Ducks: Queen of Frickin' Everything

TITLE: Girls’ Night In
AUTHOR: Ducks, theantijoss
EMAIL: ducksfanfic@gmail.com
SITE: http://www.ducksfanfic.net
PROMPT: 100moods 007. Aroused
DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, oh, so many things would be different. *sigh* But alas, they’re not. They belong to a lot of corporate entities that don’t love them nearly as much as the fans do. No infringement is intended, nor is any profit made from this porny little ditty.
RATING: NC-17 for language and sexual content (includes both M/M and F/F slash and group sex)
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Faith/Buffy, Angel/Spike, Spike/Faith, Spike/Buffy/Faith, Angel/Spike/Buffy/Faith
TIMELINE/SPOILERS: Totally AU – no plot, no spoilers, no timeline. Absolutely no redeeming artistic or literary value whatsoever! Pure Porn!
SUMMARY: A chick flick. A vibrator. Some active voyeurism. Sort of sequel to “Nooner”.
DISTRIBUTION: Distribute freely, so long as you send me the address, and leave these tags intact.
FEEDBACK: `Tis the fuel for my fantasies. Okay, so, naked Angel is fuel for my fantasies, but I like feedback anyway. *G*
A/N: This story has been in the steam cooker for YEARS now, but I thought I would finally finish it in celebration of BRING BACK THE Pr0N DAY 2007! W00t! See if you can track the points of view. Shouldn't be too difficult.

This universe began back in 2001 -- Spike doesn't have a soul, Spuffy never happened, Angel is still Spike's Sire. That's all you really need to know.
DEDICATION: To all my favorite perverts over the years. You know who you are. ;)

All mistakes are mine -- my dirty betas are all gone to Dragon*con! *cries*

"Girls’ Night In"
by Ducks

~



You know, to hear Spike tell it, our relationship is like a non-stop porno movie – I make love with Angel, Angel has sex with Spike, Spike fucks Faith, Faith does me, and we spin around, day after day on this carousel of multiple-partner permutations of our family.

Well, that’s just not true. What we have is... unusual, sure. I mean, it's hard to count the amount of time and soul-searching it took me to get comfortable with it all. But the thing is, it’s just as much about love as lust. About family as well as sweat and bloodplay and hard, naked flesh... breasts and vaginas and penises and asses... small, hot hands or big, cool ones... a pierced tongue, two sets of fangs, and a collection of sex toys that would put a catalog to shame...

Um... what was I saying again? Oh! Right. Sex. It’s great sex – all of it, don’t get me wrong. But that’s not all we’re about. We share things... our lives, our fears, our dreams. We battle together. We care about each other. We laugh, and we cry, we fight and make love, and we share a complicated, intricate history. We share a home, a calling, hope for the future.

Okay, so sex is a lot of it. But still. Even with the small orgies we have every so often, or the various combinations of the four of us romping, there’s always a lot of heart and soul involved.

Except with Spike, obviously.

My point is, don’t let him convince you that all we do is lie around and give each other orgasms all the time. There’s a lot more going on in our home than Penthouse letters come to life.

We’re saving that until after the final apocalypse, when we all get to retire, be normal humans, and move to Fiji. After we put in the hot tub and the four-person shower, of course.

The underlying emotional truth of the matter out of the way, I can tell you the story of one of the more interesting nights we’ve shared since we’ve all been together in what Willow says is called a poly... ami...tronic... something or other. I forget the word.

Anyway, it wasn’t the first time Faith and I had spent time alone together, obviously... and I’m not even sure why it stands out so clearly in my memory, because every time we’re together -- making love or screwing each others’ brains out -- it is ALWAYS good. Slayer Sex? Is brain-melting. Seriously.

Not that I’ve done anything with any other kind of women... except that time with Cordy, and that was a long time ago, when both of us were single, and really drunk, and it was just that one time and... forget I even brought it up.

ANYway...

This night involved some of the best sex I’ve ever had, no exceptions. And considering two of my lovers’ combined years of experience add up to about four centuries, and that we’d all had a LOT of practice together since we’ve known each other, that’s *really* saying something.

