Incentive
by JT Langdon
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. I just took them out for a little
spin and made them do naughty things.
Dedication: This one is for FC...
Looking at the living room makes me think I should be teaching the wannabes how to clean up after themselves instead of how to dust vamps. Jesus. What a fucking mess. These peeps live like animals. There are pizza boxes everywhere, nibbled-on bits of petrified crust mounded in the center of each one. Are these chicks on the Atkins diet or something? There are corn chips on the floor and under the sofa, pulverized bits of them like a patina of dust on the coffee table. Then there's the wall of Diet Coke cans, as wide as it is high, a monument to potential-slayer ingenuity. Can't throw a punch worth shit but they can make forts out of empty soda cans. Nice to know who stands between evil and the end of the world. Prison was a lot of horrible things, but at least it was clean. Now I feel like I'm living in the Delta House.
I walk around with my Hefty cinch-sack like a burglar on the prowl and just start throwing stuff in, the half-eaten food, the potato chip bags, the crumpled-up pieces of notebook paper, the still-damp wads of used Kleenex. Fuck that whole First Evil shit. We're gonna be taken out by Hepatitis. Slobs.
Just getting the garbage picked up is an improvement, making the living room more Home & Garden and less Today's Biker. I demolish the aluminum wall one can at a time, tossing them into the blue plastic bag we gotta use for recyclables, then look around again. Not too bad. Almost livable. Still smells like stale ass, though. I'd burn some incense but with Red all Magicks Anonymous now we aren't allowed to have any in the house. I'd really like to vacuum, go nuts with the Arm & Hammer spring breeze carpet cleaner, but with everyone in bed that'll just have to wait until tomorrow. I made a dent, at least. That should could for something.
When the garbage is out, the lights are off, and I've triple-checked all the doors to make sure they're locked, I finally head up to bed. Buffy is just starting to turn down the covers when I walk in. The sight of her makes the breath catch in my throat. My heart beats a little faster, and I have to wipe now-sweaty palms on my jeans. Damn. B just never stops getting to me. Twenty years from now, if we're alive, and still together, I know she will still be able to make my pulse quicken. It just ain't right that anyone can have that kind of power over me, but she does, and she knows it, and that makes it all the more maddening. She's already in her pajamas, the Mighty Mouse ones, and from the way they stick to her body she must have just got out of the shower. That's promising. She always cleans up first. But why bother with the jammies? Damn, B.
Quit with the mixed signals, will ya? She looks up at me and smiles as she gets into bed, a smile that melts me like butter on bread just out of the oven.
"Get the lights, will ya, hon?" she says to me over her shoulder.
I lock the door, hit the lights, then strip down to bare skin and crawl into bed with Buffy. Our bed. Hers and mine. Still seems weird, yet it feels so right. For a while I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, mellowing in the stillness of our bedroom, listening to the sound of her breathing next to me, enjoying the warmth of her body so close to mine. Then I roll onto my side, shifting under the covers, walking my fingers playfully along her hip.
"You awake?"
"Uh huh."
I can hear the smile in her voice, can feel it like a presence in the room. "So, do you wanna?"
"Did you pick up downstairs?"
"As much as I could, yeah."
"Take the garbage out?"
"Yeah, B."
Buffy rolls over to face me. I can just make out the shape of her mouth in the darkness, her lips parted slightly, like she's breathing hard. She reaches out to me, runs her fingers through my hair, slowly pulls me to her, pulls my mouth down to hers. The kiss ignites a blaze inside me. Before B I really didn't know what passion was, that it could burn so hot and last so long. What I used to call fire was just the tiniest spark compared to what I have with B. Her lips are fierce against mine, starved, ravenous, like she can't get enough of me. I moan into the kiss, flicking my tongue over hers, sliding my hand up her thigh to grab a breast, squeezing it not-that-gently. Buffy groans against my lips, her body moving like an engine revving up, the shuffle of her flannel jammies against the sheets making my heart beat faster still. She gets a hand between my legs and strokes damp flesh, teasing my pussy until I am whimpering pitifully under her touch.
Damn it, B! Don't toy with me!
But she doesn't stop . . . and neither do the kisses, long, deep breathless kisses that keep me from making too much noise and waking the whole damned house. I arch my back, catlike, moving against her, humping Buffy's hand in a frenzy. She knows what I want, what I need, but I underscore the point, thrusting my hips at her like some panhandler shaking a tin cup in her face asking for spare change, please, please, put something in there! B slides her fingers into me, three at least, filling me in a single deep thrust. I groan against her lips, eyes squeezed shut, near tears as Buffy fucks me, pumps her fingers in and out of me at a frantic pace, her thumb expertly placed so it bumps my clit every time she plunges into my cunt. Only B can do this to me, reduce me to a blubbering mass of want. No one else could, and I'd never -never- let anyone else see me like this. I cling to her shoulders, holding on tight as she pounds into me, harder, faster, working my pussy, driving me to the brink of climax like a bullet train. I want to make it last, hold out, but I have no control over my own pussy. Damn. Her fingers move like pistons, unflagging, faster, faster, harder, deeper, until the heat rises up from my toes and my insides clench like a fist then I come, bucking against her hand, moaning into lips that never stop kissing me, my gut a tight knot coming unraveled.
