, please.” The slayer passed the cash over the counter.
Christine nodded, “Coming right up,”
Shortly after, the drinks were sliding across the bar to the three of you, which you accepted with an easy grateful smile and looked to find a table, seeing your former usual spot unclaimed.
“Ok, temples for the two lovely ladies, and the mojito for me.” You placed each drink in their respective places.
“No Shirley for you, too?” Willow prompted.
“Yeah, I want the freshness tonight. Might come in handy later.” You laughed.
Buffy took a sip of her drink, then asked, “Is that our goal tonight? Be your most excellent Wing-women?”
“It's not that serious.” Waving a hand through the air to dismiss the thought, the other resting on the table, you continued, “I just… want a distraction. Being here with you two is enough.”
Buffy touched your hand, both girls smiling.
“Besides. We both know it's not that easy. What do you say we finish these up and then go dance? The music isn't half bad tonight.”
“I'm pretty sure the band has played here at least once before.” Willow mentioned happily.
“So have most bands that end up on that stage, it's the Bronze.” You laughed.
The three of you finished your drinks relatively quickly after that, ready to descend on the dance floor as a trio right as the music was beginning to get more upbeat.
Your bodies moved in time, a sea of undulating patrons. You raised your arms seductively, finding purchase in your hair before drawing them back down your body, and repeating the process. As you did this, you scanned the room for a stranger who held potential.
Buffy regained your attention with a nudge, nodding in the direction of a broad blond man. His hair was natural, longer than some of the other men in the club as you saw hairs curl slightly around his ears and flip out at the back of the neck, or at least it looked that way as you observed him while he was moving. A faded dark blue short-sleeve shirt was tight against his body, along with the black jeans. His outfit was simple but effective.
You smiled, pleased, ignoring the similarities between him and a certain vampire, and cast an appreciative glance towards Buffy and then started your efforts to gain the focus of the man.
You moved your position on the dance floor to be in his eye line, further away from the stage, but at least the music wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t think anymore. Finally, the man’s head turned towards you, and you caught his eye.
He tilted his head, eyeing you with a close-mouthed grin. You bit your lip playfully and crooked a finger towards him, enticing him to come closer to you, and he obeyed. When he reached you, you smiled openly as he leaned into your space.
“Hi.” You spoke into his ear, voice playful.
“Hey,” He responded, matching your tone. “Name’s Luke. And you?”
You offered your name, and he smiled easily.
“Come here often?”
You laughed, “Does that ever work?” you ask him, still dancing.
“Haven’t had the chance to find out,” Luke answered honestly, his bashful shrug breaking the nonchalant persona he had just been displaying.
“I used to, not so much anymore.”
His “How come?” was lost as the band on stage played a particularly loud transition between songs.
Unbeknownst to you, a familiar vampire circled you, hiding amongst the throng of bodies as you lost yourself to the music while you faced your new dance partner.
“Pardon?”
“I said, why’s that?”
“Oh, you know, work stuff. Not the most interesting.”
“Ah, I get it. I work out of town, near the college actually. So I don’t really get to go out often either.”
“Oh, where do you work?” You moved further away from the stage to better hear him, but closer to the centre of the dance floor so that Buffy and Willow could still keep eyes on you. Luke followed, hands hovering around your hips when the pair of you found a new spot.
He made a non-commital noise, “I don’t know if I can explain it.”
Your brows furrowed at that response, but not one to dry up the conversation immediately, you persevered.
“Try me.”
“No, really. I don’t think you’d even believe me.” He scrutinised your face before brushing the weirdness off, “What about you?”
“You know the magic shop in town?”
Luke’s lips thinned slightly, his smile becoming strained. You ignored it but noted the reaction in the back of your mind.
“Yeah, you work… there?”
You frowned openly now. “I do. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Luke acquiesced, raising his hands. “You must be entertained all day.”
You pulled away from him. “I guess.”
“All those freaks coming in–”
You cut him off quickly. “Sorry, did you forget the part where I work there? This is Sunnydale, Luke.”
“I’ve noticed.” He replied, a smile on his face but voice somewhat frustrated.
Your dancing slowed as you turned to walk away, but before you could make any distance, he grabbed your wrist.
Wrenching your wrist out of his control, you face him again. “Excuse me?”
“I wasn’t done talking to you.”
“Yeah, well, I was.” You say curtly.
“No, you came to me. I’m not done talking to you.”
From just beside you, a familiar voice interjected.
“They said they’re done talking to you, mate.”
“Spike.” You greeted, not needing to look back to identify the vamp.
“Hey, precious. This guy bothering you?”
“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend, you bitch!” Luke shouted.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” “I’m not their boyfriend.”
The pair of you answered simultaneously.
“And besides, you should’ve left me alone when I asked regardless.” You added to the other man’s retreating back.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Other Characters: Buffy and Willow, Xander (mentioned), minor original characters.
Tags: NSFW! No use of y/n. Afab but gender neutral.
Word Count: 1.7k
Summary: While trying to get over a crush on a certain crispy-haired vampire, you end up falling right back into his arms
Or, the one where a night out with the girls goes wrong.
Next ->
Series masterlist
A/N: Title from Cibo Matto's ‘Moonchild’ felt appropriate seeing as they've played at the Bronze in the show! As this is NSFW, for a reminder: you are responsible for your own media consumption. Also, I'm trying to release this weekly, but Ao3 gets it ahead of schedule if you'd rather have it as soon as it came out :) he falls into an open grave right after the part in the gif by the way. Keep that man humble 🙏
After striking through the next item on your to-do list (get ready for Bronze w/ Buffy and Willow), you tucked the pen back into its spot and went to double-check how you looked in the mirror.
Getting to go out with the girls was a rare treat. Sure, it was just club food and live music, but a slayer is always on call, and you'd take what you can get.
You were maybe a little overdressed, but through dancing and the thick air of the Bronze, you were sure that it would look far more casual quickly. An enticing display of your neck and collarbones was sure to attract someone. Anyone at all. As long as they were sure to distract you from what was a quickly burgeoning crush on that bottle-blond dumpster diver. You nodded once, smiling and checking your watch; your lift would be here any moment. Grabbing your keys, coat and wallet, you left home to wait by the curb.
“My, aren't you precious?”
Your hands flung upright as you swung around, ready to defend yourself. The vamp batted your hands out of the way with a smirk.
“Spike! One of these days, we're going to have to put a bell on you.” You groaned, relaxing your stance.
“That’d defeat the purpose of being a creature of the night. What's got you so on edge?” His eyes followed the length of your body, “and so dolled up? Hot date?”
“Sure.” You replied coolly.
Spike took a step closer.
“Why? Is my outfit no good?” You twirled in place for him to appreciate. Was this the smartest, considering your goal for the evening? Not in the slightest. Were you rubbing it in while he was maybe possibly a little bit jealous? Absolutely, anyone who could pass up such a ripe opportunity was either far stronger or had never seen Spike before.
