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[slay]

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[bigbad]

Nothing. I'm wearing nothing. [Yeah, he's determined.] And I'm thinking about you.

[slay]

[ siiiigh. ]

Spike, I am not having -- [ she flounders to find the right phrasing, glimpsing out into the hall and then closing her door by leaning her back against it once she was sure no one was lurking out there. ] -- phone sex with you.

[bigbad]

Why not? Rather I go over and give you the real thing?

[slay]

There's a long, long list of reasons, and that is nowhere on it.

[bigbad]

And thinking about me parting those pretty legs of yours and feeling how wet you are does nothing, right? [A beat.] Maybe if I taste it instead.

[slay]

[ air rushes into her lungs through parted lips, and heat surges between her thighs. she squeezes them together, eyes drifting briefly closed. she can't help the rush of warmth under her skin, something about the rough bluntness that's just so spike has a way of always drawing that response. her free hand rests over her abdomen, slides down, but she catches herself at her waistband just when her fingertips brush bare skin at the gap between her shirt and her pants. she straightens, dropping her hand quickly to her side, and pushes away from the door. this is not happening. ]

You're not parting my pretty anything and you don't know that I'm -- [ 'wet' doesn't make it out of her mouth. she gets hung up on the word. stops. licks her lips, swallows down the heaviness of her breath and rediscovers her resolve. ] And how are you naked on the phone anyway? You don't have a phone. If you streaked your way to a payphone to try and talk me into phone sex, I am not bailing you outta jail.

[bigbad]

Don't worry. [He sounds amused.] I promise not to get arrested 'til we're through. [He doubted the bloke he stole the cellphone from would think to look here.] Now be a good girl and tweak a nipple for me.

[slay]

Don't tell me what to do. [ her fingertips brushed over her nipple, and that alone had it crinkling into a hardened nub that strained against her shirt, but she went on to pinch it through that fabric. the noise she made was soft, barely perceptible, an abrupt exhale in the back of her throat. her jaw slackened. ]

Where are you? [ she swallowed thickly, gaze fixed on her bed, appraising it with no small amount of reluctance. if she sat on it, she'd be resigning herself to playing his stupid game. ]

[bigbad]

In my crypt. [His voice is husky and low, rough with desire, and a little smug because he can hear the noises she's making. He knows what she's doing, and it's exactly what he's telling her to do.] On my bed. Touching my cock.

[slay]

I didn't ask you that. [ but she hears her blood rush in her ears because it sure explains the rough edge in his voice. she squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head to dispel the mental image that has a fresh surge of wetness soaking her underwear. she paces to her desk, fitting the phone between her cheek and shoulder and forcing herself to start straightening up as a distraction. ] I'm not playing this game. You wanna jerk off thinking of me? Fine. But don't call me every time you do it.

[bigbad]

Your phone would never stop ringing if I did. [It's an exaggeration. Now he can actually fuck her and it's a million times better than wanking could ever be. But it's not much of one.] You ever think of me when you touch yourself? [He's guessing she'll say no, and he's certain it'll be a lie, but he'll still ask.]

[slay]

Oh -- Spike, eww. I do not -- [ do that stuff. or at least don't admit to it. it's force of socialized habit. when girls do it, it's icky. she's defensive before it even occurs to her that any kind of pretense is wasted on spike. ]

[bigbad]

All that defensiveness hides a yes, right? [He doesn't wait for a response.] I'm thinking about your mouth right now. Those full, pouty lips of yours. [He runs a hand up his cock, swiping a thumb over the tip, and lets out a low moan.] Love how they look wrapped around my cock.

[slay]

[ her breath is heavier, audible. she turns and leans her hips back against the desk, just listening to him for a moment. she decides something, then. relents. gives him an in. ]

A skirt. [ beat. ] I'm wearing a skirt. [ she sinks down so she's more sitting on the desk than leaning against it. the body language of someone defeated. ] The, um. The one with the lace.

[bigbad]

Sounds pretty. [He knew she'd fold. She always folds.] Pull it up for me, love. Picture it's me. What's beneath?

[slay]

[ she wedges the phone between her cheek and shoulder again, reaching down to hike up her skirt slowly, letting the fabric fold between her fingers as she inches it up. her fingers glide slowly up the inside of her thigh then, stopping at the hem of her panties as her breathing grows rough.

oh. they're just patterned cotton panties. her glance skirts the room quickly because nope find something sexier, buffy. ]

Underwear. [ she points out with a coy duh voice. her fingertips slowly trace along her damp inseam. ] They're, um. All red lace. And stringy. [ her tone makes it pretty clear she's just inventing these underwear in her head and adding traits to them as she goes along. ]

[bigbad]

[Red and lacy. Sure. But he lets her have her delusion.] Sounds sexy. Like they're just begging to be torn off by your lover.

[slay]

Oh, or the love of -- Do you know how many pairs of underwear you've ruined? You're not tearing anything off. And - And lover is a very strong word. You're not. [ she moves her hand from her panties, sitting up straighter and resting it on the desk beside her. ] I mean it. [ though she will add, ] But ... Yes. Since you pointed it out, they're very sexy.

[bigbad]

I did offer to get you new ones. [She's just so hung up on the paying for them idea. Probably hung up on paying with stolen money too, even though that one's almost like legal.] Fine. Begging to be gently and carefully removed by a lover. Just take them off, would you?

[slay]

Now you're just being unrealistic. Gentle, in your vocabulary? [ but she does push her much-less-exciting underwear down from under her skirt as she smiles against the receiver. she lifts one leg at a time to get out of them. she slings them over her desk chair and spreads her thighs, dragging her fingertips up her inseam. ] They're all damp.

[bigbad]

Guess you're enjoying this, then. [He knew it. He runs his hand over his own prick, smearing pre-come with his thumb.] Me too. You should feel how hard I am, thinking about you.

[slay]

Thinking about me how? [ she needles, fingernails scratching lightly against her inner thigh, breath coming unevenly into the receiver. she licks her lips, hesitates, then strips off her shoes, dropping them with two loud thuds to her bedroom floor. she walks over to the bed, sprawling across it, rolling onto her back and drawing her knees up, shutting her eyes. ]

[bigbad]

Doing whatever it is you're doing to make you breathe like that. Talk to me love. [He licks his lips, shifting in bed.] What are you doing now?

[slay]

I'm wrapping my full and pouty lips around your -- um. [ she started off so strongly -- sassy, even, -- but tripped at the finish line. it was so close to empowered, too. ] Your hard ...

[bigbad]

My hard what? [So close, but he knows she can do better.] Come on, love. You can say the word.