It started off so innocently – Girls’ Night In. Faith and I rented chick flicks, since it was my turn to pick (all Faith ever wants to watch are action and kung fu movies. Boring.): Pretty Woman, Under the Tuscan Sun, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, and French Kiss -- the classics. We popped the obligatory popcorn, painted each others’ toenails (signature colors: me in pink and Faith in burgundy), drank all Angel’s expensive wine, and then collapsed together on the big couch to watch the videos before the guys got home from wherever they’d gone and started complaining about the selections.

Or rather, Spike would complain, and Angel would just look annoyed and insist that he wasn't.

Faith reclined against the arm of the couch, and I was leaning against her chest (better pillows you will *not* find at Bed, Bath and Beyond.) Her arm was around my shoulders, her fingers combing absently through my hair as she half-snoozed through Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson going at it in the bathroom, and I just as absently fondled her breast as I was completely entranced by it. The scene, not the breast. Not that that’s not awesome too.

I’m a big squishball, I’ll admit it. Faith says I’m the girliest girl who ever girled. Maybe it’s true. But “Love Story” makes her cry just as much as anybody else, so, take her whole "I'm so bad and tough and hardly a girl at all" routine with the correct amount of salt.

So there we are, all domestic and cozy, when suddenly it hits me.

I’m lying on the couch, draped over an incredible, funny, smart, sexy woman. I’m totally in love with her. I trust her with my life. A few years ago, I tried to kill her to save another one of my lovers... I almost lost her, which didn’t bother me maybe as much as it should have at the time, but now the idea rips me up inside.

God, like I’m not enough of a freak already! A bisexual Slayer who’s in love with two of her former arch-nemeses, one of whom is an evil, soulless vampire, and another lover who once lost his soul and murdered the lover of the man who’s practically her father, and...

“Stop it,” Faith interrupts.

I jump, having mostly forgotten she was there, and look up into her frown. “Stop what? I’m watching the movie.”

She sighs, hits pause on the remote, and dislodges me as she sits up. “You’re running that fucking morbid soap opera shit through your head again. I can hear you chewing the inside of your lip. The way you always do when you think too much.”

I let my mouth drop open in an indignance I know I’m in no position to feel... since she’s right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I was looking at Matthew McConaughey’s abs, thank you very much.”

“B? You’re great at a lot of things. The best at some. Lying? Isn’t one of them. You remain a suck liar, no matter how much me and Spike try to teach you.”

Faith says I pouted then, but I don’t remember that. I do remember saying, “I can so lie. I lie all the time.”

Yes, I’m 12. She always does that to me. But then she wipes my mind clean of all of it when her warm, rough hands frame my face, and she looks into my eyes with that little smirk that makes me want to chew *her* lips... all of them. God, she’s so hot.

“How many times have we said ‘The past is the past. The end.’ Four million? Five? Remember that first time we were together? We promised to let it all go. And here you are, doing your best Angel impression while Matt and Kate are about to get it on off-camera in the shower -- an idea I find pretty hot myself. How come?”

I have to look away from her. There’s something so brutal and sharp about Faith... I swear she guts me whenever she asks me questions like that, or reminds me of that night when we first went back to see Sunnydale Canyon, and the whole overwhelming emotion thing sort of had us naked and groping in the bushes...

Ooh. I just realized ‘gut’ might be a bad choice of words. The point is, she never has, and probably never will, let me hide anything from myself... or from her.

“It’s just... hard to imagine we used to be there, when I think about where we are now.”

“Why, ‘cause you used to be straight?” she teases.

Mostly to bring my eyes back to hers, which she does. “Shut up.”

“I’ll go you one better.” Her voice drops an octave, a decibel of volume until it’s less words and more a hot, smoky purr that makes every inch of my insides from heart to toes and everything in between, throb for her. “Since you’re not straight anymore, why don’t I mack you silly, and we can both do something more interesting with our mouths?”

I don’t even have time to smile in response before she pulls me in, and those soft, full lips slide over mine. The world dips and plunges as her tongue thrusts gently inside, her hands tangle in my hair, our breasts crush together as I wrap my arms around her. I hear myself moan like I’m on the other end of some long tunnel, and for what feels like forever, we just make love with our tongues and our mouths.

We made each other orgasm once just by kissing. No, I swear! Willow doesn’t believe me either.

By the time we separate, we’re both panting desperately. I think sometimes, having as much sex with vampires as we do, we forget that *we* actually have to breathe.

