Ticklish Slayer
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Title: Miss Edith's Game
Author: Naughty Slayer
Rating: I've changed it from NC-17 to R, but if you think it should be rated more strictly, let me know.
Summary: Tickle fetish fic, written on a dare. Dru gets Spike in a rather... interesting position. Set somewhere after Lover's Walk, but before Spike's return in season 4. Tickling and sex... Not for li'l bits!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you. If you're planning on suing me, too frickin' bad, 'cause I ain't making money off of this. Nyah! Characters are property of my beloved Joss Whedon. -petpet-
Chapters: This is probably the last chapter. Let me know if I should write more.
Feedback: LOTS! This is my first posted lemon, so I need tons of reviews.
Author's Note: I thought I'd let you all know that this chapter was influenced by a juicy piece of information I picked up on the Internet: James Marsters is indeed ticklish, and mostly so on his stomach and knees. Apparently, he found this out when he was tied to a chair and the whole cast took advantage of the situation... -drooool- What I wouldn't give for a chance. Anyway, on to the story.
Spike woke slowly from a pleasant sleep, his lips forming an unconscious smile. It had been far too long since he'd been with his Dru, far too --
"Dru?" he mumbled in confusion when he'd tried to move his arms. They were immobile above his head, restrained with the same damned ropes that had held him captive before. Her giggle sounded from somewhere behind him; Spike twisted to see her, but he couldn't make his head swivel far enough. His gaze drifted above him instead -- Drusilla had bound his hands together with the length of rope, then strung it over a beam in the ceiling. He cursed her cleverness silently. She knew how heavily he slept after a good shag. Spike flexed his arms in an attempt to lower them, desperate to get out of this situation. He was sure he could lift whatever weighted down the end of the rope even without shifting into game face, and --
"Ruff," Drusilla barked softly, popping up in front of him out of nowhere. She placed both her hands on his chest and flexed her fingers into cat's claws. He squirmed at the light scratching on his skin. "Bad dog." She drew her fingers slowly along the straining muscles of his arms, giggling at the pained expression on his face, and finally Spike stopped trying to pull the rope down.
"Pet, what now?" he complained, embarrassed to hear a whine in his voice.
"Game's not over, my love," Dru proclaimed simply with a gesture towards Miss Edith. Now she got to sit on the bed while Spike was suspended from the ceiling. He glared briefly at Miss Edith and felt a simple hatred for that bloody doll.
"I'm going to break this rope, Dru." He told her this bluntly as he flexed his arms again, waiting to feel the ropes give way a little. "When I break this rope, you and I are going to shag, and then we are going to get the hell out of this place. Find us a meal and a good shot of liquor. And STOP letting that bloody doll decide how and when we're going to play sex games!" Drusilla's mouth popped open in a playful, mocking 'o'.
"Miss Edith does not appreciate that at all!" she scolded, tapping his bare chest with a polished fingernail. Her disapproving frown disappeared after a moment; she giggled quietly and leaned her chin against his breastbone, staring up at him with a coy smile.
"What?" Spike asked suspiciously.
"Try to pull your arms down," she said in a low voice, and giggled again. He frowned a little, then slowly strained his bisceps, pulling the rope taut. He thought he felt it giving, and then the ceiling let out a loud creeeak, one that made him look upwards in surprise. The beam was giving, not the rope. Spike stopped pulling immediately.
"What's your point, pet?" he said after a moment's thought.
"Pull too hard, silly puppy," she crooned, sliding her hands slowly up his sides, "and the pixies in my head tell me you'll break the sky." The ceiling will cave in, he thought sourly. They'd survive, of course, but it would be mightily uncomfortable. Damn it. When did she start thinking these things out so carefully?
"What happens if I break the sky?" Spike asked with a sigh. Drusilla giggled delightedly and nuzzled her nose against his chest.
"You lose."
She had him backed into a corner, yet again. He groaned inwardly, flexed his arms one more time, and surrendered.
"You win, pet," he muttered. "I'll play."
"No one's won yet," Dru corrected sternly as she straightened, lifting her chin from his chest. She stepped back to admire her work and examined him slowly, a mischievous gleam in her eye. Her gaze did a full elevator, from foot to head, and she smiled. Apparently, his naked body and the barest hint of his hard-on amused her to no end. Drusilla chewed her lower lip slowly, a smile lighting her face, and leaned forward for a moment. "Besides," she whispered into his ear, "the pixies say you would've played whether you liked it or not."