He huffed a laugh, eyes flicking to your lips.
“Well, I wouldn't say that.”
“What would you say?”
Spike took another step closer, now firmly situated in your personal space, his eyes lingering on your mouth still before finally matching yours.
“Careful pet, wouldn't want you to catch feelings now.”
You laughed, attempting for ‘don't be ridiculous’ but landing somewhere between ‘you're out of your mind’ and ‘am I that obvious?’.
“I'm not your pet, Spike.”
“Ooh, I'm well aware of that.”
“What was that you said about catching feelings?”
Your phone beeped in your pocket; attempting to reach it without touching Spike was somehow unbelievably awkward in such close quarters.
“Spike, it's Willow.”
“Answer it, I don't mind.”
You leaned away, fixing the vamp with a flat look, but hit answer regardless, holding the cell next to your ear.
“Hey Will, what's up?” Spike looked expectant as you paused for an answer. “Oh, hi, Buffy. You got–” You paused, turning away and covering your other ear with your palm. “What? I can't hear you over the… noise…? Yes, I'll hold.”
You checked your watch again, grazing your shoe over the concrete footpath just to hear the scuffing sound and feel the concrete against the sole.
Glancing at Spike, it was unnerving to see him already observing you. In moments like those, you could see how he was a predator compared to yourself. Clear, steady eyes watched your movements patiently, filing away information on habits that you probably weren't even aware of.
Most of all, his stillness was what brought this aspect of him to attention. As sedentary as a statue, he reminded you of a cat. Lean muscle poised, ready to spring, all the while making as little sound and movement as possible to continue watching for the right moment. You covered the phone's mouthpiece and frowned at him.
“Could you please not do that?”
He rolled his eyes. “Do what?”
“Look at me like you want to eat me?”
“Oh, but I–”
“Willow, hi!”
Spike threw his arms in the air exasperatedly but took a minute step back to give you more room, regardless.
“Ah, that makes sense. Well, no, actually, I have it on good authority that he's fine. He's right here. H–hang on, let me put you on speaker.” You waved Spike closer, and the pair of you huddled around the tinny audio of the speakerphone.
“Hi, Spike!”
“What's this about me being fine?”
“Well, we were on the way there when there were these vamps, so obviously, we had to slay them, but they said something about knowing a ‘Slayer Killer’, and we thought, well, you aren't special. We know one, too.”
Spike raised his eyebrow and mouthed 'hot date' to you, amusement plain on his face.
“Uh-huh. Sorry, Willow, what does this have to do with Spike being ok?” You interjected.
“Oh, well, we thought maybe we were all thinking about the same guy. So we swung by the crypt with one of the guys’ necklace amulet charm thingies to see if Spike could identify it, but he was nowhere to be seen. But if he's with you, as soon as Buffy clears out the rest of these cemetery vampires, we'll head right there.”
“I see–”
“Hey, Spike, you could join us for dinner if you'd like.”
“No thanks, not like I can enjoy the hors d'oeuvres. Though someone here certainly looks good enough to eat.” His gaze roamed over you as he spoke.
“Gross, Spike.” Buffy's voice came suddenly.
“I meant myself.”
“Yeah, yeah, as long as you two aren't flirting when we get there.” You could hear the teasing smile in her voice.
“We do not flirt.” The pair of you simultaneously protested; you heard the phone passing between the two girls this time, and soon after followed Willow’s
“If you say so. Listen we're maybe fifteen minutes away, ten if we rush.”
“No hurry," you placated. "It's not like we made reservations. Plus, I have Billy Idol to keep me company.”
“I'll have you know he stole my look.”
“Sure. Anyway, we'll see you guys when you get here, k?”
“Alright. See you soon!” Willow replied cheerfully before hanging up.
Silence fell once again as you pushed your phone back into its resting place. Spike's calculating gaze was back on you and you fought back the urge to shiver.
“You cold?”
“No, I'm wearing my coat.” You paused. Obviously, he could see you were wearing your coat. “Why do you ask?”
“Saw you trembling. Had to make sure it was me having that effect and not the weather.”
You rolled your eyes and turned to face him.
“Y'know what Spike? Even if that were the case, it's not for the reason you think.”
“Is that so? Enlighten me.”
“It's not very nice.”
“I'm not very nice.”
Under your breath, you grumbled, “Yeah, that's what you think.” Then, more loudly, you said, “Sometimes, when I catch you already looking at me, it's like at least centuries worth of alarm bells go off in the back of my mind.”
He tilted his head questioningly, but remained silent, prompting you to continue.
“I dunno if you felt this with… with whoever turned you before they did or whatever. But it's… it's like my brain suddenly remembers that to you, I'm prey. It's unnerving.” You shrugged, glancing back at your shoe before looking up at him, surprised to see the understanding on his face.
“Well, I can assure you, I may be evil. But killing you would be no fun.”
“Then why do you watch me like that?”
Spike laughed, “It’s not my fault somewhere your hunted and wanted wires got crossed. Blame your slaying on that one.”
You opened your mouth to ask him precisely what the hell he meant by that when the sound of Buffy’s ancient Jeep came from just around the corner.
You point at Spike, hesitating for a moment before pushing the finger against his chest and sternly warning him.
“We’re not done talking about this.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, love.” He responded easily.
The car stopped a little ways from you, Willow hopping out to greet you.
From the window, Buffy noticed Spike’s lack of absence. “Oh, hey, Spike.”
“Slayer.”
“Did you expect him to just leave me here?” You asked with a rueful smile.
“Kinda.” Willow answered.
Your expression burgeoned on confused as you looked back at the vamp from over your shoulder, to which he gave you a half-assed shrug with a small smile on his face.
“Shouldn’t leave someone alone in the dark like that; there could be all sorts of unseemly things waiting in the shadows.” He paused, giving Buffy enough time to react, well aware that he was one of said unseemly things, and then added, “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”
“I suppose you would know what being a gentleman is like, wouldn’t you, Spike?” you quipped.
“Is that a jab at my age? That’s unbecoming.”
“Moreso, how would you be so good at being evil if you weren’t intimately aware of what good is, right?” You looked at him knowingly, his eyes glittered with mirth but you knew he was definitely considering the ramifications of what he had just said. That despite being a demon, a predator, evil didn’t come as naturally to him. Reducing his vampirism to an impulse control problem; which, to be fair, wasn’t far off.
“Oh my god, get a room, you two.”
“Buffy!” You whipped around to face her.
“What? You guys are totally flirting right now, right Will?”
“Yep, most definitely.” The redhead nodded from where she had regained her seat in the back.
“I don’t even… know what to say to that. I…?” You frowned and then shook your head as though to dispel the thought, climbing into the seat beside Willow. “Spike, do you need my keys or something?”