“Shit,” she gasps, and catches my eye. Suddenly, she stops panting... her eyes go dark, and if she were a vampire, I’d be baring my throat right about now. “You are so beautiful, B.” She reaches up to trace my jaw, then my lips, making me shiver with delight and total anticipation. “I never stop wanting you so bad it hurts. Just like I wanted you the first time I saw you. I tried not to, but...”

I silence her with another long, searing lip-lock, leaving her looking shell-shocked this time when we pull apart. “Faith? Weren’t we working on that whole ‘shutting up’ thing?” I remind her.

She cocks an eyebrow at me. “You love all that mushy love talk crap.”

I smile at her... and it isn’t a mushy love crap smile. “Not tonight. Tonight, I want...” I let my hungry eyes wander over her breasts, down her stomach, to the juncture of her tight thighs, where I know she’s shaved bare, and she’s got a tiny tattoo of a drop of blood on her right labia.

That look’s enough to tell her what I want.

Faith – badass, dominating, want-take-have Faith – blushes. “Shit, Buffy. Are you rollin’ on E or something?”

I shake my head and start crawling over her body, urging her backward to where she started out, leaning against the arm of the couch. “I don’t do drugs. You know that.”

She grins. “Then what’s the sudden bull-dyke routine about?”

“I want to have wild, hot, sticky, sweaty, screaming sex with you. What’s wrong with that?” God, it makes me so wet just saying it. I wonder briefly if it’s a full moon tonight, and has Oz ever bitten me?

“Nothing. Not a fucking thing,” she replies, and pulls me down on top of her.

Having sex with Faith is like being a teenager again. There’s all this grinding and hands everywhere and moaning... this out-of-control feeling like I’m on some really tiny boat, lost in a storm at sea, and I’m drowning in the sensations. The heat of her skin, the bittersweet taste of the lotion she used on her nipples that morning, the sound of her moaning my name, the feel of her hand slipping down inside my sweatpants.

“Yes,” I gasp into her flesh. “God, Faith... touch me.”

She pulls me up by the hair to fuse our lips once again. She nips, sucks, teases, kisses and does it all again, her strong, sure fingers slipping between my legs, finding my clit from long practiced habit and taking up that strong, slow, pulsing rhythm she knows makes me insane in seconds flat.

“I love touching you, baby. You’re so fucking wet,” she moans, and slips three fingers deep inside, pulling them out and over the raging center of my entire universe again. I thrust against her, so lost now that I’m not kissing her anymore, just gasping senselessly against her mouth as I feel that edge of everything come galloping toward me.

“Uh! Faith! God... that’s so good... don’t... don’t stop... please don’t stop...”

“No, Buffy. I won’t stop. Come for me. Come all over me.”

She pushes me back against the couch, and with her free hand somehow manages to yank my sweats down without ever losing contact with my throbbing, aching, burning, pulsing, pounding body.

“Faith!”

“Yes, lover. God, you’re so hot. I love fucking you.” She straddles me, and barely losing a beat, slides down my body, replacing her hand with her mouth. She sucks my clit, flicks her tongue over it hard and fast... in circles and figure eight’s and butterfly wings and all five of her fingers slam inside, stretching me, ripping me wide open, and she licks and nips and sucks, and gah!

She says I screamed at the top of my lungs, and arched my back so hard I flung her off the couch when I came. Spike says we rolled off together and kept right on going like it was all part of the plan. Angel just gets this little half-smile on his face and doesn’t say anything one way or the other.

Peeping vampires. Totally undignified.

~

Fuck dignified. It’s not my bloody fault the two a them decided to go at it right in front of the damn picture window in the back room, is it? No, it’s damn well not. And it’s also not my fault that they’re so damn horny that they can’t keep their hands off each other long enough to look at a fucking clock and realize that it’s about midnight, right the fucking time me and the Sire said we’d be home.

So what’s a bloke supposed to do? He steps up on the back porch, looks in the window, expecting to see drunk birds in fluffy bathrobes sipping pink champagne and giggling or whateverthefuck... instead he sees two hot broads, one stripped naked, on her back, screaming and swearing like somebody’s torturing her to death, and the other one with her face buried between the first one’s legs, her hand shoved so far up her twat she’s probably never gonna get it back again...

He watches, that’s what he does. Come on, now. What’re you, thick?

