Tattoo
This is for the prompt: Giles' House.
Spike hissed and arched his back upward.
Buffy poked him hard and quick, like touching something gross.
“Sorry, lu… slayer.” Spike re-settled his shoulders like a cat, getting comfortable. “Jus’ feels so good.”
“Ew,” Buffy said, somewhat late and lacking in strength. “Giles, why don’t you do this part?” And why did Giles own a tattooing kit, anyway?
Giles coughed, and Spike twisted to catch his flushed expression. He wiggled his ass under Buffy. “Yeah, hurt me, Rupert. I bet you’ve got a practiced hand.”
Buffy slapped his flank. “Gah! Spike! You volunteered for this!”
“Yes, and forgive me for enjoying it.”
Giles sighed and set his book down. “If it is making you uncomfortable, Buffy, I can draw the design while you chant. Only give me a moment to write this out phonetically…”
Spike looked back at Buffy. Not pleading, but… Buffy bit her lip. He could say a lot with a look.
“No, it’s okay. I’m sure Spike will behave himself from now on, or…” she searched her mind for a good threat. Pain? Not so much. “Or I’ll add Angel’s name to the bottom!”
His eyes widened. She nudged his shoulder, and he sank back down, muttering, “Not like I can help it. Vampire, here.”
“You can help the talking.” Buffy peered at the small lines she’d started on his back, adjusted her grip on the tattoo needle, and then looked at the mystic talisman-thingy Giles had copied for her. She set her hand firmly under the line she had been working on, and Spike’s ribs expanded with an in-taken breath. Then a small gasp when the needle started, another hitched attempt at holding breath, and a small whimper. His stretched nape made little motions as she worked through the design, reacting to every touch.
In fact, it seemed much more like she was painting sighs and twitches than lines. Buffy was lost in the pleasant concentration of it, the feel of him moving under her. Giles’ voice droned the chant over and over, until he coughed and asked for a break.
They were silent until Giles left the room. Buffy set the stylus in its little holder and flexed her hands while Spike got up and stretched. He craned his neck, trying to see his own back. “Could have put it someplace I could see it.”
“You don’t need to see it. It’s a squashy platypus thing.” She gestured vaguely.
“It is coming off when this ritual is done.”
“Yeah.” Buffy tilted her head to catch the shine of ink and puffy, irritated skin.
Spike stepped close to her, shoulder dropping, hip popping forward. “You minx, you like the idea of leaving your mark on me, don’t you?”
“No,” She said, and stepped back before things got out of hand. Again.
His lips brushed her ear. “If you drop a little dot further down, well that would be our little secret, won’t it?”
She bit her lip and touched the tiny ‘B’ she’d already made.
Spike hissed and arched his back upward.
Buffy poked him hard and quick, like touching something gross.
“Sorry, lu… slayer.” Spike re-settled his shoulders like a cat, getting comfortable. “Jus’ feels so good.”
“Ew,” Buffy said, somewhat late and lacking in strength. “Giles, why don’t you do this part?” And why did Giles own a tattooing kit, anyway?
Giles coughed, and Spike twisted to catch his flushed expression. He wiggled his ass under Buffy. “Yeah, hurt me, Rupert. I bet you’ve got a practiced hand.”
Buffy slapped his flank. “Gah! Spike! You volunteered for this!”
“Yes, and forgive me for enjoying it.”
Giles sighed and set his book down. “If it is making you uncomfortable, Buffy, I can draw the design while you chant. Only give me a moment to write this out phonetically…”
Spike looked back at Buffy. Not pleading, but… Buffy bit her lip. He could say a lot with a look.
“No, it’s okay. I’m sure Spike will behave himself from now on, or…” she searched her mind for a good threat. Pain? Not so much. “Or I’ll add Angel’s name to the bottom!”
His eyes widened. She nudged his shoulder, and he sank back down, muttering, “Not like I can help it. Vampire, here.”
“You can help the talking.” Buffy peered at the small lines she’d started on his back, adjusted her grip on the tattoo needle, and then looked at the mystic talisman-thingy Giles had copied for her. She set her hand firmly under the line she had been working on, and Spike’s ribs expanded with an in-taken breath. Then a small gasp when the needle started, another hitched attempt at holding breath, and a small whimper. His stretched nape made little motions as she worked through the design, reacting to every touch.
In fact, it seemed much more like she was painting sighs and twitches than lines. Buffy was lost in the pleasant concentration of it, the feel of him moving under her. Giles’ voice droned the chant over and over, until he coughed and asked for a break.
They were silent until Giles left the room. Buffy set the stylus in its little holder and flexed her hands while Spike got up and stretched. He craned his neck, trying to see his own back. “Could have put it someplace I could see it.”
“You don’t need to see it. It’s a squashy platypus thing.” She gestured vaguely.
“It is coming off when this ritual is done.”
“Yeah.” Buffy tilted her head to catch the shine of ink and puffy, irritated skin.
Spike stepped close to her, shoulder dropping, hip popping forward. “You minx, you like the idea of leaving your mark on me, don’t you?”
“No,” She said, and stepped back before things got out of hand. Again.
His lips brushed her ear. “If you drop a little dot further down, well that would be our little secret, won’t it?”
She bit her lip and touched the tiny ‘B’ she’d already made.