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The Love of a Lifetime by Mel (thatotherperv)
Spike / book as for warnings, I suppose the consensuality on the part of the book could be called into question....
Note: my brain is a scary, scary place. "Book-love, I say again, lasts throughout life, it never flags or fails, but, like Beauty itself, is a joy forever." Bloody hell Spike was bored. They weren’t paying him enough blood money for this shite. The others weren’t even holding up their end! Buffy had charged off to find the latest demon herself, tired of all the research and proclaiming there wasn’t much a good beheading didn’t fix. Rupert had retreated into his office, having a good wank, most likely. The witches had buggered off after Red kept sneaking her hands under the table into her chippie’s unsuspecting lap. And Anya dragged the boy into the training room and every time she came, she screamed that he was a stallion, or a stud, or once, a gander. Spike figured she must be delirious, if she was resorting to waterfowl. Spike didn’t think they were all that impressive in the sack. The lad, on the other hand, was more of a goer than he’d imagined, apparently. So it turned out that this demon had laid some horny mojo on all of them, only it didn’t seem to work on he and the Slayer. Which was a pity, because Spike reckoned if she were possessed, it was a possibility she’d shag him. And though the demon hadn’t gotten to him, all the bloody pheromones he was now bathing in sure as hell had. Not a vampire alive could resist this kind of mass horniness. He contemplated going back to the crypt to have himself a nice wank, but the panties he’d stolen from Buffy were getting rather ripe. He sighed and turned the velvety page of the old tome he was browsing. Didn’t know why he hadn’t closed the thing and buggered off already, actually. Except it was a rather nice texture, wasn’t it. They didn’t make paper like this anymore. All the crap you found on the shelves at Barnes and Noble was coarse and uninviting. People had no respect these days for books. They were just something you used carelessly and threw away. Didn’t understand that books were meant to be loved for a lifetime. Cared for. Doctored up when they began to crumble with age, and read in soft murmurs by the warming firelight. It was about respect. And paperbacks…what was that bollocks? Like sending a body out into the world naked…nothin’ to protect it from the elements. Now, this book, it was clothed properly, in a thick leather cover. Stiff in all the right ways, supple in all the others. Smooth and cool, with the depressed, gleaming embossing. Bloody hell, he loved leather. Those cardboard jobbies that passed for book jackets these days should be outlawed. And Christ, the smell. This one had a proper smell. The new ones smelled sick and cheap and artificial, like a whore’s perfume. They smelled inanimate, and books were meant to live and breathe, yeah? Books should smell like this one: earthy. Hundreds of years old, and he could still smell the pressed pulp of the paper, a woodsy sent that always seemed to carry a bit of a nutty bouquet to him. It mixed tantalizingly with the heady scent of the leather and the sweet tang of book glue to form some base, primal flavor he could almost taste on his tongue. Glancing around to make sure the Magic Box was empty, Spike pressed his nose to the page and inhaled deeply. Fuck. He couldn’t really be blamed for the way his hand was rubbing his hard-on through his jeans. Who could resist the siren call of that scent? And there was something else. He breathed deep and fast, snuffling the hidden scent in the book. Oh, fuck. The ink. Bugger, that brought back memories. It was intoxicating…went straight to his head, just as it used to. Spike fumbled with his zipper, yanking his cock out through the fly and stroking it, teasing it, as that smell brought back memories. Hours spent scratching out his ardor on any scrap he could find lying around, until he would forever associate the scent of wet ink with love and lust. He dared to trace the tip of his tongue over the words, imagining he could feel the ink tingle on his tongue, that toxic, dangerous flavor shooting straight to his cock. He shuddered and did it again. A hundred years past, William the Wanker sometimes lay in bed at night, thinking of Woodsworth, and sometimes his cock got harder and hotter than any good Christian man could forbear. He had no choice but to touch himself then, fantasizing about book bindings and print presses until he seized in passion. He’d reasoned that perhaps it was less of a sin because he was not defiling the image of any lady with his filthy lust. Oh, but how he had wanted to rub off against his favorite copy of Canterbury