For a minute, I was afraid I’d missed the whole show, because Buffy’s obviously coming as they slam onto the floor together, all long, soft limbs and curves and lips and asses. But then I notice that Faithy’s still got all her stitches on, and Buff’s not going to let her poor sister Slayer go orgasm-less. She’s a goody-goody like that, which I know for a fact Faith doesn’t mind one damn bit.

“She fucks like a minx, man,” Faith told me once, way back at the beginning. “She looks all innocent and sweet and shit, but she eats pussy like nobody’s business. You should watch sometime.”

I love that woman. And I’ve watched it plenty. Angel has too. But never when they didn’t know we were there... that I know of. Like he’d fucking tell me with his, “A Gentleman never tells” honorable bullshit. He’s fucking two Slayers and his vampire offspring. Where’s the honor in that?

Anyhow, I duck back into the shadows, where I can see them on the floor just fine, but unless they get up and walk over, they ain’t gonna see me.

And considering Buffy reached into the Girl Tool Box or whatever that thing is she keeps her makeup in and pulled out a big-ass silver vibrator right then, I’m thinking no one’s getting up for a while.

‘Cept me. I unzip my fly, set Little Will loose, give him a couple of good, hearty strokes, and refuse to think how often I masturbate while watching other people fuck.

I hear the vibrator start humming as Buffy fires her up and gives Faith a wicked fucking grin as she says, “Your turn.”

Yeah. Oh fucking yeah. I stroke Willy a little harder and thank all the Gods in all the fucking pantheons that I turned down that last hand of poker.

I was out of kittens anyway.

Faith laughs and spreads her legs. “Give it to me, baby.”

I think I fucking giggled, I was so happy. Buffy stops and looks toward me, and I have to slam myself against the wall so she won’t see my shadow.

“Did you hear that?”

“No, now please... could you fuck me before I explode?”

This time, Buffy laughs, and then there’s some moaning and smooching noises that I take as my cue that we’re back in action.

Damnit, how come I never have my camera – okay, Angel’s camera – when it would really come in handy?

I quickly move to the other side of the window, and find the view even better there. I spit on my hand and start stroking again, just in time to get a perfect view of Buffy slipping her tit into Faith’s waiting mouth, and that pretty silver vibrator into Faith’s eager pussy.

Did you know she’s got a *tattoo* on one of her lips? Seriously. Some biker chick gave it to her in prison. Along with a few other things she told me about in detail one night while she beat me off. It was all very nice and intimate. Like story time. On Skinemax.

So bzzzzz goes the vibrator, moan goes Faith, and mmmm goes Buffy, and thwack-thwack-thwack goes my hand on my meat, and we’re all sailing to fucking Heaven when I hear...

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Son of a bitch!

I let go of Willy, slap my hand over his big fucking gob. “Shh! Look and you’ll see what the fuck I’m doing,” I hiss at the moron.

Believe me when I tell you, these kinky broads don’t give a shit if we watch. Hell, one time, I sat right in the kitchen while Buffy and Angel went at it. Not only didn’t they care, I got fucked right into next week for my trouble.

Heroes they may be. Innocent and sweet? Not even bloody close.

He’s completely still as he realizes what’s going on, and oh! What a surprise! He’s not bitching anymore. Hm. Funny, that.

“Now shut up and let me get back to whacking off. You’re welcome to join me if you like,” I say, and hand him one of the handy-dandy packets of KY I keep in my coat pocket for just such spontaneous occasions. While he’s staring at it like it’s gonna hatch baby dragons or something, I turn back to my own personal porno flick.

Buffy’s been busy, damn it. Faith is writhing around on the floor with her legs splayed wide open, and Buffy’s on her tummy between, slipping that shiny vibe in and out, over Faith's clit, down and into her ass, then doing it all again.

Oh, mamma. I get a good grip on the Old Boy and beat him like he’s been skipping school. When that dark Slayer comes, I’m gonna be right there with her, spurting all over Angel’s nice clean picture window.

I hear his zipper come down, and if I wasn’t too busy trying not to make noise, I’d laugh in his face. Ponce. Thinks he’s better than everybody else, but he chokes his chicken just like the rest of the male race does.

Again I ask, what else is a man to do when faced with this in his own home?

“OH FUCK BUFFY YEAH! YEAH! YEAH, B! FUCKIN AUGH!”

