Scent Of The Slayer
By Maquis Leader
Rating NC17
Author’s note: Before Surprise
She smells good. Sweet and pure, just a hint of the vanilla she’s started wearing lately. Her lips are warm and soft, her breath sweet.
Tonight she’s aroused, unaware of the ancient rhythm inside of her. Her woman’s time ended over a week ago and tonight her hormones have kicked into overdrive. Ancient, primitive instincts are urging her to mate while she’s ovulating. Luckily, we never have to worry about safe sex. One benefit of being dead.
Buffy would be horribly embarrassed if she knew how in tune I’ve become with her body’s rhythms. I can smell the subtle change in her scent, taste it on her skin. I know when she’s moving through the different cycles of the month. Gives me an edge. A Slayer with PMS is not to be trifled with.
Her eyes are a beautiful green as she looks down at me. Honey blond hair gilded in red and gold from the candles falls over my face as she leans down to kiss me again.
There was very little patrolling tonight. I knew there would be. Last night she was high strung, edgy. And I knew this was coming. Buffy’s still innocent, still a virgin – but we’re moving farther and farther into dangerous territory every night.
Tonight she brought me home to her room. Her mother is gone to an opening in LA. Rather stupidly leaving behind a sixteen year old daughter that she knows sneaks out at night to meet an older man. And mom, if you only knew…
Buffy rises up again to look at me. Her nose crinkles up as she frowns. After I assure her that I wasn’t laughing at her, she gives me a grin. I’m already harder than hell and hurting, and that damn grin doesn’t help. I love the way her eyes light up – impish is the word I’ve settled on.
Her grinning, impish, delicious lips drop to mine, and her tongue expertly swirls and twists inside my mouth. Buffy has developed into a first class kisser. Her first kisses were clumsy and childish. Too much force and zero finesse. Now she knows how to lick, suck, nibble, and lap at my mouth until she has me crazy with lust. I taught her how to kiss well enough to raise the dead. And I intend to teach her more.
Her warm lips move to my ear and down my neck. I can hear her heart beat harder and the scent of arousal increases. Buffy gets off on nipping at my neck. Biting the vampire must be a rush. If she knew… well she’d be running for cover.
While I lay passively under her, letting her lie between my legs and rub and grind her body against mine – something she loves – my instincts are to roll her over and sink my fangs into her throat. To drink her dry while I force my aching cock inside of her. Fuck her until her body cools. Instead I keep my hands under control and my fangs hidden.
Part of me wants to hear her whimper and scream in terror while I hurt her. That part of me wants to degrade her and rip her innocence from her. Drink of her and force my blood down her throat to truly make her my mate. Angelus is that part of me and luckily for Buffy – he’s not in control.
The demon growls and snarls at me while I lay passive. Taunts me when I go home alone to lie in my bed and jack off while I fantasize about Buffy. Two hundred and forty some odd years old and I’m letting a schoolgirl give me a case of blue balls and lead me around by the nose.
I’ll have her soon enough; I can be patient. Patient and I are good friends. I do a little taunting of my own as I cup and squeeze a firm breast in my hand. I imagine her lying sprawled in my bed, thighs spread for me, arching up against me as I bring her gently into her womanhood. I can’t avoid the pain of breaching her maidenhead, but I can make sure she never feels anything but pleasure in my bed ever again.
She’s getting more aggressive, her warm hands have unbuttoned my shirt and are moving over my chest, and her mouth follows. Hot kisses along my neck, tongue sliding along a collarbone until she finds a nipple to suck. Her fingers roll and pinch the other nipple knowing it’ll make me moan for her.
Just a few weeks ago, she was nervous about touching my bare skin. Now she can’t get enough. The coolness fascinates her, tempts her.
Her mouth moves lower, down my belly and her tongue teases my navel. One hand hovers at my belt buckle. There’s a tang of fear in her scent now. She’s touched my cock through my pants, but she’s not quite worked up the nerve to actually touch bare skin.