She ducked out of sight, and Spike closed his eyes in disgust. He was so tired of Miss Edith's game he would've smashed that stupid doll's head if he had the chance. His back arched involuntarily as he felt her long, slender fingers slowly stroking down his sides. Spike was cursing steadily in his mind; his upper body was probably more ticklish than anywhere else, and Dru knew it. She might have been insane, but she knew exactly how to drive him absolutely insane with the lightest of touches. Her fingers slipped slowly down to the tender skin at his hips; Spike jumped uncontrollably and tried to twist away, but her hands followed suit, tickling and pinching gently at his waist. He tried to think about something else -- killing the Slayer in the subway, having a shag with Dru, seeing the witch in that fuzzy pink number with the lavender underneath -- but Drusilla's nails began scrabbling softly at his ribs, and he convulsed violently. He knew he couldn't last much longer.
"Dru," Spike moaned, arching his back again. She scratched her fingers slowly over his quivering ribcage, bringing another groan out of him, and giggled quietly.
"Puppy wants off his leash," Drusilla crooned. "Wants to bite and scratch. Naughty puppy." Her nails reached a particularly tender spot under his ribs; Spike gasped and strained to twist out of her reach.
"Dru..."
"Perhaps if the puppy begs, Mistress will let him off his leash," she prompted. Dru had taken note of his increased squirming and was tortuously drawing little circles on the sensitive skin. He moaned again. She'd made him do this before, too, and if there was something he hated more than being tickled it was being forced to beg.
"Dru, please --"
"Beg me," Drusilla sang, dragging her nails slowly from his ribs to his hips. Spike bucked back with a strangled laugh, unable to stop what the unbearable sensations were doing to him. He was breaking down, and fast.
"Stop, Dru," he said, the words pouring out in a steady, almost unintelligible rush. "Stop, please, I'm begging you, pet, stop!" She was obviously pleased with this reaction; Dru smiled and inched her fingers towards his stomach.
"Good. More." She began slowly scratching her nails at the edge of his taut abdomen. Spike's body tensed even more. He tried wildly to get his torso out of her reach, but it was no use, so he went on babbling as she had asked.
"Dru, please stop tickling, please, I'm b-begging --" He twisted desperately, trying to finish before he surrendered to laughter. "-- please, stop, p-p-please stah-AH --" Spike couldn't complete the word, because Dru's fingers were scrabbling all over his stomach now, and the sensation was simply driving him insane. His pent-up laughter escaped him in an explosion of uncontrollable giggles as he squirmed and twisted madly, doing everything possible to get away from her fingers. Drusilla was beaming; he knew she would've clapped her hands, had they not been busy humiliating him.
"Good puppy," she exclaimed over his laughter. "Later, you'll get a treat!" Should've told me the reward came LATER, Spike thought bitterly. I wouldn't have begged like a child if I'd known the reward came LATER.
Dru's hands scrambled all over his stomach and ribs, knowing exactly where to stroke and scratch to make him howl with laughter. Every now and then, a neatly manicured nail would slowly circle his navel and Spike would nearly jump out of his skin, making Drusilla giggle at his reaction and move back to his ribs. His torso was shimmying back and forth like he was going for first place in a hula-hoop contest, but it was almost as if she could anticipate his movements; the moment Spike thought he might be out of her reach, there she was again, pinching at his waist and bringing forth a new explosion of laughter. It was hard to even think straight anymore.
"Tell me what you did wrong, my Spike," Dru crooned suddenly. Her hands had slowed on his sides but were still dangerously close to his trembling stomach, so he could speak through only a few giggles.
"I don't know what I did, pet," he said shakily, and yelped as she grabbed at his waist.
"Wrong," she said with disapproval, then waited for him to stop laughing again. "Tell me what you did wrong, my Spike." Spike looked at her in mild disbelief. This wasn't a sex game, this was punishment!
"Dru, I --"
"No excuses." Her voice was surprisingly stern as she goosed his ribs again. "What... did you... do wrong?"
"I made a truce with the Slayer," he gasped, arching his back to strain out of her reach. Drusilla smiled, pleased, then rested her palms lightly on his heaving chest.
"Good," she crooned, and rewarded him with a slow, sensuous kiss. When they parted, she looked at him expectantly. "And why was that wrong?" Spike licked his lips, trying to hide his nervousness. There were too many possible answers, and too many that were probably not the right one.
"Because..." He hesitated, slowly getting his breath back. "Because... I could've... handled it myself?" Dru's face darkened as she shook her head.