Faith screams and cusses like a guy when she comes. I love that woman. She bows right up off the floor, and Buffy fucks her hard with that vibrator until she comes down again. I’m just about to blow my wad, when Faith says,

“I wanna go again.”

Shit. I manage to hold off, but just barely, and Willy’s jerking and pulsing in protest. Angel sighs like this is the happiest moment of his life.

Good thing we got that whole stupid curse thing taken care of.

Buffy laughs as Faith sits up, and they start sucking face, slow, deep and wet, hands wandering, memorizing inch by inch. Caressing and stroking backs and shoulders, cupping breasts, pinching and twisting nipples, smoothing over tummies until they reach that destination of destinations... hot and wet and throbbing like a jungle, musky and beckoning with magick. Women are made to fuck each other...their hands and mouths and fingers and tongues are just the right size for pleasure. The Slayers rise up to their knees, stroking each other’s cunts in perfect time, like synchronized lesbians.

I feel Angel press up behind me, his humungous, rigid cock nestling up against the base of my spine, his hand on the back of my neck, urging me to bend forward.

He knows he doesn’t need to ask. There’s only four things in the universe I’d never turn down: a cigarette, a drink, a blowjob, and Angelus’ dick up my ass. I bend and spread like a good boy, once again taking a chokehold on Little Will to keep us all in synch.

Christ, it’s a good thing I’m 100 some odd years old. Any less than that, and the combination of what’s been happening with what’s about to happen would have me spurtin’ all over the place like a damn teenybopper virgin.

He greases himself up with a soft moan, then does the one...two...three sopping wet fingers inside me thing so I’m good and wet too (and still closer than ever to coming), and then...

Jesus fuck, and then...bloody ecstasy is what. The fat head of his wang pops that first inch inside the tight ring of my arse, and there’s that old familiar wrench and sting. We hiss together, and then he thrusts, long, hard and deep, with a grunt that makes my Johnny jerk in my hand.

“Fuck, Angelus,” I moan. I can’t help myself. He remains the best damn shag in any known dimension, and I’ve had more than my share.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch... our girls are making those girly sex sounds they tend to make when they’re together, stroking and fingering and Frenching each other, rubbing their nips together, thrusting up and down on each other like there’s a cock beneath each of them.

Note to self: try this scene with me and Angel in it later.

Ugh. Then there are no more notes. Buffy throws her head back and starts chanting, and Faith pulls her in to suck hard on her tits as she increases her pace on Buffy’s clit. Angel slaps one hand on the wall beside mine to brace his weight, clamps the other on my hip for leverage, and starts railing my ass like the world is coming to an end.

Which, I suppose, it is, because Buffy starts the chorus, and once she starts, you know it’s just a matter of time for everybody else.

“FAITH! YES! BABY, I’M GONNA COME! GOD, I’M GONNA COME! SO HARD! SO HARD! OOHHHHH!!!!”

“Yeah, oh fuck yeah, B. Go baby. I’m with you. Go!” Faith encourages, using her free hand to guide Buffy’s on her snatch as Buffy loses control.

Angel starts grunting in time with his thrusts, then growls, “I’ve dreamed this a thousand times. Fucking your tight ass while we watch them,” in my ear.

And then I’m hearing nothing but the blood roaring in my head, ‘cause I start coming like a fucking megaton nuclear explosion, hollering for all I’m fucking worth. A microsecond later, Angel’s bellowing right along with me, shooting his load deep in my ass even as mine splatters against the window.

Fuck. Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about, brother.

~

You know, B’s a better Slayer than I’ll ever be. I’m face down on the rug, every inch of me throbbing and shivering from that mind blowing couple of orgasms, and she gets up, puts on her tee shirt, and marches straight to the patio doors for no reason that I can figure until she says,

“You guys might as well come in. The whole neighborhood... and possibly most of California...already knows you’re out there.”

I manage to glance up, and see two pair of really embarrassed vamp feet scoot in the door with their pants around their ankles.

My boys sure know how to entertain themselves. I bet it would have been hot to see, them fucking while they watch us fuck.

We should be making porn, man. Not that Mr. & Mrs. Goody Frikkin’ Two Shoes would be down with that. They won’t even let us tape ourselves for fun, because they’re sure me and Spike would be on the next bus to LA to sell it.