The tang increases as she works at the metal buckle. Her other hand is squeezing my cock through my jeans. Her breath is panting over my belly and her heartbeat has jumped up another notch. Or twenty. No doubt the size is scaring the hell out of her. Up to now, she’s only been with men – boys – her own age. A sixteen year old boy can’t compare to a twenty six year old man – not counting the other two hundred and whatever years.
The buckle opens and Buffy works at the first button. Her mouth has moved down to nuzzle at my cock, her hot breath filtering through the material to tease me. Her hand clutches my balls almost painfully and she freezes as the second button opens. The head of my cock jumps as she asks about underwear. All I can do is shake my head no. If I say anything I might die. Or cum – that might be worse.
My hand falls to her head, and despite the urge to force her mouth down on me, I stroke her hair gently. Buffy hovers undecidedly. I can see her eyes are wide and her lips are trembling. There’s as much a battle inside her as there is me.
My inner demon is imagining thrusting down her throat while she chokes and cries. Her inner virgin is no doubt imagining the same thing and urging her to join a convent. Add to that my own imagining of her lovingly sucking me off and we’ve practically got an orgy.
Carefully and slowly, I slip open the next button and take my cock in my hand. I lift the fat head up to her mouth while I use a light pressure on the back of her head to let her know what I want. Delicate and gentle. Asking, not demanding of her.
Her eyes jump up to mine. No longer green, they’ve slipped to a grayish shade. Her eyes always reflect her emotions and this is clearly not a step she’s ready to take. I move my hand from her hair to her cheek and tell her it’s okay. It’s not, but I can lie for her. Buffy says my eyes are like chocolate, and I know they don’t give away shit. Which is a more likely color. I smile for her and tell her again that it’s okay.
She surprises me by dipping her head down. Her lips tremble as they touch my cock and I can’t hold back the groan of pleasure or the arching of my back. I catch just a moment of penetration into her mouth before she jerks away and retreats to the safety of my chest.
For several moments, she lays against my side and trembles.
Buffy’s afraid. Afraid of me. Afraid of what she wants. I heard her talking to
I roll to my side and lower my mouth to hers. Buffy is incredibly responsive, her lips part and her tongue meets mine. She’s wearing one of those short skirts that back in the day would have gotten her flogged in the town square. Short, black, leather, and tight. Personally, I love mini skirts. Petticoats were such a bitch to get under.
Her thighs are taut and muscular, no fat on the Slayer. Not like Darla’s were. Darla was round and plump, as women of that time were. She was my obsession. Buffy is my heart. My soul. Pulling her leg up over my hip, my hand glides under the ridiculous skirt to cup her ass and pull her against me. Cotton panties? A whore’s skirt hiding a virgin’s panties.
It’s my turn to nip at her neck, and I growl a little, enjoying the fresh rush of her desire mixed with just a hint of fear. Buffy loves to hear me growl as we kiss. She even growls a little back sometimes in between moans and giggles. I whisper to her that her blood sings to me. She shivers and arches back, baring her throat to me.
Ignoring the demon within, I skip ripping her throat out and move down to kiss along the low cut shirt she’s wearing. It’s silk, which I like. And red, which I like even more. Nuzzling through the silk, I find a hard nipple. Her bra is long since abandoned on the floor.
It feels good, primitive, comforting to nurse and suckle at her breasts. When she pulls the shirt off, it’s even better. She doesn’t protest when I roll her onto her back and take her breasts in both hands. Not wanting either one to get jealous, I take turns licking and sucking, occasionally nipping until she’s moaning and twisting under me. Buffy’s breasts are tight and firm, nothing like the plump, fat mounds Darla shoved my face into the night she murdered me.
Her legs have parted and she probably doesn’t realize it. The cotton panties are damp. She jumps as I touch her and her fingers clench in my hair. But she doesn’t stop me. Gently, I rub my fingers over the tight nub until she’s squirming and the panties are soaked.
