USER: Spike awoke to Buffy moaning and flailing on the bed--and not in the good way. He sprung to his feet, on guard for whatever had infiltrated their lair, but saw nothing. Invisible demons? Ghosts? "Ow ow ow oooooooow!" Buffy grunted through clenched teeth. She was half-twisted on her side, with her left leg bent up behind her tight. She was trying to push it flat, her face scrunched up in pain. Spike got on his knees beside her on the bed, trying to help push. A screech escaped Buffy's lips. Panicky, Spike tried a different tack, digging his fingers deep into Buffy's calf, trying to unlock the seizing muscle. For a few moments Buffy kept screeching, but then her leg started at last to lower, and the screeches turned to whimpers. Her whole body relaxed, and she slumped back on her stomach. Spike continued to work her calf with one hand, while the other gently pushed it back on the bed. The whimper became a little moan of relief. And oh. He was in bed. With Buffy. He was in bed with Buffy, and he was touching her. Touching her leg. Massaging her leg. He actually hadn't been hard when he awoke, but he was achieving the state rapidly. He looked warily over at Buffy, but her face was soft, the removal of the pain making her woozy. He kept massaging her calf, gentling his fingers a bit, wondering what this would feel like without the thick tights. In a second it was all laid out in his mind--work the massage up to her thighs, then up under her skirt where it was twisted around her, s...

USER: Spike awoke to Buffy moaning and flailing on the bed--and not in the good way. He sprung to his feet, on guard for whatever had infiltrated their lair, but saw nothing. Invisible demons? Ghosts? "Ow ow ow oooooooow!" Buffy grunted through clenched teeth. She was half-twisted on her side, with her left leg bent up behind her tight. She was trying to push it flat, her face scrunched up in pain. Spike got on his knees beside her on the bed, trying to help push. A screech escaped Buffy's lips. Panicky, Spike tried a different tack, digging his fingers deep into Buffy's calf, trying to unlock the seizing muscle. For a few moments Buffy kept screeching, but then her leg started at last to lower, and the screeches turned to whimpers. Her whole body relaxed, and she slumped back on her stomach. Spike continued to work her calf with one hand, while the other gently pushed it back on the bed. The whimper became a little moan of relief. And oh. He was in bed. With Buffy. He was in bed with Buffy, and he was touching her. Touching her leg. Massaging her leg. He actually hadn't been hard when he awoke, but he was achieving the state rapidly. He looked warily over at Buffy, but her face was soft, the removal of the pain making her woozy. He kept massaging her calf, gentling his fingers a bit, wondering what this would feel like without the thick tights. In a second it was all laid out in his mind--work the massage up to her thighs, then up under her skirt where it was twisted around her, stroke that dark, warm place that occupied his fantasies, how she'd moan and whimper with pleasure then, how she'd want him, how she'd turn to embrace him-- He had shifted on his knees, angled over her. Skipping a few steps, there, mate. Slow. Careful. Work up to it. Do it right. He was tingling, from his groin out to the tips of his fingers, still rubbing slow circles into her muscles. This was happening. This was happening. Centimeter by centimeter, he inched towards the back of her knees. She was breathing heavily, still recovering. Spike shifted again, trying to ease the pressure on his prick, give himself room to think, to stick with the plan. Good plan. Except that the creak of the mattress roused her. "Um, Spike?" He froze, eyes glued to the back of her thigh. So close. "I'm good now." "Yeah." He sounded weirdly breathy. It's not that Buffy didn't appreciate his help--she hadn't had one in years, but Charlie horses hurt like a bitch--but it was unsettling when he hovered over her, like a man on a diet slavering over a hamburger. She was really trying to play nice with Spike. Being reminded she was his favorite meal wasn't helping. Although, damn, could the man give a massage. She'd missed that luxury, since Riley had left. Even if the last few months' worth hadn't been quite as effective, just the act of being touched, soothed, worried over had been healing. Spike touching her like that... it bothered her. "Get off the bed, Spike," she said quietly, with just enough steel to get her point across. Spike gripped her calf, just a little too hard, enough to remind her of his strength, not enough to set off the chip. Domineering jerk. He made some kind of noise and then the mattress creaked and he was off at last. Buffy laid still, trying to let the grief ebb back out of her, gently flexing and pointing her ankle to keep her calf muscle relaxed. She decided to focus on that. "Sorry about the wake-up call," she said at last, sounding more concerned for her pride than his beauty sleep. "Muscle cramps are the worst. You know I got thrown two stories up a wall awhile back and it didn't hurt half so much?" Concern crushed the vestiges of Spike's thwarted arousal. "You what now?" "The demon I asked you to watch out for." "You didn't tell me she was that bad." "Well, she is." Buffy trailed off, her face drawn with worry. "So I have to get back. To protect... to protect everyone." Spike turned away to hide his smile. He loved the way she got all protective, tiny and fierce and violent. He could still remember the way she had looked when he was hurt when she'd loved him--when she'd been spelled into loving him, remember that bit, Spike--and to have her look at him that way again... God, what he wouldn't give. "--but the thing I don't understand is why my feet hurt so bad. I haven't done anything here. Could it be a side effect of the time travel? Like jetlag for feet? Feetlag?" Spike cocked his head. Perhaps he could offer a footrub? Get them back on track with the massages? Feet could be very erotic. Not really his thing, but he could work with just about anywhere for a starting point. Get her all soft and pliant with his hands again, then nibble on her toes, flick his tongue out, make her want... (Continue the story. Make it 5000 words. Spike tries in plan. After a while he gives them a quick lick, Buffy is too relaxed and enjoying herself, Spike continues).plan from the last sentence).