"No," she said quietly. Her hands went to his stomach and hovered there; she waited a long moment before launching out a full-scale attack on his abdomen, her voice rising to a shout. "Because she's THE SLAYER!" Dru yelled, suddenly furious. Spike exploded into laughter. He was twisting wildly back and forth, his arms straining at the ropes; the ceiling beam creaked dangerously, but he was in far too much agony to care. He was sure if he'd been alive he would've been dealing with serious oxygen issues.
"Stop, Dru," Spike managed, and whatever he said next dissolved into a shriek as a finger slid into his navel and drew a slow circle.
"The Slayer, Spike," Drusilla said in disgust, still scratching at his ribs with her free hand. "That naughty little girl is the Slayer, and we don't make truces with Slayers. We kill Slayers, we cut off their heads and make dolls from their hair, we slit their throats and mix martinis with their blood. When did you forget this, Spike?" Spike was a little too preoccupied to answer; the finger in his navel was slowly driving him insane. "When?" Dru demanded, and attacked his stomach again.
"I don't know!" he yiped, barely able to hold off the new torrent of laughter. She slowed her attack and eyed him carefully, then picked up the pace again.
"Tell me you're sorry," Drusilla prompted, her fingers scrabbling over his quivering ribs. Spike was choked with giggles once again, unable to answer; she gave him a moment, then smiled and lowered her head. Through his tear-blurred eyes, he could see her pressing her face against his stomach. The moment he felt the moist warmth of her tongue in his navel, he forced himself to say what she wanted to hear.
"I'm sorry!" he yelped. "I was wr-WRONG, Dru, and I'm sorry!" Drusilla beamed and straightened, clapping her hands in delight.
"Right!" she giggled joyfully. "You win!"
Spike was finally getting back his breath when he noticed that Dru was putting on his coat.
"Where are you going?" he said breathlessly.
"Out," she chirped, hugging the worn black leather to her body. "I'm hungry."
"Pet, aren't you going to untie me?" Spike strained his muscles slowly and listened to the creak of the ceiling beam. Drusilla shook her head with a giggle.
"Puppy hasn't learned his lesson," she said cheerfully, and wiggled her fingers in a wave. "I'll be back at dawn!" And with that, she sauntered out, singing some sort of imaginary song as she slipped out into the night. Spike stared after her in disbelief.
"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. "Should've stayed in Sunnydale."
Author: Naughty Slayer
Rating: I've changed it from NC-17 to R, but if you think it should be rated more strictly, let me know.
Summary: Tickle fetish fic, written on a dare. Dru gets Spike in a rather... interesting position. Set somewhere after Lover's Walk, but before Spike's return in season 4. Tickling and sex... Not for li'l bits!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you. If you're planning on suing me, too frickin' bad, 'cause I ain't making money off of this. Nyah! Characters are property of my beloved Joss Whedon. -petpet-
Chapters: This is probably the last chapter. Let me know if I should write more.
Feedback: LOTS! This is my first posted lemon, so I need tons of reviews.
Author's Note: I thought I'd let you all know that this chapter was influenced by a juicy piece of information I picked up on the Internet: James Marsters is indeed ticklish, and mostly so on his stomach and knees. Apparently, he found this out when he was tied to a chair and the whole cast took advantage of the situation... -drooool- What I wouldn't give for a chance. Anyway, on to the story.
Spike woke slowly from a pleasant sleep, his lips forming an unconscious smile. It had been far too long since he'd been with his Dru, far too --
"Dru?" he mumbled in confusion when he'd tried to move his arms. They were immobile above his head, restrained with the same damned ropes that had held him captive before. Her giggle sounded from somewhere behind him; Spike twisted to see her, but he couldn't make his head swivel far enough. His gaze drifted above him instead -- Drusilla had bound his hands together with the length of rope, then strung it over a beam in the ceiling. He cursed her cleverness silently. She knew how heavily he slept after a good shag. Spike flexed his arms in an attempt to lower them, desperate to get out of this situation. He was sure he could lift whatever weighted down the end of the rope even without shifting into game face, and --
"Ruff," Drusilla barked softly, popping up in front of him out of nowhere. She placed both her hands on his chest and flexed her fingers into cat's claws. He squirmed at the light scratching on his skin. "Bad dog." She drew her fingers slowly along the straining muscles of his arms, giggling at the pained expression on his face, and finally Spike stopped trying to pull the rope down.
"Pet, what now?" he complained, embarrassed to hear a whine in his voice.
"Game's not over, my love," Dru proclaimed simply with a gesture towards Miss Edith. Now she got to sit on the bed while Spike was suspended from the ceiling. He glared briefly at Miss Edith and felt a simple hatred for that bloody doll.