“And lose the fun of crawling in the window?”
“So you did come over for a reason.”
“You’ve got cable.”
You rolled your eyes and dangled the keys out of the car. “See you, Spike.”
The vampire hummed, standing and watching as Buffy’s jeep pulled away.
“You guys aren’t very good at keeping secrets.” You grumbled.
“I don’t like the guy,” Buffy started, “but I’d be blind to think he didn’t at least want you a teensy bit more than just as a snack.”
“Gee, thanks, Buff.”
She smiled at you through the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, and he has this compactness,” Willow smiled, recalling the Xander comment that had all given you pause.
You sighed and looked out the window. “Let’s not talk about vampires anymore tonight. Be normal for once. Pay too much for drinks, dance… Pick someone up, maybe.”
“Deal.” Was Buffy’s relieved response as Willow nodded agreeably beside you.
Tags: no use of y/n, gender neutral reader, before Lucy! Pre-slash?
Word Count: 1k
Summary: Reader runs away from home after a lifetime of awful treatment to meet up with her friends George and Lockwood… more to come!
A/N: My first request! I took some liberties, mostly because I have no concept of American life. As always, you can also find me on Ao3. Also, if anyone is interested on being put on a notify list (for this fic or others) let me know!
PART I <PART II> <PART III>
You checked your boarding pass for the umpteenth time.
Only 20 minutes now, and you would be on your way to London. Free of your stupid boss and free of the stresses at home.
When you were small, you’d been to England once, which was how you knew you had Talent, hearing the whispers outside the house you were staying at only to be told there wasn’t anyone outside.
Not anyone who was living, anyway.
And now, you’d be returning. You’d gotten certifications 1 through 4 online and managed to practice your rapier skills regularly. That wasn’t your strength, though; your strength was in communicating and, more specifically, in interpreting. It wasn’t a widespread Talent classification yet, and you were a listener on paper.
It had been a long time since you’d communicated with any sort of Visitor, the first time being a Type One, the flickering image of a grubby boy who’d been around your age and was more confused than anything.
His power wasn’t strong, so it’d taken longer to understand him and for him to understand you, but once you’d both gotten on each other’s page, you’d learnt his name, Lionel, that no, he hadn’t died very recently (about a century before the Problem was even a notion, you’d guess) and that he was bored. You’d told him about the agents, what they could do and how maybe if he helped you, you could help him pass on. That excited him. Being stuck for so long was lonely, and he was sick of it.
The next night, Lionel had led you into the backyard and mimed digging next to the largest tree on the property, and when you had finally dug it up, whatever it was, you realised he’d figured out his source.
In your hands were the remnants of a treehouse or some sort of cubby, the old wooden sign held tenderly in your hands as you read “Lionel’s Castle.” When you’d shown it to him, Lionel flickered, looking sad for a moment until you reminded him that now you had this, he was free.
Ten minutes now until you were like Lionel.
Ten minutes until you finally, finally were closer than ever to seeing George and Lockwood in person. And even though you were only going to assist them on cases and were more like a glorified receptionist, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.
You had met George online two years ago, browsing forums on the Problem, how it may have started and why it hadn’t spread globally (yet, you mentally corrected). Then, he’d begrudgingly introduced you to Lockwood, and you’d all been thick as thieves ever since, as the head agent liked to put it, tactfully ignoring George’s murmured, “Certainly thick on your end.”
You couldn’t wait.
✧☽────•⋆°˖⋅✹⋅˖°⋆
The plane ride itself was boring a little nerve-wracking, but uneventful (and mercifully on time) nonetheless. That was fine. You weren’t excited because of the plane, but rather what happened after landing. George had promised he wouldn’t let Lockwood get too carried away, but even now, you weren’t sure how much he’d been able to persuade him.
He wasn’t right at your gate, which was fine because you hadn’t forked over the stupid amount of money for in-flight wifi to tell him which gate it was. But you wanted to find them before finding your bag, so you decided to familiarise yourself with the airport.
There were cafes littered about the place, and the ride had been long… it couldn’t hurt.
Never mind, that croissant was Far Too Much. Ok, time to focus then.
You turned and walked towards the front of the airport, passing baggage claim and noting where it was for later. Maybe the boys were at the entrance?
Lo and behold, adjacent to the service desk was a tall, pale boy and his scruffy compatriot that you’d come to care for deeply. As if on queue, Lockwood spotted you, lighting up and holding up a large sign. Walking towards them still, you were able to read the words through the mess of glitter glue more easily.
“Does that say ‘Welcome home agent’?”
“Well… yeah. I tried to talk him out of it. I mean, we should still have interviewed you firs–”
“Ah, George, ever the optimist. Ignore him. He’s pretending he hasn’t been talking my ear off about you for the past week.” Lockwood smiled, and George’s expression shifted to something awkward and slightly unreadable before you pulled the both of them into a hug.
“Thanks you two, seriously.” You regretfully pulled apart, gaze lingering on George’s face. Had he always been that cute? It was hard to tell through pixelly video calls that dropped out far too frequently. You dismissed the thought quickly, hoping you hadn’t watched him for too long, and clapped your hands, rubbing them against each other as a distraction.
“Right, well, shall we go get my bags? I’m afraid the trip over has made me more tired than I realised,” You paused, feeling a cheeky smile growing. “And I need two strong men to help me carry them.”
George rolled his eyes as Lockwood puffed up his chest, pretending to show off his muscles. You began walking to the baggage claim, and they took their time following you.
“Come on, slowpokes! I’m pretty sure it was this way, and I was hoping someone would carry them.”
“Yes, I was hoping if we took long enough that someone would be you,” George added, a small smile revealing his humour, and you gasped in mock outrage.
“And here I thought I was moving in with two gentlemen…”
Lockwood looked horrified, playing along. “Whatever gave you the idea that there were two gentlemen?”
George paused before his smile grew wider, “Yes, why on Earth would you think Lockwood was a gentleman?”
You couldn’t stop the pleased laugh from bubbling up and out of you, having to stop walking to let it wash over you properly. Anthony’s expression shifted from horrified to speechless, and George’s private fondness was evident in his eyes.
After a moment, you took a breath and nodded towards your bags, spinning around, waiting for you to collect them. “Come on then, let’s go home.”
Tags: explicit NSFW/smut, blood drinking, photography/nude photos, no use of y/n, gender neutral pronouns (afab body, sorry y'all, working with what I know.)
Word Count: 3.7k
Summary:
“Spike?” You centred him in the frame made out of your thumb and forefingers, pretending to line up the camera.
“Can vampires take pictures?”
Your vampire counterpart paused from where he was leafing through a book, looking up at you curiously.
“Well, yes. But often not very well.”
A/N: Title from the Def Leppard song. This is a second part but can be read as standalone! Also available on my Ao3. As this is explicit, you are (as always) responsible for your own consumption of media. That said, if you stay, please enjoy!
