TITLE: Zipless

AUTHOR: Laura Shapiro

FEEDBACK: laura@humandesign.com

DISCLAIMER: Joss, Mutant Enemy, the WB, and Fox. Not me.

SUMMARY: <snort>

RATING: NC-17

SPOILERS: Lover's Walk, This Year's Girl, general Season 4

DEDICATION: For Te, who grovels so fetchingly

This is totally unbetaed and unslept-on.

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Zipless

by Laura Shapiro

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A flare of red exploding phosphorescence pressed against Joyce's

eyelids and she woke, irritable already. The vivid heat of the

dream faded as she rolled onto her belly, wincing as her breasts

flattened against the mattress. Ow. Shit. PMS.

Joyce flung herself back onto her side, shielding her eyes

against the golden glare reeding in through the blinds. That was

a hell of a nap -- it was almost dinnertime.

Not that she had any reason to keep to regular meals, not with

Buffy gone. Another Sunday afternoon, another weekend without a

phone call. She hadn't seen Buffy in weeks, not since

Faith...Joyce gritted her teeth. It still galled her that Faith

had been right about that. Sure, Buffy's appearance that night

had been timely, but it was beginning to look like Joyce had to

be in mortal danger in order to qualify for a visit.

No, no, don't think that. Buffy loves you, and you know it.

You're just...in a mood.

Not in a mood to get up and cook, that's for sure. Joyce's hand

discovered itself idly scratching her groin. She was itchy,

restless. Bloated. She knew what she needed. She needed sushi.

The idea suddenly seemed profound. Sushi, with its light,

sprightly savor. A bowl of salty, hot miso with cubes of slippery

tofu. Tuna's meaty, slick texture sliding over her tongue, wasabi

tingling in her nostrils...who had time for a shower? She threw a

halterdress over her panties, slid into some sandals, grabbed her

purse, and headed out.

The sun was down as she parked the car and headed across the

strip mall. Her stomach growled, and visions of maguro danced in

her head. She didn't hear the footsteps.

Didn't sense him until his smoke-smelling hand was clamped down

over her mouth, an arm across her chest like an iron bar.

"Now you *can't* go out in Sunnydale smelling like that. Really,

Joyce, you ought to know better."

Spike. And to think she'd just been missing Buffy. She almost snorted.

But he was dragging her back to the car, shoving her against the

hard metal, the long cold leather length of his body pressed

against her back.

"Get that door open." He adjusted his hold on her to fish out her

keys, his right hand leaving her mouth while his left arm still

held her against the car, against him.

"You don't frighten me, Spike. I've seen you drunk and mooning

over your ex-girlfriend, remember?"

"Oh, yeh?" He seemed almost to consider this as a brand-new

possibility, but she didn't buy it. "Maybe I don't want you to be frightened."

The laugh almost made it out of her, but then there was the sharp

thrust of his hips, his hardness against her ass, and she sucked

the laugh down with a gasp of recognition and longing. God, he

felt good. Was it so wrong?

"Well, if you want me to open the door you'd better hand me the

keys and stop trying to hammer me through the car...at least

until we get inside."

She unlocked the door and then he was shoving her in, strong, so

strong she fell almost onto her hands and knees, bruising her

shin against the running board. "Ouch! Okay, look, I --" she

craned her neck and found him clutching his skull and grimacing. "Spike?"

"Ugh. Just...oh...just shut up and drive."

"Okay, I will." She turned around, wrapped her arms around his

neck, and yanked him into the back seat. He fell half on top of

her, all cool flesh and cigarette smoke and crisp hair, one lean

leg between her own. She twined herself around him and groaned as

his weight pressed painfully against her swollen breasts and

belly. Splish, and was that how incredibly hot she felt or had

she just started bleeding?

"Ah...Joyce?"

She curled her fingers in his stiff locks and tongued his cold

ear. "You said you wanted me to drive," she whispered. "Now shut

up and ride."

She could feel him trembling under her breath, under her fingers

-- they must feel so hot to him, she thought, and the idea made

her even wetter. Wrapped around his leg, she humped his thigh

shamelessly, the firm press against her mons sending

too-indistinct pleasure pulsing through her.

He was shoving her panties to one side as her tongue

opened his mouth, and she tasted blood on him as he sought hers,

thrusting two fingers inside with no preliminaries. It was just

what she needed right now, so absurd that it was right, and she

made it right by claiming his tongue in the same moment.

Cool, slick tongue, rough almost as a cat's, tasting of --

She really didn't want to think about that, instead thought about

how wet and open and hungry she felt inside, how almost painfully

tight at the entrance, an ache spreading out from his fingers

until her clit was a humming, sore, miserable thing. She broke

the kiss.

"On your back. Now. And get those damned pants off."

Spike opened his mouth, then snapped it shut and rolled over.

There was barely room, and she narrowly missed rolling into the

wheelwell. When was the last time she'd had sex in a car?

She managed to wait until the black jeans were halfway down his

thighs before she pounced, slurping his pale cock into her mouth

with audible, ridiculous noises that would have made her smile

around it if she weren't so damned hungry. He was big, but she

was devouring him anyway, slathering his shaft and feeling the

head poke against the ring of muscle at the back of her throat.

Her eyes watered. Spike made a gurgling sound and his head fell

back. She stopped abruptly.

"You aren't a natural blonde."

"P...piss off." Weakly.

She did laugh then, a full-tilt guffaw from the belly, joyful and

utterly, utterly careless. She swung one leg over his slim, fine

hips and took him without another word. Right, so right sliding

inside her, somehow warm but nothing to match her own heat, and

she tightened herself around him, the ache spreading everywhere

now. So right to thrust herself along his length, opening herself

more and more as the ache grew and grew. The only thing more

right was her own damp fingers sliding across her begging clit

with urgent strokes.

Spike was panting now, gone, dazed in that almost meditative

place men went when they were trying to last long enough. She was

touched, really. As a sort of reward, she reached behind her to

coddle his balls, hair and curdled skin tightening under her

fingertips. Spike reached for her breasts and squeezed, and pain

blossomed through her, connecting to the ache in her pussy in

thin, throbbing threads. She gasped, fell forward, her fingers

moving in frantic circles now, her other hand gripping him for

purchase, nails digging into the plane of his chest, as she

moved, as red exploded behind her eyes, as she was coming and

coming and coming...

Her mouth was open and dry, so she must have cried out, but she

had no sense of it. Spike was thrashing under her, for she had

stopped moving, and now he was the one in need. Spike could be so sweet.

She moved off of him without a word, and the sound he made was

probably a whine. He grabbed her by the neck as she was reaching

for her panties, and released her just as abruptly to clutch at

his head in pain. She dressed herself, tidied her hair.

"You bitch." Still weakly. He was so *cute*.

"Pull your pants up, Spike, and get the hell out of my car."

He did so, muttering. "I'll be back, pet. Believe me. And when I do..."

"Yes, yes, I know. Now beat it." Joyce gave him a gentle shove

and shut the door after him, climbed, with some difficulty, into

the front seat, and started the engine. She wiped the foggy

windshield and watched him melt into the shadows. How do they

*do* that, she wondered, shrugged, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Circled the block. Pulled back into the lot, into the same

parking space. Looked both ways, and got out of the car. After

all, there was still some maguro sashimi with her name on it.

END