"I'm going to break this rope, Dru." He told her this bluntly as he flexed his arms again, waiting to feel the ropes give way a little. "When I break this rope, you and I are going to shag, and then we are going to get the hell out of this place. Find us a meal and a good shot of liquor. And STOP letting that bloody doll decide how and when we're going to play sex games!" Drusilla's mouth popped open in a playful, mocking 'o'.
"Miss Edith does not appreciate that at all!" she scolded, tapping his bare chest with a polished fingernail. Her disapproving frown disappeared after a moment; she giggled quietly and leaned her chin against his breastbone, staring up at him with a coy smile.
"What?" Spike asked suspiciously.
"Try to pull your arms down," she said in a low voice, and giggled again. He frowned a little, then slowly strained his bisceps, pulling the rope taut. He thought he felt it giving, and then the ceiling let out a loud creeeak, one that made him look upwards in surprise. The beam was giving, not the rope. Spike stopped pulling immediately.
"What's your point, pet?" he said after a moment's thought.
"Pull too hard, silly puppy," she crooned, sliding her hands slowly up his sides, "and the pixies in my head tell me you'll break the sky." The ceiling will cave in, he thought sourly. They'd survive, of course, but it would be mightily uncomfortable. Damn it. When did she start thinking these things out so carefully?
"What happens if I break the sky?" Spike asked with a sigh. Drusilla giggled delightedly and nuzzled her nose against his chest.
"You lose."
She had him backed into a corner, yet again. He groaned inwardly, flexed his arms one more time, and surrendered.
"You win, pet," he muttered. "I'll play."
"No one's won yet," Dru corrected sternly as she straightened, lifting her chin from his chest. She stepped back to admire her work and examined him slowly, a mischievous gleam in her eye. Her gaze did a full elevator, from foot to head, and she smiled. Apparently, his naked body and the barest hint of his hard-on amused her to no end. Drusilla chewed her lower lip slowly, a smile lighting her face, and leaned forward for a moment. "Besides," she whispered into his ear, "the pixies say you would've played whether you liked it or not."
She ducked out of sight, and Spike closed his eyes in disgust. He was so tired of Miss Edith's game he would've smashed that stupid doll's head if he had the chance. His back arched involuntarily as he felt her long, slender fingers slowly stroking down his sides. Spike was cursing steadily in his mind; his upper body was probably more ticklish than anywhere else, and Dru knew it. She might have been insane, but she knew exactly how to drive him absolutely insane with the lightest of touches. Her fingers slipped slowly down to the tender skin at his hips; Spike jumped uncontrollably and tried to twist away, but her hands followed suit, tickling and pinching gently at his waist. He tried to think about something else -- killing the Slayer in the subway, having a shag with Dru, seeing the witch in that fuzzy pink number with the lavender underneath -- but Drusilla's nails began scrabbling softly at his ribs, and he convulsed violently. He knew he couldn't last much longer.
"Dru," Spike moaned, arching his back again. She scratched her fingers slowly over his quivering ribcage, bringing another groan out of him, and giggled quietly.
"Puppy wants off his leash," Drusilla crooned. "Wants to bite and scratch. Naughty puppy." Her nails reached a particularly tender spot under his ribs; Spike gasped and strained to twist out of her reach.
"Dru..."
"Perhaps if the puppy begs, Mistress will let him off his leash," she prompted. Dru had taken note of his increased squirming and was tortuously drawing little circles on the sensitive skin. He moaned again. She'd made him do this before, too, and if there was something he hated more than being tickled it was being forced to beg.
"Dru, please --"
"Beg me," Drusilla sang, dragging her nails slowly from his ribs to his hips. Spike bucked back with a strangled laugh, unable to stop what the unbearable sensations were doing to him. He was breaking down, and fast.
"Stop, Dru," he said, the words pouring out in a steady, almost unintelligible rush. "Stop, please, I'm begging you, pet, stop!" She was obviously pleased with this reaction; Dru smiled and inched her fingers towards his stomach.
"Good. More." She began slowly scratching her nails at the edge of his taut abdomen. Spike's body tensed even more. He tried wildly to get his torso out of her reach, but it was no use, so he went on babbling as she had asked.
