For aisalynn on her birthday. A touch of darkness, just the way she likes. Spuffy, post-Dead Things. 200 words.
She doesn’t speak, just gravely tests the tautness of the silken cords. Her hands run along the knots around his wrists, brushing the red abrasions of skin with the tips of her nails. So rare to see color on his pale body unless it’s caused by pain. Or not so rare – he’s reckless with his body, be it a rough and tumble fight or a no-holds-barred fuck. Fucking with a Slayer, no less. Stupid vampire.
She bites her lip and imagines sucking on every one of his pretty wounds. The red slash of blood, the purplish black of bruises. It’s wrong that he looks even more beautiful bruised and bloodied. It’s wrong that she likes it so much. Him. Everything about him is wrong. The way he looks at her. The way he wants her. The way he lo-
“Buffy? Do you wa-” She presses her index finger to his lips, slowly shaking her head. She briefly reconsiders gagging him. No, he’ll behave. And if he doesn’t…
He promised her silence. Impossible to believe, but she’d gotten him to swear he wouldn’t say a word. Then again, it is her birthday.
It’s about time she finally got what she wanted.