We are like that for a while, unmoving, me panting for breath, her with her fingers nestled between slick folds. When I finally open my eyes she is gazing at me, her face a mask of longing and desire and affection all rolled into one. I lean into kiss her, pushing her flat on the bed, getting on top of her. She lets me have my way with her. As our lips meet I start to unbutton her pajama top, wishing I could just rip it off her. But money is too damn tight for me to go tearing her jammies to shreds. So I fumble with each button until I get her top open then slip my hand inside, cupping bare flesh, dragging my thumb over her nipple. Buffy moans and arches her back, pushing more of her breast into my hand. I stroke her nipple with my thumb, delighting in the feel of it stiffening under my touch, and when the plump little nub is a rock-hard peak I inch lower and take it into my mouth, sucking it, stroking it off with my lips, flicking it with my tongue, grazing it lightly with my teeth, anything and everything to give her pleasure. Buffy sighs, writhing underneath me as I hungrily move from one luscious breast to the other, kissing them, nibbling on them. Impatient fingers comb through my hair, pushing me down, urging me lower, wordlessly begging me to hurry up and eat her. I'm getting there, B. Not to worry.
I drag my mouth from her breast down her smooth, flat tummy, sloppily kissing my way lower until I reach the waistband of her pajamas. While I kiss her belly I hook my fingers under the elastic and slowly pull them down but not off, just far enough out of the way that I can get at her pussy. She smells of soap and water and woman, the smell of Buffy when she washes up before sex. Her scent makes my nostrils flare, like a bull on a rampage. I dip my head between her legs and press my mouth to her pussy, sucking her damp flesh, kissing her netherlips, savoring that taste of her. Buffy cries out softly, clawing at the bed, grabbing fistfuls of sheet as I go down on her. I drag my tongue up and down the length of her slit then delve inside, lapping at her meaty folds, the taste of pepper and cinnamon in my mouth, on my lips, around my tongue. She lifts her hips to meet me, practically grinding her cunt into my face. I push her back down on the bed and turn my attentions to her clit, zeroing in on the hard little pebble and lashing it with my tongue until Buffy is heaving off the bed with a grunt more animal than human, her folds spasming against my cheeks.
When the last tremors of orgasm have rumbled through her I lift my head from between my legs and look at her, smacking my lips crudely. She giggles and tries to pull up her pajama bottoms. But I don't let her. She squeals like a trapped piglet, halfheartedly starts to roll away. I scramble behind her, gathering her in my arms, pulling her onto all fours. Her ass is a perfect globe split right down the middle, so lovely and inviting right there in front of me. I run my hands over her hard, smooth rump and swallow hard, trembling, my voice like gravel when I am finally able to speak.
"Can I, B?"
Buffy looks at me over her shoulder. "Did you put the recyclables down by the curb?"
"Yeah."
Her eyes narrow, her lips curving into a doubtful scowl. "Did you really? Or did you just set them out by the door thinking you could get up early and put them out before pick up?"
"I put them by the curb. Honest."
"Hmmmm."
I don't realize I am holding my breath until she smiles at me then drops her head, golden tresses spilling down her shoulders like waterfall as she pushes back against me, giving me permission. My breath comes out in a long, deep sigh. I lean over and press my lips to the small of her back, making my way lower until I reach the little dimple where the crack of her ass begins. I lick her there, soft, teasing licks with the tip of my tongue. Buffy moans softly. With both hands on her butt I push her open, exposing the tight dark ring within. So beautiful. I slowly drag my tongue down her crack, circling her asshole with the very tip of my tongue, tracing the shape of it. She moans again, a little louder now, thrusting her ass back at me. I flick my tongue over wrinkled brown flesh, teasing her and priming her at the same time, making her tight hole glisten with my spittle. Buffy gasps and sighs with each touch, rocking on her hands and knees, letting me know how bad she wants it. I spread her cheeks even more, getting my face right in the thick of it, pressing my tongue into her, easing inside.
"Ohhhhh . . . Faith," Buffy sighs. "Yes . . . yesssssss."
I push in and out of her, fucking her ass with my tongue, thrusting deeper and deeper, as far as I can, until I am up to my ears in her cute little rear end. She pushes back to meet each thrust of my tongue, the bed squeaking under us, neither of us caring anymore about how much noise we make. I bob my head behind her, thrusting into her again and again, swirling my tongue inside her asshole. She makes an anguished, almost wounded sound, and I nearly cream myself right there. Keeping one hand on her ass for support, I slip my other hand between my legs and stroke myself the way I know Buffy is stroking herself, the two of us fingering our clits while I tongue her asshole. My cries and whimpers are tiny, muffled sounds but Buffy's are loud and clear, deep moans from low in her throat as we both near the edge. I'm so close . . . so fucking close . . . oh shit, B, please don't go without me . . . fuck . . . yes . . . just another minute . . . and then I come, hard, thighs quivering, my tongue wrenched up Buffy's asshole. Her strangulated cry fills the room and I know she is there, too, coming for me . . . with me.
We are still breathing hard when we curl up under the covers and snuggle together. I spoon against her back, loving the feel of her flannel jammies against my bare skin, finally realizing that's why she put them on in the first place. B is so good to me.
"By the way, the gutters need to be cleaned," Buffy tells me sleepily. "Can you do that tomorrow?"
I nuzzle the back of her neck and whisper, softly, "Yes."