Which, of course, we would. ‘Cause damn, have you seen us? We’re fucking *hot*. We’d make a mint.

“What are you doing?” B asks them.

I force myself up onto the couch and reach for a cig, give them both a long, slow once over. “I think that’s pretty obvious, B.”

She shoots me a look, her arms all crossed over her chest with dignity intact like we weren’t just scroggin' on the living room floor while our fuckbunnies watched us through the window, then turns back to the lecture.

“Well?”

Angel has the good sense to look ashamed, at least, but old Bill, having less of a survival instinct, snorts in her face.

“You can’t be too damn modest, Slayer, you were fucking right in front of the bloody *picture* window. You know why they call it a *picture* window? ‘Cause you can see the whole fucking *view* through it. Christ!”

“We should have left when we realized what was going on,” Angel apologizes. “I’m sorry we intruded.”

“No, fuck that bullocks!” Spike yelps, “This is our fucking house too, and it’s the exact fucking time we said we’d be home! If I want to stand out on my own damn back porch and watch my own damn lovers going at it, I damn well will!”

I gotta laugh. Love that evil bastard.

Buffy really doesn’t. She scowls so hard, I think her face is gonna break off.

“B, what are you gettin’ so bent about?” I ask, getting up. And I can’t help but be a little turned on to feel Angel and Spike’s eyes tracking my naked body as I walk over to them. “It’s not exactly the first time they’ve seen--”

“That’s not the point!” she interrupts, pointing at me, then them again as she starts to rant. “We were sharing a *private* moment. You remember those, right? When only TWO of us are together at a time and the others AREN’T watching or joining in? We used to have those, remember?”

Spike and I blink in confusion. Angel frowns.

“Buffy,” he says softly. Does he really get what’s going on, or is he just playing peacekeeper like he always does? “Just calm--"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" she cries, turning away and starting to pace up and down the living room floor. "I'm sick of you guys telling me to calm down! Or stop being upset! Or stop thinking too much! I mean, look at us!"

I do. I'm naked, back lying on the couch, smoking a butt. Buffy's wearing nothing but a tee shirt that really doesn't over much of anything, and Spike and Angel are still standing in the middle of the living room with their pants around their ankles. I notice, and not for the first time, that there is no underwear tucked inside Spike's pants. Angel wears sexy black Calvin's that cling to his big, yummy thighs.

And like my thoughts remind him they're there, Angel bends over and pulls them up, but steps out of his pants, slinging his long coat off and onto a chair in one smooth motion. Spike... takes off all his clothes and lets them land on the floor behind him, then makes his way over to sit beside me on the couch with a leer at my body and a snatch at my cig.

Angel, meanwhile, approaches Buffy slowly, like she's a wounded animal that might bite him if he's not careful. Which she just might, if the game goes his way.

Because that's what this is. A game. Buffy's game so that she never really has to believe that any of this twisted fairy tale we live is real. She's not comfortable with the family we've set up. She's not comfortable having three different lovers, or that those lovers each have three different lovers too. She's not comfortable with the idea of sleeping with another woman. The emotions, she doesn't seem to mind. But the porn-style fucking freaks her right the hell out. And she doesn't want to hurt our feelings (or bore Spike) by actually talking to us about it, so every once in a while she just melts down and questions everything. Once she even left to go stay with Dawn for a few days in Arizona or wherever she is now.

But she always cools down. And when she does, it's worth it. Things are good again for a while after that. Real good. Hey, it's cheaper than therapy, less boring than a long, sappy heart-to-heart, and always leads to mind-blowing make-up sex. So it's all good.

Angel, on the other hand, hates it when she gets like this. It hits all his chivalrous-white-knight- good-guy buttons, and if there's anything Angel can't resist, it's playing drama games with Buffy. He finally stops her, turns her to face him, and his expression is overwrought.

They start talking in low tones, her bitching about how twisted all of this is, him asking why she thinks that, and after me and Spike watch for about thirty seconds, we're bored.

He turns to me with a grin on his face that tells me I'm not going to be bored much longer.

"That was hot," he says. "Watchin' you two. I never get tired of that."