"Dru, please stop tickling, please, I'm b-begging --" He twisted desperately, trying to finish before he surrendered to laughter. "-- please, stop, p-p-please stah-AH --" Spike couldn't complete the word, because Dru's fingers were scrabbling all over his stomach now, and the sensation was simply driving him insane. His pent-up laughter escaped him in an explosion of uncontrollable giggles as he squirmed and twisted madly, doing everything possible to get away from her fingers. Drusilla was beaming; he knew she would've clapped her hands, had they not been busy humiliating him.
"Good puppy," she exclaimed over his laughter. "Later, you'll get a treat!" Should've told me the reward came LATER, Spike thought bitterly. I wouldn't have begged like a child if I'd known the reward came LATER.
Dru's hands scrambled all over his stomach and ribs, knowing exactly where to stroke and scratch to make him howl with laughter. Every now and then, a neatly manicured nail would slowly circle his navel and Spike would nearly jump out of his skin, making Drusilla giggle at his reaction and move back to his ribs. His torso was shimmying back and forth like he was going for first place in a hula-hoop contest, but it was almost as if she could anticipate his movements; the moment Spike thought he might be out of her reach, there she was again, pinching at his waist and bringing forth a new explosion of laughter. It was hard to even think straight anymore.
"Tell me what you did wrong, my Spike," Dru crooned suddenly. Her hands had slowed on his sides but were still dangerously close to his trembling stomach, so he could speak through only a few giggles.
"I don't know what I did, pet," he said shakily, and yelped as she grabbed at his waist.
"Wrong," she said with disapproval, then waited for him to stop laughing again. "Tell me what you did wrong, my Spike." Spike looked at her in mild disbelief. This wasn't a sex game, this was punishment!
"Dru, I --"
"No excuses." Her voice was surprisingly stern as she goosed his ribs again. "What... did you... do wrong?"
"I made a truce with the Slayer," he gasped, arching his back to strain out of her reach. Drusilla smiled, pleased, then rested her palms lightly on his heaving chest.
"Good," she crooned, and rewarded him with a slow, sensuous kiss. When they parted, she looked at him expectantly. "And why was that wrong?" Spike licked his lips, trying to hide his nervousness. There were too many possible answers, and too many that were probably not the right one.
"Because..." He hesitated, slowly getting his breath back. "Because... I could've... handled it myself?" Dru's face darkened as she shook her head.
"No," she said quietly. Her hands went to his stomach and hovered there; she waited a long moment before launching out a full-scale attack on his abdomen, her voice rising to a shout. "Because she's THE SLAYER!" Dru yelled, suddenly furious. Spike exploded into laughter. He was twisting wildly back and forth, his arms straining at the ropes; the ceiling beam creaked dangerously, but he was in far too much agony to care. He was sure if he'd been alive he would've been dealing with serious oxygen issues.
"Stop, Dru," Spike managed, and whatever he said next dissolved into a shriek as a finger slid into his navel and drew a slow circle.
"The Slayer, Spike," Drusilla said in disgust, still scratching at his ribs with her free hand. "That naughty little girl is the Slayer, and we don't make truces with Slayers. We kill Slayers, we cut off their heads and make dolls from their hair, we slit their throats and mix martinis with their blood. When did you forget this, Spike?" Spike was a little too preoccupied to answer; the finger in his navel was slowly driving him insane. "When?" Dru demanded, and attacked his stomach again.
"I don't know!" he yiped, barely able to hold off the new torrent of laughter. She slowed her attack and eyed him carefully, then picked up the pace again.
"Tell me you're sorry," Drusilla prompted, her fingers scrabbling over his quivering ribs. Spike was choked with giggles once again, unable to answer; she gave him a moment, then smiled and lowered her head. Through his tear-blurred eyes, he could see her pressing her face against his stomach. The moment he felt the moist warmth of her tongue in his navel, he forced himself to say what she wanted to hear.
"I'm sorry!" he yelped. "I was wr-WRONG, Dru, and I'm sorry!" Drusilla beamed and straightened, clapping her hands in delight.
"Right!" she giggled joyfully. "You win!"
Spike was finally getting back his breath when he noticed that Dru was putting on his coat.
"Where are you going?" he said breathlessly.
"Out," she chirped, hugging the worn black leather to her body. "I'm hungry."
"Pet, aren't you going to untie me?" Spike strained his muscles slowly and listened to the creak of the ceiling beam. Drusilla shook her head with a giggle.
"Puppy hasn't learned his lesson," she said cheerfully, and wiggled her fingers in a wave. "I'll be back at dawn!" And with that, she sauntered out, singing some sort of imaginary song as she slipped out into the night. Spike stared after her in disbelief.
"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. "Should've stayed in Sunnydale."