Her scent surrounds us now, filling the room. I take deep lungfuls of it. I don’t need air – but I need this. Cautiously, I slip my fingers under the cotton to stroke along the delicate outer lips. Buffy bucks under me and cries out. Her legs slam shut on my hand.
I can’t hold back the smile. I’ve had my share of virgins – hell, I’ve had more than my share – and that was before I was a vampire. And I know that no one has touched her like this.
I move up to kiss her again, teasing her mouth open and playing with her tongue. I can’t help growling a little more now, but she likes that too. Love and danger. That’s us. Nowhere is safer for Buffy than lying in my arms. And nowhere is more dangerous.
Sliding slowly along the swollen lips up to the delicate bundle of nerves and back down, my fingers get slicker and wetter. Her legs spread wide once again. Pressing deeper, I feel the tight opening as my fingers slide past. My name is coming from her in soft moans. Like a prayer. Like my name is something holy.
After a quick debate of middle finger versus index finger, I slide my middle finger slowly inside of her and rest the heel of my hand on the small and infinitely sensitive nub. My name comes tearing from her. Not a prayer this time. Her fingers dig into my shoulders. Eyes wide, heart pounding, fear rolling off of her in sweet waves, Buffy stares up at me. Trustingly.
I ease my finger back out, then in again. After a few gentle strokes, her eyes fall shut and she pulls me closer. Once again we kiss and I match the strokes of my tongue into her mouth to the easy strokes of my fingers inside of her pussy.
She’s hot. Too damn hot. Her skin is beaded with a fine sweat. Her tongue is hot in my mouth. Her pussy slick, and hot, and wet as I push in a second finger. Her breath is coming in gasps and whimpers and her fingernails are digging into my shoulder and my hip as she tries to pull me even closer. Instinctively, she’s trying to pull me inside of her. Not yet, love.
I can feel the tremors start inside of her. The inner muscles clamp down on my fingers and her hips are pumping up to meet my fingers. She’s beautiful, head tossing on the pillow, lips parted for the soft cries to escape. Her eyes go wide, so deep and green I can drown in them.
The scent of her orgasm hits me almost before I hear the soft ‘oh’ fall from her lips. Responsive she is – a screamer she’s not. A single jerk and her body goes limp. She breathes my name in such I way that I can tell she’s never had an orgasm before either.
I move over her and pull open the last buttons on my jeans. Her panties tear away easily and I’m rubbing my cock in her wetness before I even realize what I’m doing. I push the head in and she tenses. She’s not saying no. At least, not aloud. But I can smell her fear. Sharp and sweet. She’s terrified. But she’s not saying no. Her heart is pounding. Her blood screams in panic through her veins. But she’s not saying no.
Her eyes make the decision for me. Huge and grey. Flooded with tears. Full of love and trust. I pull back and push her legs together. Then I shove my cock down into the sweet triangle formed by her thighs and her pussy. She says my name in a question as I clamp my legs tight on the outside of hers. It’s an old trick I tell her. Sex without the sex. To save a bride’s virginity for her wedding night. I don’t tell her that it was so there’d still be bloody sheets the next day for all to see.
Lying on top of her, I pump into the tight, hot spot. Desperately pretending I’m inside of her and that I’m hitting the mouth of her womb and not the mattress. Buffy holds me while I grunt and strain for release. When she whispers that she loves me, I feel ashamed as I come in cold spurts along her inner thighs.
I roll off of her, feeling like I’ve defiled something holy. I should get up and get away. Never come back.
Her voice and the touch of her hand on my back brings me back to her. Cradling her in my arms, I hold her and kiss her until she drifts to sleep. I know I can’t leave her. My heart may be dead, but it’s chained to hers.
The sky is turning a dangerous shade of pink before I go. I pull the blankets up over her. There’s a smile on her lips and she murmurs my name in her sleep. Lowering my head to her lips, I breathe in her scent. I know I’ll dream of her today while I sleep. As I do everyday.
She smells good. Sweet and pure, just a hint of the vanilla she’s started wearing lately. Her lips are warm and soft, her breath sweet.
The dawn comes and I’m gone.
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