Read the first part here.
You were both sitting in Spike's room below the crypt, bedroom painted gold with warm rays that faded as the sun set. His ‘bed’, which really was just a bedframe and collection of fabrics as he claimed a mattress was “too soft” after a century of sleeping wherever was convenient (see also; the floor), was propped up in the corner.
It was strange. Ever since your mutual confession a month ago, you had been around his place, around him, much more. You’d seen his bed before, but now that you’d slept in it? (And that was ALL… I swear on Giles, Buffy.) There was a familiarity you hadn’t expected.
“Spike?” You centred him in the frame made out of your thumb and forefingers, pretending to line up the camera.
“Can vampires take pictures?”
Your vampire counterpart paused from where he was leafing through a book, looking up at you curiously.
“Well, yes. But often not very well.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. Can you have your photograph taken?”
“Depends on the camera. Why do you ask?”
“...No reason.”
He looked at you flatly, faux unamusement painting his face, but you knew the truth.
“Sure, I’ll just take your word for it then, shall I, poppet?”
You nodded, and he just kept staring at you.
Had there always been that many bricks in the wall? It was obvious that you couldn’t hold his gaze, but it was difficult to resist him. One more look can’t hurt, can it? It’s not like he was still looking, surely. He was. pale eyes and that scar that sat so effortlessly over his brow. peering up at you.
“Pet.” Spike said lowly, “What’s the reason?”
“Ok, you're right. There is a reason.” You pause at his smug smile. “Don’t let it get to your head. We were reading this magazine and-”
“We?”
“The Scoobies, well, Willow and Xander mostly.”
“Mhmm, go on.”
“Well, they had this, er, column. On… intimate things, I saw one of the ideas and thought I could adapt it for us to do.”
“So instead of just askin’ me if we could get it on, you decided to ask if I could have my picture taken?”
He was trying not to laugh, lips twitching as he tried to keep a straight face.
“No! I just, one of them was talking about giving boudoir photos to your partner or whatever and I thought it would be nice to just have a clean and wholesome picture of you.”
“What for? It’s not like we do anything without each other, except when I go out to eat.”
“And during the day.” You murmured, watching the dawning realisation in his expression.
“Oh, so is that what this is? Hm? Already so attached to me, is that it, love?”
You frowned, rubbing your palm apprehensively, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, no, we’ll take your pictures. Did you bring the camera?” He looks at you knowingly.
“Well, I only have a digital one, and it’s not the best—”
He cut you off,
“Digital is better, at least I look normal on the screen. It’s the silver in the developer that’s the issue.” You nodded and went to find your bag, which you had left near the worn-down entrance to the crypt.
As you returned, the bleached-blond vamp was nowhere to be seen. It was still light out, and you had just been in the crypt itself, which left either the entrance to the town’s underground system, or… you spun around and saw the vamp leaning against the wall near the door with a bemused smirk on his face.
“You're not getting rid of me that easily.”
“I didn't think so.” You huffed a laugh before raising the camera. “I’ve got it. Where do you wanna sit?”
Spike frowned, looking around his bedroom before laying down on his bed.
“Here? Are you sure?”
“You kneel over me to take it, an’ that way, we both get to enjoy the view.”
You rolled your eyes, “Uh huh, anything else?”
“Yes,” Spike drawled before he quickly sat up, removed his shirt, and lay back down. “Now it’s gonna be memorable.”
“Everything you do is memorable.” You grumbled, moving to straddle his hips.
“What was that?” he had excellent hearing, and you both knew it.
“Nothing, Spike,” unable to wipe the smile plastered on your face. You saw him struggle not to smile below you.
Spike liked to tease. That much was obvious to anyone who saw the pair of you together, but even more so he liked for the other to join in, to acknowledge the teasing and throw the ball back to his court. He was ever the brat that way.
You sat down slightly, trying to frame the image better through the tiny window.
One of his arms moved to cushion his head, tilting his face closer to the camera, and the other wrapped around your leg, and you felt him palm your thigh.
“Spike.”
“Yes?” he responded, feigning obliviousness.
“Your hand, it’s distracting.”
“Oh.” the vamp responded all too suddenly, eyes glittering with mirth.
You took the picture.
“A little warning, love?” Spike blinked, the bright light leaving green remnants in his vision. You smiled at the pixelated version of him on the screen.
“Sorry. You just looked so…”
“So?”
“So… you. I couldn’t help myself.”
He looked at you softly before slipping back into his comfortable persona.
“Do I get one of you, then?”
You shrugged, “If you want.”
Rolling off of him and pushing the camera into his hands in one swift motion, you asked, “Where do you want me?”
“Same as me.”
You moved to lay on your back so he could reverse the positions, but he grabbed your shoulder and looked at you expectantly.
“What?”
“Take your top off.”
“Spike. I’m not wearing anything underneath.”
“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“That was different, I was injured.”
Spike conceded, tilting his head before continuing, “Still. For me? It'll be collarbones up, cross my undead heart.”
You thumbed the hem of your shirt and rolled your eyes, “Only for you. Got that?”
“Wouldn't dare to dream of having it any other way.” He assuaged.
Top now removed, you lay back down as Spike eyed you appreciatively through the viewfinder.
“It's the same for you, y'know.”
“What's that, love?”
“I'm not going to show anyone your picture. That is unless you want me to.”
“Appreciate that, pet. Now, hold still. Or better yet, as you so wonderfully put it, do something you-ish.”
You looked at him begrudgingly,
“I did not say ‘you-ish’, William.”
“My first name, you wound me.” He muttered, trying to focus.
“You're a vampire. It’ll heal.”
Spike lowered the camera minutely to level you with a frown, which you couldn't help but laugh at. Eyes stinging with the same green remnants he had experienced moments ago as Spike captured the moment. You sat up, moving one leg over the other as he waited momentarily to inspect the screen before looking at it fondly and putting the camera to the side, picking up your shirt, and just holding it.
“Well, now. What to do?”
“Now I put my shirt back on, and we get you something to eat.”
“Ah, not so fast love. I ate earlier. So we'll have to think of something else.”
“It would help if you gave me my shirt. Then we could actually go places, Spike.”
“Why don't we stay in tonight? It's perfectly nice in here.”
You look around the barren room, cobwebs lining the ceiling.
“In your… crypt?”
“Well, where else do you propose?”
“I did say ‘out’, didn’t I? But… You have a point. You’re certain that you’re not hungry?”
“Positive, love. Though I could be tempted if a certain someone was offering.”