Relief spreads through me right along with the heat his look, his words, generate. Spike is my boy. He knows me. He knows what I like, what I need, and he has the same complete lack of appreciation for the romantic drama BS Buffy and Angel love so damn much. We like to drink, we like to fight, we like to fuck. End of story. It's not that I don't love Buffy or Big A, but if we were ever gonna break up this wild group thing we've got going and pair off? I'm taking Spike. I'd strangle Buffy in a about a week, and Angel would have me in therapy faster than you can say "batshit."

"Oh yeah?" I say, "Then you're gonna love this."

He's like some beautiful statue carved out of alabaster, pale and perfect, cut and hard, covered in cool skin so soft to the touch. He shivers as I trail my fingers down his chest, circle each pink nipple until it's rock hard, then make my way down over his abs -- god, those abs -- and finally...

"Oh, Christ," he hisses as I take hold of his cock. It's the prettiest one I've ever seen, I swear. A smooth, perfect ivory one that curves just enough so that the tip almost brushes his stomach... or my g-spot, when we're fucking. Before I started boning Angel and Spike, I hadn't seen an uncut guy before, and now I can't imagine having anything else inside me. His hand wraps around mine and sets the long, smooth pace with the tight grip he likes as I take possession of his mouth. He tastes like Altoids with just a hint of whiskey and cigarettes underneath. Just his smell makes me fucking hot -- leather and cool skin, smoke and the faint undertone of that hair bleach he uses. I wander downward, start biting on the big vein in his neck, and he groans some more for me, thrusting that awesome dick into my grip.

Sometimes I love to just watch while I get Spike off... or while somebody else does. He's all sleek and hard, but totally alive when you touch him. Head thrown back, mouth open, entire body writhing and twisting, fucking my hand. The friction makes things get dry fast, so I bend down and suck on the head of his dick, swirling my tongue around the ridge and get him slick with saliva before licking my way back up his chest to his jaw again, and then his mouth. We fuck with our tongues and lips as much as anything else, and mimic the motion of his cock in our entwined fists to the point that it's so fucking hot, I'm humping the shit out of his leg.

I need more than this. But before I can swing my leg over and get that rod inside me, I look over, realizing that the living room's gone all quiet suddenly, and see that Buffy and Angel have finished their scene of romantic woe or whatever, and B has stepped closer to the couch, watching me and Spike go at it, flushed and obviously turned on. Spike must notice that the attention to him has faded a little, because he opens those blue eyes to look at me, and noticing where my gaze has fallen, then turns to Buffy. Her eyes are nailed to Spike's cock, which twitches and pulses in our hands as if it thinks we've forgotten about it, too.

"Come here, luv," Spike urges, a low growl that sounds more animal than man -- and ain't that the way we like it, B and me?

It's like he's got her on a string, she looks all dazed and only slightly in control of her own actions as she comes closer, takes the hand he offers her. Spike lets go of his dick, but gestures for me to keep a grip on it as Buffy approaches the couch and stares down at us.

I get where he's going with this. The best way to distract Buffy Summers from angst... is fucking a hot vampire or two.

The other one'll be joining us shortly -- bet.

In the mean time, Buffy climbs on to the couch, kneeling beside Spike, but only for a moment. He holds her steady as she swings one leg over to straddle him, which is where I come in. As she hovers above the head of Spike's cock, I use my own free hand to pull her in for a long, deep, sloppy kiss, nibbling on her mouth and sucking her tongue as I caress her slit with Spike's hard-on. Buffy moans deep into my throat, and clutches my hair like she'll die if this kiss ever ends. At the same time, she's trying to sink down on the cock just teasing her pussy lips, but Spike keeps urging her up again, holding one arm in his hand while the other circles her clit down below.

Buffy whimpers. Fuckin' A, I love that sound, and it's so hard to get out of her. It usually takes two of us to make her that desperate.

"Yeah. That's it, baby," Spike encourages her, watching as Buffy and I use his body on her like a sex toy. "Do you want it, Slayer?"

I pull away to let her answer. Her eyes fly open, wide and wild. "Yes! God, yes! I want it!"

I stroke Spike's dick, sliding it into position so one good thrust will drill him deep inside her. "What do you want, Buffy? You gotta tell us."

She tries to impale herself on Spike again, but he once again pulls her away. "Cock! Please, I need the cock!" she cries.

Angel makes a noise like somebody's strangling him, and I realize that he's about ready to enter the game as I hear him move closer.