USER: Spike awoke to Buffy moaning and flailing on the bed--and not in the good way. He sprung to his feet, on guard for whatever had infiltrated their lair, but saw nothing. Invisible demons? Ghosts? "Ow ow ow oooooooow!" Buffy grunted through clenched teeth. She was half-twisted on her side, with her left leg bent up behind her tight. She was trying to push it flat, her face scrunched up in pain. Spike got on his knees beside her on the bed, trying to help push. A screech escaped Buffy's lips. Panicky, Spike tried a different tack, digging his fingers deep into Buffy's calf, trying to unlock the seizing muscle. For a few moments Buffy kept screeching, but then her leg started at last to lower, and the screeches turned to whimpers. Her whole body relaxed, and she slumped back on her stomach. Spike continued to work her calf with one hand, while the other gently pushed it back on the bed. The whimper became a little moan of relief. And oh. He was in bed. With Buffy. He was in bed with Buffy, and he was touching her. Touching her leg. Massaging her leg. He actually hadn't been hard when he awoke, but he was achieving the state rapidly. He looked warily over at Buffy, but her face was soft, the removal of the pain making her woozy. He kept massaging her calf, gentling his fingers a bit, wondering what this would feel like without the thick tights. In a second it was all laid out in his mind--work the massage up to her thighs, then up under her skirt where it was twisted around her, stroke that dark, warm place that occupied his fantasies, how she'd moan and whimper with pleasure then, how she'd want him, how she'd turn to embrace him-- He had shifted on his knees, angled over her. Skipping a few steps, there, mate. Slow. Careful. Work up to it. Do it right. He was tingling, from his groin out to the tips of his fingers, still rubbing slow circles into her muscles. This was happening. This was happening. Centimeter by centimeter, he inched towards the back of her knees. She was breathing heavily, still recovering. Spike shifted again, trying to ease the pressure on his prick, give himself room to think, to stick with the plan. Good plan. Except that the creak of the mattress roused her. "Um, Spike?" He froze, eyes glued to the back of her thigh. So close. "I'm good now." "Yeah." He sounded weirdly breathy. It's not that Buffy didn't appreciate his help--she hadn't had one in years, but Charlie horses hurt like a bitch--but it was unsettling when he hovered over her, like a man on a diet slavering over a hamburger. She was really trying to play nice with Spike. Being reminded she was his favorite meal wasn't helping. Although, damn, could the man give a massage. She'd missed that luxury, since Riley had left. Even if the last few months' worth hadn't been quite as effective, just the act of being touched, soothed, worried over had been healing. Spike touching her like that... it bothered her. "Get off the bed, Spike," she said quietly, with just enough steel to get her point across. Spike gripped her calf, just a little too hard, enough to remind her of his strength, not enough to set off the chip. Domineering jerk. He made some kind of noise and then the mattress creaked and he was off at last. Buffy laid still, trying to let the grief ebb back out of her, gently flexing and pointing her ankle to keep her calf muscle relaxed. She decided to focus on that. "Sorry about the wake-up call," she said at last, sounding more concerned for her pride than his beauty sleep. "Muscle cramps are the worst. You know I got thrown two stories up a wall awhile back and it didn't hurt half so much?" Concern crushed the vestiges of Spike's thwarted arousal. "You what now?" "The demon I asked you to watch out for." "You didn't tell me she was that bad." "Well, she is." Buffy trailed off, her face drawn with worry. "So I have to get back. To protect... to protect everyone." Spike turned away to hide his smile. He loved the way she got all protective, tiny and fierce and violent. He could still remember the way she had looked when he was hurt when she'd loved him--when she'd been spelled into loving him, remember that bit, Spike--and to have her look at him that way again... God, what he wouldn't give. "--but the thing I don't understand is why my feet hurt so bad. I haven't done anything here. Could it be a side effect of the time travel? Like jetlag for feet? Feetlag?" Spike cocked his head. Perhaps he could offer a footrub? Get them back on track with the massages? Feet could be very erotic. Not really his thing, but he could work with just about anywhere for a starting point. Get her all soft and pliant with his hands again, then nibble on her toes, flick his tongue out, make her want... (Continue the story. Make it 5000 words. Spike tries in plan from the last sentence).sentence. Buffy is too relaxed and let's him).