You gasped, squinting at Spike suspiciously. He had drunk from you once before, but it was (unfortunately) in the least sexy way possible, involving a certain mystical terror stalking vampires for their undead energy and subsequently placing Spike on house arrest, but seeing as he didn’t actually have a house, he had boarded with Giles at the time, much to the pair’s mutual enjoyment. To put it simply, it was a whole ordeal that had whisked Giles away for longer than desired, and Spike had to feed somehow: enter you. Could you have bought pig’s blood? Most definitely. Was the idea of asking for pig’s blood and it being sold out due to Hellmouth shenanigans somehow more embarrassing than anxiously offering your arm to the man? Jury’s still out on that one. Perhaps the answer lies in the way you have thought about it on and off at least twice a week since the event had occurred, say, two years ago. But let’s not examine that too closely.
“I see.” You responded finally.
Spike tilted his head in a way that let you know he was observing you. Or, more accurately, confirming a suspicion.
“Why so quiet all of a sudden?”
You scoffed, “I’m always quiet, Spike.”
“Maybe so, love, but not like this. Something on your mind? I didn’t bother you with the blood talk, did I?” He was choosing his words carefully, no doubt leading you somewhere.
“No, Spike. You know I don’t mind that.”
“So what is it?”
“Have you been reading my diary?” you blurted.
“Why? Is there something in there I should be reading?”
Hook, line, and sinker. Damn it, you really had to get better at figuring out exactly what he was trying to confirm before trying to evade it.
“...No.”
“No? Nothing to do with me drinking your blood?”
You blinked up at him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Why would I write about that?”
“I don’t know, pet, but you’re awful nervous for someone who has nothing to hide right now.”
“Well, I’m not. Hiding anything, I mean.” Spike’s eyes tracked the movement as crossed your arms over your chest, protecting yourself from the cool air from below the crypt.
“That’s good.”
You both stared at each other for another beat, before he rolled his eyes dramatically.
“I may have seen you writing your diary.” Spike admitted,
“WHAT?” You yelped at the same time that he continued, “Did you know you mouth words when you write? Adorable, really.”
“YOU’VE BEEN WATCHING ME??”
“Vampire, love, get with the program.”
Taking a moment to catch a breath and re-centre yourself, you nod slightly in understanding. Altogether unsurprising that he did that, still a little creepy, but also weirdly heartwarming now that you had your ten seconds.
“Cool. Cool, so… so what, was this a set-up to get me to admit that maybe I might have a slight thing for vampirism or…?”
“Slight?”
“Spike, you know that’s not why I’m here.”
“Only teasing, pet. No, for once, this hasn’t been some elaborate ruse. But when opportunities arise.”
“Ok, so… so, what? You want to drink my blood?”
“Among other things.” He murmured.
“Spike?” You hesitated, watching his expression closely. “What if I said yes?”
He shrugged, “Then I would drink your blood.”
“Is that all?”
“If that's all you wanted it to be.” Spike moved closer, causing you to lay back onto the soft blankets below you, arms falling to your sides. His arms were either side of your body, crowding you in.
Spike smirked as he heard your heartbeat pick up and your sharp inhale at his closeness.
“But we both know…” He said lowly, eyes focused on your lips, “That it's not all you want.”
He surged forward, capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss. Breaking apart after only a moment to watch your lips chase his own. Spike lifted himself up slightly to gesture for you to move further up the bed, to which you complied.
Now able to blanket you with his own body he began to plant soft, teasing kisses along your neck, caressing the soft flesh with the sharp tips of his teeth, but never puncturing.
An open-mouthed kiss at your collarbone,
“Something the matter, love?”
You whimpered, “Why aren’t you doing it?”
Two more kisses, a nip at the base of your throat, still not hard enough to break skin.
“You have to ask. I want you to ask for it, pet, to really mean it.” His tongue laved a path along the smooth column of skin up to your jaw, followed soon by more kisses.
“Please, Spike. I want you to. I want your bite. For…” You hesitated and to your dismay his motions stopped alongside this. “For you to feed on me.”
Spike smiled conspiratorially, “Naughty naughty, pet.” The tantalising drag of his teeth stopped at the junction between your neck and shoulder, he moaned as he finally pierces your skin, your blood trickling into his mouth as your eyes flutter closed.
“Spike,” You whisper, tilting your head so that he can get a better angle. Feeling his smile against your skin is so different from seeing it. Spike's hands moved down your sides, the fingertips of his right hand skating across your ribcage, pressing his palm to the warm skin, feeling your heart's erratic beating beneath it. He's careful not to jostle you when he raises himself off of you.
“Always so eager to please.”
Softly, he kisses the tender spot, lapping up the sluggish drops of blood leaving the wound. You moan softly, craning your head to the side further still.
The tell-tale click of the shutter and bright flash startle you into squinting up at him, or rather, into the camera.
“Sorry pet, you just look so beautiful like this.”
You look at him properly, smiling from the compliment but still blinking off the light-headedness and adrenaline. His lips are tinted red, cheeks flushed and a sparkle in his eye from the experience, and though he always does to you, in this moment especially he looks alive. Gently you take the camera from him and snap a picture in return.
“So it's like that, hm?”
“Yes.” Had your voice always been that breathy? You disposed of the camera to the side once more.
Spike huffed an amused laugh, dipping down to mouth at the other side of your neck, moving next to kiss your collarbones, then the top of your chest.
“This alright, love?”
“More than alright.”
He enclosed one of your nipples into his mouth, rubbing the other teasingly with his hand. Swapping when he was sufficiently satisfied with your reactions, and then kissing down your rib cage.
“And this? This alright too, pet?” There was an addictive playfulness in his tone.
“Spike.”
“Use your words.”
“You could do just about anything to me right now and it would be alright.”
“I'll keep that in mind.” He promised, tugging at the elastic of your bottoms with his free hand.
In a sudden burst of confidence you removed them, leaving only your underwear remaining.
“Someone's eager.”
“You're bullying me.” You protested.
“You're the one that likes it, love. I can tell.”
His hand smoothed over your hip, “Though I am partial to it, myself.” He admitted, pushing your underwear to one side and running two fingers between your folds. “See? Proof. You like it even more than I do.”
You lifted your hips and he took your bottoms off, listening to your silent pleasure.
Wrist turned to the ceiling, he pushed one finger in slowly, allowing you to adjust to the bizarre feeling.
“Would you please just touch me?”
“As you wish.” He murmured, inserting another finger and beginning to pump them in and out of you rhythmically.
Spike may not have ever been particularly religious, but he certainly understood worship. The circular motions of his thumb against your clit was ritualistic, a practised demonstration of devotion; the soft spoken encouragement as he pressed hot kisses around the bite mark a prayer. Perhaps in another life his moniker would have been ‘the Devoted’.
“Oh God.” You moaned, fruitlessly trying to close your legs and white-knuckle clutching at the sheets in an attempt to warn him.
“Just Spike will do, love.”
You could feel his erection rubbing against the soft meat of your thigh as he began to rut into the bedding right beside you, pants still on. His desperation despite being dedicated to your pleasure at this moment was so palpable you couldn't help but succumb to his wishes, orgasm bleeding new life into your body.