"Where do you want it, Buffy?" he says, so low and quiet, I can barely hear him over the noises Buffy's making. He's standing behind us now, one big hand stroking a comforting line up and down Buffy's arched back, teasing the cleft of her butt cheeks with a fingertip. "Where do you want Spike's cock?"

"Inside me!" she shouts without hesitation.

I slip Spike's head to her ass and tease the tight hole there. "Inside your ass, B?"

She mewls and pushes against it, obviously considering this interesting alternative for a split second before she figures out what we're really after. "In my cunt. Please. I want Spike's cock in my pussy!"

Me and Spike've been working hard all these years at teaching Buffy to talk dirty. She's getting better at it too. To reward her, I slip Spike back to her entrance, and Spike and Angel together push her gently down on it. She moans as he's seated to the hilt, and then arches backward until she's leaning almost her full weight against Angel's chest. He takes hold of her breasts and teases the nipples, while Spike and I urge her to ride. She tries to fuck him hard and fast, but we keep control, keep it slow and torturous.

Buffy chants, "Please. Please. Please. Please. Please," under her frantic breath. Angel rubs his own raging hard-on up and down in the cleft between Buffy's shoulders, and I reach beneath Buffy to caress her clit as she slowly fucks Spike. Gradually, he increases the pace, the tips of his fingers digging into Buffy's hips as he slams her down a little harder, a little faster with every rise and fall. Pretty soon he's grunting right along with her chanting, which has slid into animal incoherence, and if somebody doesn't fuck me soon, I'm gonna explode!

I swear when it comes to fucking, we can all read each other's minds, because the next thing I know, Spike is on his back on the floor, and Buffy has taken up that same wild pace on top of him that she'd been doing on the couch. A split second later, Angel is on his back beside them, pulling me down on top of him, and I don’t waste any time before I saddle up myself. Angel's cock is long and fat and straight, and stretches me to the breaking point before he can drive it all the way in -- which is just the way I need it right now, thank you very much. I like more than a little pain with my pleasure, and Angel is secretly the same way. Or at least, it seems to be a secret to B, anyway. Me and Spike know damn well that the way to make the Big A shoot like a fucking rocket is to bite or claw until the skin breaks and the scent of blood fills the air, or jam something in his ass with barely any lube, or have Spike half tear out his throat and drink him until Angel collapses from blood loss.

Oh, fuck, thinking about that makes me hot. I dig my nails into Angel's pecks as he turns to mack on Spike for a while, and watching their tongues tangle makes me ride Angel harder than ever. Apparently it works for B too, because she starts with the chanting again -- only now it's, "Oh my god, Oh, god, oh god, oh god..." which is a sure sign she's about at the end. And Spike, as usual, is right behind her with his assortment of shouted curses. Angel pulls me down to devour my mouth, clinging to me like we're about to fall off the face of the Earth just as his hand slips between us to slick over my clit in time with his hammering thrusts.

Oh, motherfucking shit. Fuck! Oh, YES, FUCK!

~

I don't know if the others feel it, but we raise incredible power when we all make love together. These two amazing, fierce, beautiful Slayers and the blood of my blood. I don't know what it is, but if we could get someone more adept in magick here while we were together... who knows what we might accomplish?

I'm not thinking about that in the moment though. In fact, I'm not thinking anything at all as Faith bows upward and backward as she orgasms, squeezing me so tightly with Slayer-strong inner muscles that I'd be afraid for my penis if it didn't feel so damn good. It's only a moment later that I take a last glance at Buffy and Spike as they continue to explode in one another's arms, and then I'm gone in a blaze of pure white light and ecstasy that makes me scream incoherently into the night.

I would never admit it to anyone -- except maybe Buffy -- but my favorite part is post-coital, when we're all boneless and replete, a tumble of blissful limbs all tossed randomly around like a big pile of puppies. My head on Spike's shoulder, Faith's on my chest, Buffy's on Faith's stomach. We all just... fit together like this, so naturally. I only wish that Buffy could see us from a distance, how beautiful and loving it all is, the family we've created here together. I wish she could get past the very irrelevant mores of a world that doesn't claim any of us anyway, and realize that what we share is exactly what we need with our lives, in our world, in this place and time.

I guess that's something we'll just have to keep working on. Together.