Tales. He’d been too much of a coward…tosser. Spike rubbed his cheek against the silk of the page and moaned, fondling the head of his cock. Hang on a mo’. He wasn’t some mousy little git now. He was the Big Bad, and if he wanted to feel his cock slide over the sleek manifestation of the written word, he’d damn well do it. This was no Chaucer, but…any port in a storm, eh? Despite his bluster, his hands shook a bit as he lowered the book over his lap. It was a big moment for the two of them. In a way, they were both virgins here. He’d have to be gentle…paper could tear so easily. Ohhh, Christ! It was just as smooth and cool as he’d imagined. Spike moaned and arched up into its caress, pressing his cock harder against the page as his shaft slid against the binding. Fuck yes, just like that. Except he needed…he needed it to be tighter. He folded the covers together, twisting the book to the side so that the pages flopped down, hugging his todger. Oh, bloody hell. That was…oh yeah, so tight, baby. So good. Spike kept tight control over his thrusts, wanting to be gentle. Make love with the proper respect. This was no cheap one-off he’d discard as soon as he’d reached The End. No, they’d take it good and slow, savor the experience, and…err…come back to it again and again. But everyone liked a bit of rough, even with the one they loved, so as his passion increased, he buried himself to the hilt as he sped, pelvis slamming into the bottom margin as he grunted with pleasure. It wasn’t enough. Letting the book do all the work, wasn’t he? That was hardly fair. Maybe it would be better if he could…. He lay the book out flat against the table, thumb wiping lovingly at the precome smeared over her pretty font. Surely he didn’t imagine the way her pages fluttered when he sucked his own flavor from the pad. “You saucy minx. Want it dirty, do you?” He chuckled as he stepped up onto the chair, pushing his pants around his knees and keeping his feet braced there as he stretched out across the table. She was such a pretty slut for him, laid open wantonly. He rubbed the head of his cock back and forth across the page, trailing fluid over the pristine surface. Marking it as his. If he thought the paper felt good against his cheek, there was no comparison to the sensation against his sensitive tip. He couldn’t control himself any longer. Bracing his forearms against the tabletop, he began to thrust against the volume, faster and harder until the chair under his feet was squeaking against the floor. His eyes rolled closed, head thrown back in ecstasy. Oh, Mother of God, it was better than he’d imagined. The whole table rattled with the force of his ardor. And then his cock slipped into the groove at the binding. He cried out in surprise, body spasming with pleasure. The book was open near the middle, so the tight lacing that bound the pages together scraped against the underside of his cock with each stroke. It was too good. Fuck. He was gonna— His hips jerked erratically and he sobbed with the intensity of it as he shot his load all over that pretty, innocent text. Spike collapsed limply onto the table, panting. His mind buzzed with bliss. Belatedly, he thought to slide the book out from under his hips…letting one’s dead weight squash one’s lover was immensely rude. He slid the book up near his face, and, lacking the energy to lift his head from the table, licked as much of his spunk away as he could reach. Spike froze when he heard the conspicuous clearing of a nearby throat. He jolted to his feet when he saw Rupert watching him with raised brows—yanking his pants up, slamming the book closed for modesty with an obscene squish. He’d have making up to do later, when the pages were stuck together stubbornly against his future advances. He clutched the book defensively to his chest, scowling at the other man. Finally, the librarian averted his eyes and said tactfully, “Well…I suppose we were all caught unawares by that demon mist. Such a thing…couldn’t be helped.” Wh…Oh! Right! “Yeah. Bloody thing. You think I’d stick my cock in a book on any given day? Ch. Not likely!” Amused green eyes touched on his hand, which was stroking the cover consolingly. “Oh, like you’ve never had carnal thoughts about one of yours, you old perv. I’m taking h…it with me.” Rupert pulled a face. “Yes, please do. As luck should have it, I have another copy of that text.” “Right. Well…I’m off.” Spike turned back with one last thought. “Say anything to the kiddies, and I’ll rip your tongue out, no matter what kind of migraine it causes.” With that threat, he stalked out the door, ignoring the wheezing laughter that began before the door even shut behind him. Completed 2 March 2007 Lay it on me here, or email me at thatotherperv@livejournal.com |