You breathed deeply, boneless, and reached your arm down to palm at him through his pants.
Spike grunted, lifting his body away from your hand and standing to remove the remainder of his clothes.
You reached for him, pulling him down to kiss. The motion was as easy as though you had stolen kisses from Spike hundreds of times.
“Feel good, did you love?”
“Something like that.” You smiled up at him.
He laughed softly before pressing himself between your legs.
“Beautiful.”
“You say that to all your lovers?”
“I've only got one, so yes.”
You didn't know what to say to that, but judging from his quietly (for once) pleased expression you could tell he had sensed the way your cheeks had heated.
You readjusted to lean back against the makeshift headboard, from this angle you could see him better.
Spike's dick was surprisingly pretty. Slightly curved, larger than average, but longer than it was wide.
“Seen something you like, pet?”
“Definitely.” You made a grabbing motion to him and he slotted himself between your legs. The tops of his thighs touching your own.
Spike bent over and kissed your chest affectionately as he used his hand to run the head of his erection through your folds. Gathering wetness at the same time as teasing your clit.
He lined himself up, free hand beside your head to support himself as he entered you slowly, once again giving you time to adjust, all the while shallowly rutting in and out of you.
Once you had adjusted enough for him to bottom out he began to thrust deeper Into you.
“Such pretty noises, love.” Spike's eyes roved your face, listening to your whine in response and the soft moans that followed it as he began to increase his pace.
The hand not supporting him held your chin as he dipped down to kiss you and swallow those sounds for himself.
“Could you– fuck–” You cut off with a whimper.
“What love, what is it?”
“Could you bite me again, please?”
He hung his head and groaned in response.
“Please, Spike, would you?”
“Yes, I think I can manage that.” Came his strangled reply. He drove into you harder, muttering about good manners and sweet little desperate things, peppering kisses down the opposite side of your throat to where he had fed before.
You tilted your head and moaned, the sound spurring him on as he slowed to better control his thrusts. You could barely think, trying to fuck yourself down onto him further.
As he ran his teeth down the side of your neck teasingly, Spike's hand moved from your chin and snaked down to in between your bodies to rub your clit, while imprecise due to your combined wetness, the motions pushed you closer to completion.
“Please Spike. Please now, I need it. Need you to feed on me.” You slurred angling your neck to better present it even further.
He hummed, placing an open mouthed kiss just below your pulse point in warning, and then broke your skin with his teeth once more. Both Spike and yourself moaned, his rhythm faltering as he worked to push you over the edge and drank your blood simultaneously.
You moved your hips in circles slowly, aiming to even the score before you came for a second time but trying not to move him too much and risk his control over his feeding.
When he unlatched himself from your neck this time, Spike had a feral look in his eye, allowing the thinning blood trail to simply trickle out rather than cleaning it like last time as he leant down to kiss you. His pace sped up once more as he created love bites around your collarbones, connecting the two puncture wounds. You were unravelling quickly, but so was he.
“Spike, cum in me.”
“Are you sure, love?”
“Certain.”
He paused quickly, amusement showing when you whined, as he readjusted the arm that had been supporting him to thread his fingers through your own. Spike’s thrusting then resumed, though now his rhythm over your clit was more controlled and deliberate as he tried to time your releases. He leaned more fully into you, allowing his weight to push him into you deeper. Your body seized, feeling weightless and alight all at once, pulling his head down to kiss at his jaw and around his mouth as you orgasmed for a second time.
Desperately, he used his whole weight to push him as far into you as he could on his final thrust as you clenched around him wildly. Spike came inside of you with a groan, holding himself up long enough to kiss the corner of your mouth and roll slightly to the side before becoming boneless on top of you.
After allowing you both a moment of reprieve, Spike pulled out, sitting back on his knees and began to push the cum back into you.
You were panting slightly, a combined sheen of sweat misting over the pair of you.
“You alright?”
“Mm.” You blinked slowly, stretching and then pulling yourself up to be eye level with him.
You kissed him again, this time with less urgency behind it. When you leant back you inspected his face. The kiss-swollen lips, the little remnants of eyeliner he had had on smudged slightly and his hair was sex mussed. Smiling somewhat sleepily now, you reached for the forgotten camera, pushing your head into the crook of his shoulder, to which he rested his cheek on top of your head, taking the camera from you to get a better angle with his longer arm, and took a photo of you both.
“You're a dream, pet.”
You hummed amicably before blurting “I need a shower.”
He chuckled at you, “I think that can be arranged. If:” he said, adding the condition, “If I can join you.”
“Deal.” You angled your head to kiss him once more and smiled when you heard the shutter sound off just before your lips connected.
Tags: No use of Y/N, gender neutral reader (afab body, one use of the word ‘princess’), slight injury, hurt/comfort. Mentions of Spike's past.
Word Count: 3k
Summary:
“Just your luck, the one person you didn’t want seeing your epic landing that you swear you could have brushed off and been a-ok in time to join the others to patrol.”
After Buffy arranges herself a rare night off, reader is determined to patrol when things go wrong.
A/N: Posted this a while ago on my Ao3, but since I just finished the second part, I figured I would finally transfer it here!
UGHHHH. Sometimes Spike can just be… such a pain in the ass. He was a stupid vamp with the stupid instant noodles hair and, his stupid voice and stupid cluelessness.
God, and he’s just so head over heels for Buffy and I hate the jealousy, but I’m right there. I know I’m not the slayer, but I like to think being her shadow has its perks! Well, perks besides always being around the slayer to see her get doted on by Spike and his stupid, pretty smile.
Whatever, D.D. I have to go. I will update you tomorrow.
You sighed, closing the notebook, holding your innermost thoughts and feelings before tucking it securely into its hiding spot. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your friends not to go through it; it was just that a certain vamp that held your affections had the tendency to peruse whatever handwritten book was at his disposal. Which, as annoying as it was, reminded you of the first time you felt feelings for him. While reminiscing sounded mighty appealing when the alternative was the cold, dark night just outside your window, you couldn’t hesitate. Tonight was all hands on deck for patrolling so Buffy could have a full night’s sleep for once, an idea you were fully behind. Sleep was so so nice, and she rarely got very much of it.
Looking once more at the area where your diary was, you turned back to the window and exited, but not before tripping on the ledge that you only seem to trip on when you absolutely do not need to trip on it (not that you ever do), landing not so gracefully into a bush… and maybe one of your neighbour’s garden sculptures, which to its credit, looks fine, if a little completely broken in half. You, on the other hand? That’s gonna leave a mark. Maybe. It should be fine.
Ok, so when you wrote “Slayer’s shadow”, there was an emphasis on the shadow. You didn’t have any of that mystical, cool and not-at-all painful landing juice in your veins. Fuck that hurt. Was your side wet, or were you just imagining things in your new dazed state?
