Author:
Rating: NC17.
Setting: Post-"Not Fade Away."
Pairing: Buffy/Gunn.
She loves watching Gunn train. Sweat glistening off his skin as they spar. He doesn't mind when she kicks his butt almost every time. She couldn't believe that during their first few sessions. All her boyfriends who assured her, even though she was stronger, faster, that they didn't mind. But she saw the bruised ego of Riley, of Angelus when she had the sword to his throat.
Buffy's leg makes contact, causing Gunn to stumble back. Feet tripping underneath him, her hand reaches out to pull him back. "Thanks." He smiles and then uses the advantage to throw her down on the mat.
Grunting, she moves her hands as if she's going to push him back, but instead finds herself drawing closer to him. Her lips on his, tasting the adrenaline rushing between them. He lightly grinds against her hips, suggestively.
Taking a deep breath, Buffy smells musk and the spicy Italian deodorant he's taken to wearing. Her tongue pushes into his mouth, hands gripping his ass and accepting the invitation.
She feels his erection, hard and swelling, against the inside of her thigh, and she rubs against it. His hands tug her gray t-shirt up, running over her breasts. She's glad that they build this soundproof room in the one that Andrew vacated after heading to England. When Gunn first came to live in Rome, they worked out at a local gym, and she had to settle for accidental orgasms on the trend mill.
Gripping together the waist of his jogging pants and underwear, Buffy pulls them down. She needs him with the fierceness of a fighter, or at least that's her excuse. Faith would tell her that this was natural, hungry and horny, and Giles would wipe his glasses and mention that she might find herself distracted by Gunn on patrol.
Gunn grins at her, a knowing grin that this is hungry and needy, not slow and tender like last night. She appreciates the variation.
One shoe remains stubbornly on her foot as she gives up; her own pants inched down to her knees. She groans as he rubs his cock in the crook of her thigh. Her body presses tightly against him.
"Want you," Gunn whispers. His large, rough hands push Buffy's thighs further apart as she wiggles lower to meet him.
Her eyes grow large as he pushes inside her, and she gasps, his name a puff on her lips. Instead of closing her eyes, she keeps them open, gazing at him as he begins to move. Sometimes his eyes remind her of Bambi's mother, but neither of them is that innocent anymore. Her fingers traced the lower rungs on his spine.
Gunn bucks into Buffy. His head's crooked so he smells the remnants of her shampoo. He splays out one hand on her hipbone. During the first time they had sex, he mentioned that he loved her lower belly, the soft curve of it into her hips. She was mortified as she hadn't been working out and her Slayer metabolism only went so far.
Now she moans and lifts herself to meet him, and she doesn't do as many sit-ups as she used to. Her body's heating, and her panting begins to match his. She rolls her thumb over her clit.
As orgasm washes over him, he shudders; his lips meet hers, and he continues to thrust; he always does, waiting until she's finished.