“Did you just… fall out of that window?”
Just your luck, the one person you didn’t want seeing your epic landing that you swear you could have brushed off and been a-ok in time to join the others to patrol.
Before you could respond, you heard Spike call out to you, and the ground swirled around your feet. the little green blades of grass dancing and coming closer before a sudden stop as Spike caught you just before you fully collapsed.
“I’m fine.” Wow, did your knees hurt.
“I may be old, but I’m not senile pet.” He raised an eyebrow at you, and you rolled your eyes in response.
“Ok, well, maybe I’m not fine. So what?” You stood up, pushing yourself off of him and brushing stray grass off of you.
“I was going to come tell you that I spotted some folks of the unsavoury sort near my crypt, but I think we should get you patched up first.”
“Sounds good, but before that, I think I should have a lie-down.”
“You humans and your tenacity to cause yourselves bodily harm will never cease to amaz—”
Your body went limp in his arms, or so you were told. All you remembered was the surroundings disappearing as you suddenly felt it was simply Too Much to deal with and passing out.
Coming to was… not the best you’ve ever felt. Your head swam, and the light felt like someone was rubbing your eyes harshly, as though they were trying to stop you from being able to see the person above your face.
“Giles? She’s waking up now.”
“Huh? Wha time’sit?” Whose bathroom are you in right now? Why does it smell so familiar?
“Shhh, you seem to have done a number on yourself. This next part won’t be pleasant. I’ve managed to do most of the patching up already, certainly nothing I couldn’t handle, but there seems to be one spot that is uh, well. We figured you might want to choose who did it. Within reason, of course.” The older man spoke, without the adrenaline in your system, the dull ache on your ribs, hands and legs blossomed into a throbbing pain, which only rose as you listened.
“Hurts, Giles.”
“I know, I'm uh, sorry about that. The sooner you pick the sooner I can give you a good painkiller, alright?”
Tears threatened to roll down your cheek. Great. What was supposed to be the first time on the job, and you manage to fall out of your own window so badly that your clothes are probably ruined and you don’t even remember if the baddies you were supposed to stake were dust or if the others were totally mad at you or something.
“So, who should I call for?” Giles prompted gently. You groaned as you shifted your weight before answering,
“Uh. Spike. Send in Spike.” Despite your better judgement, he was the one you were most comfortable around out of everyone, Giles was great and all but his sordid youth was a memory to him, Spike seemed to understand what being your version of outcast was like.
“Right. Very well then. Spike? If you're not still eavesdropping by the door, they’ve requested you.”
“I was not eavesdropping.” Spike muttered as he entered.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, head lolling slightly as you saw the bleached blond peer his head in the doorway.
“So, what needs to happen Giles?” You asked with false confidence.
“Well, You have to lift your shirt a considerable amount, hence the waiting for you to wake up and what not, then Spike will clean the wound, do any stitches if he has to, and help you bandage.”
“All that and you haven’t even bought me dinner first,” Spike tsked, “it’s unbecoming.”
Giles fixed an unamused expression to the vampire, “Do you want me here for this?” he added, his soft gaze focusing on you, despite Spike's teasing.
“Uh, no, thank you, Giles. Just uh, just Spike.”
“I’ll be just outside if you need me.”
You nodded feebly in response, watching as he exited, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
“Right. Well. Take your top off.”
“Giles said I would just need to lift it.”
“Giles lied.” Spike emphasised.
You leaned back on the cold floor for a moment, thinking as he hovered above you.
“Help me?” You slowly sat up, attempting not to jostle yourself and lifting your arms so the black fabric could be pulled over them. The air was cool on your exposed skin, and the sports bra you had bought so that fighting was more manageable pulled the skin around the wound painfully taut. You must have landed on a particularly pointy gnome or something for your side to be so… open. Or maybe the fence post?
Good thing you weren’t of the blood-sucking persuasion like the man before you otherwise, Poof.
The vamp nodded, “That will have to come off too, I think, love. It’s pulling the skin, and we don't want it to stuff any possible stitches, now do we?”
Nodding distractedly, your heart skipped a beat. Both at the thrill of being called love (and admittedly, of being naked in front of Spike) and also the whole being naked in front of Spike thing was daunting, and the situation wasn’t exactly what you’d imagined.
Teeth worrying your lip for a moment before you looked at him in silent question before once more lifting your arms, it was clear he understood your desire for help.
“Now I’m taking off your clothes? If I didn’t know any better, I would think this was all an elaborate plan to get me to touch you.” Spike removed his duster, which you knew was just so he didn’t get any blood or chemicals on it, but it was nice to imagine he was doing it in solidarity.
“Shut up, Spike. Just fix me up so we can go. Please.” You averted your eyes, face heating up as you crossed your arms over in your chest in an attempt for body heat and dignity.
Spike raised his palms in surrender. “You’re the one that picked me, Princess.”
You stood carefully, before moving so that you were sitting next to the sink and spike moved to in between your legs, the height difference making it as though you were straddling him. Spike lifted a wipe that you knew was going to sting the tender flesh on your side, but you would rather a short moment of ouchy rather than running the risk of an infection.
“C- can you talk? Please?”
Spike glanced up from where he was focusing before looking back down and touching the wipe to your skin gentler than you thought he was capable of.
“Mmm? What about?”
You gasped from the mix of the cold wetness and the feeling of the sterilisation working, “Uhm. You? Just, ow, fuck, careful with that— just talk about you?” You paused before smiling weakly. “You seem to be good at that.”
Spike glanced up at you once again, unimpressed.
“Well… I suppose I could tell you of before I was sired.”
“Gross.” You made a face.
“Not in that way, idiot.”
“I knowwww, it’s called a joke. You should try it sometime.”
Spike paused his scrutiny of your injury for a moment to roll his eyes.
“Maybe I won’t tell you then.”
He began to clean the area closer to the wound, removing the albeit small amount of blood that had dried along your side.
“No! I’ll be good, I promise.” Readjusting slightly to give him better access as a demonstration.
“Hm. Ok. Well, as much of a surprise as I'm certain it is, I wasn’t always such a hit with the ladies.”
You stifled a giggle.
“There was one girl I was really into. Back in my human days, I wrote her a poem.”
“Oh, Spike, how sweet!”
“Yeah, well, you’d be the first to think so. My alias back in the day was ‘William the Bloody’, which sounds somewhat prophetic, I suppose.”
“But it wasn’t meant to be, was it?” You ask, disheartened.
You knew the answer. It had haunted you on the rare nights when restlessness crept in.
“No. It wasn’t.” He responded quietly. The sanitisation was done, and after deciding stitches probably weren’t necessary, he began preparing the dressing.
A solemn silence hung around the both of you, making the desire to fidget in discomfort increasingly strong.
“Spike?”
“Mm?”
“Can I be honest?”
The vamp stilled, looking up.
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”
“I… thought what you wrote for her was nice.”
“Oh? And how would you know what I wrote for her?”
Your eyes widened as you averted your eyes, warm cheeks sure to be obvious to the man who could probably hear your heart stuttering.
“I may have.” You glanced at him, bracing yourself against the cold surface you sat on. You couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a few seconds as you realised what you were about to reveal.
“I may have done some research. On you.”
Spike crooned, “Now, I stopped trying to kill the slayer a decent while before you came along. Why on earth did you do your homework?”
You still weren’t looking at him, and he gently pushed your jaw so that your eyes stared into his own.
“Come on, pet, you wanted to be honest.”
“I have all this time on my hands, so I… reviewed their old notes. And you're just… interesting.”
“Interesting? Hm? And this has nothing to do with the way your heart quickens and your blood thrums when you notice me, does it?”
Well, that confirms that. WHAT? Wait, where did that come from? Hello? HE DOESN’T KNOW, DOES HE? Is… was that real? Is this some gnome-induced blood loss or delirium? DOES HE KNOW WHAT HE’S TALKING ABOUT?
“What are you talking about?” You hesitate to ask.
“Oh, surely you knew I could tell?” He was teasing you again. He had to be.
“Tell… what?”
“Don’t act obtuse. I’m a vampire. I can tell when a heartbeat changes and most other things involving blood. It’s kind of what we do. But you already know that.” Spike’s face was nearly stern looking, but you could tell from the way his eyes were fixed upon your face it was a mask for his curiousity, and possibly something else.
Sighing, defeated, you at him and begin to explain.
“I— ok. Yes. It had— has something to do with that. Ok? You’re right. I wanted to know more about you, but it’s not like you have a police record that counts, anyway. Except maybe a deranged missing persons list.” You paused, catching a breath and correcting your line of thought. “I don’t know… I just. I wanted to know what you were like when you were human.”
He let you stew in your thoughts for a moment as he dressed the wound, pressing the material down softly, which caused you to let out a quiet hiss.
“And were you surprised? That the man you see today was once so… pathetic.”
Your eyes snapped back to his, gaze intense.
“William Pratt was not pathetic.” You were surprised to see shock colour his features, this was evidently not what he was used to hearing.
Had no one told him that he wasn’t an unwilling outcast in all his long years of life? Surely, at least Drusilla had let him know he was wanted in a way that wasn’t asking him to do things? Beyond… manipulating him in return.
“He was… naive and kind-hearted, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. At least not initially. And I think that’s brave, to share your affections so publicly, even though she rejected you. She didn’t deserve you. So no. I don’t think ‘William the bloody’ was pathetic, or a lonely loser, or any of that, and neither are you, Spike.”
The vamp was quiet, still processing your sudden liveliness and what you had revealed.
“You better believe it, Spike. I may have terrible common sense when it comes to self-preservation. At least in this instance. But I have pretty high standards for myself.”
“I never finished that poem. How did you find it?”
Oh. well, that was harder to explain. And you grew more awkward despite all that you had been previously vulnerable about.
“There are excerpts in the Watcher bo–”
“Lie.”
You rolled your eyes. “You aren’t the only one with… sticky fingers.”
Spike blinked before a mischievous grin crept upon his face.
“You stole it. From me?”
Cautiously, you nodded, uncertain if this mischief was going to be at your expense;
“You're the one who kept it.” You added defensively.
“My, what a strange one you are, pet. You can’t even successfully exit a window without needing to be patched up, and somehow, you manage to steal from a vampire? I’m almost proud. If you hadn’t stolen from me, maybe I would be.”
“Listen, Spike, uh. I’ll explain my grand heist the second I have some clothes on, ok. I need to move.”
Spike looked at you cheekily. “And what if I wanted to keep you like this? I rather fancy the view.”
You squeaked in response, face undoubtedly growing redder by the second as the man laughed at you.
“I’m only playing, about the keeping you this way bit, at least.”
“Spike!”
He tossed a smirk your way and then wordlessly looked down at the clothes you had been wearing. “Ah.”
Your sports crop? Pretty much fine, but you would rather be comfortable right now, so that wasn’t exactly an option. The shirt you had elected to wear was ruined, the fabric torn and with a patch of dried blood where that stupid statue elected to attack you.
He picked up the article of clothing and offered it to you with a raised brow. You didn’t want to wear it, but it wasn’t like you had any other options right now. Sensing your hesitation, Spike put it next to you rather than in the hand that was reaching for it.
“I’m about to make your night, poppet.”
“Huh?”
Spike ignored your question, electing to begin pulling off the black tee he was wearing instead.
“You ass.” you grumble, accepting the shirt and putting it on as you ignore your face heating up.
The fabric was soft in a way that can only be achieved by being worn in. Who knew how long he had had this shirt in particular, though.
You looked up from fiddling with the hem. The threads were loosening there, and saw hunger in Spike’s eyes. Typically, hunger would be concerning, considering you could be his next meal after all, but this hunger was… different. It was flattering, even,
“Spike?”
The man blinked and made an aborted shake of the head, clearing away the thoughts that evidently lingered. Covering this behaviour with his signature sly grin, he boxed you in between his arms, and if Giles were to walk in at this moment, he would view it as strikingly indecent.
“Nothing, love, just like seeing you in my clothes does something to a man.” He tilted his head to the side, examining you as you realised just how close you were to his now semi-nude frame.
You made sure to not be caught lingering on his torso despite him having confirmation that you liked him. Spike licked his lips, eyes glittering with mirth.
He leaned forward, and you sucked in a breath, your own eyes widening slightly in anticipation, and you watched his mouth twitch upwards.
He leaned closer, eyes boring into yours,
“You know… if I were alive, I’m sure we would share symptoms.”
“Pardon?”
His lips twitched again. He was trying not to grin. Spike was definitely enjoying playing with your mind but trying to keep it serious.
“I find you interesting too.” he parroted your words back, but you were still loading this information, he. He. Spike? He liked you, too? Oh good. Good. WHAT? Yes, that’s excellent. That really works out nicely for you. I'm sorry he what, now? He does what?
“Just to uh, double back.”
“Mmm?” he glanced at the door, listening to the others outside.
“You mean you like me, right? Like. Like like?”
The vamp looked back at you tiredly.
“Yes, pet. I like like you.” he hesitated momentarily, glancing at the door once more, before kissing your cheek and laughing breathlessly at your tiny squeak.
Spike withdrew, beginning to look around at what had to be cleaned up.
As Giles returned, your fingers grazed his cheek where he had just kissed you.
“Is everything alright, in there? I thought I heard somet—”
Giles frowned, blinking twice and looking between you and Spike.
“Spike, where’s your shirt?”
Spike waved a hand in your direction, picking up your tops and presenting them to the man, plainly answering, “Theirs was bad.”
