SIGHT [Spike/Oz]
The thing is, Spike doesn't even like Oz. Doesn't understand half the crap Oz says, it sounds like he's high most of the time and Spike doesn’t care enough to figure out what some fucking stoner thinks. He's not even sure he likes having sex with Oz.
But he likes what he sees when he runs his tongue down the side of the boy's neck, grazing his teeth over already scarred skin. Marks left on Oz by another lover, marks like the ones left on the skin of all of Spike's other lovers.
Marks like the ones Angel gives Spike.
SMELL [Giles/Willow]
Sometimes Willow closes her eyes. Not because she wants to forget where they are – but because she wants to remember. Remembering means filling her senses, breathing in deeply and inhaling him. The scent of clean cotton, aftershave, the softer, warmer scent of Giles' skin and hair, the drier scent of books and paper smell like sex to Willow. She clings to Giles, face buried in his shoulder, as his fingers twist inside her. Before she comes, Willow tips her head back and inhales deeply. She holds the breath, shudders against Giles, and lets it out on a long, sweet sigh.
TASTE [Giles/Wesley]
After a few minutes of tense quiet in the broken elevator, Giles moves closer. "Do you like Mexican food?" he asks quietly, opens the salsa he had brought for dinner. Instead of waiting for Wes to answer, he dips one finger in the sauce and brings it Wesley's lips. He groans, deep and low, at the delicate touch of Wesley's tongue.
Whatever anxiety he felt disappears and Wesley licks the spicy salsa slowly, mouth watering and tongue twisting around Giles' finger. He sucks, nibbles, then slides it from his mouth, Giles' taste still on his wet lips. "I do now."
TOUCH [Giles/Wesley]
Warm, heavy and sated, Giles slides down next to Wesley on the bed. He likes this part, the post-coital murmuring and touching, the way Wesley curls in next to him and they way his own fingers wander from Wesley's shoulder to his mussed hair. It's damp with sweat at Wesley's forehead and softer and finger at the nape of his neck. As Giles pets him, Wesley mumbles something, indistinct but pleased. It doesn't really matter, because Giles' eyes are closed and he's not listening. He's just concentrating on the way his fingers pet Wesley's hair – soft, smooth, easy, loving.
SOUND [Faith/Fred]
Faith expects the whimpering, the arching up off the bed and the twisting of the sweaty sheets. But the screaming? Fucking hell, that little girl can scream. When Faith's tongue pushes inside Fred, she screams and bucks her hips, coming like she's never been fucked good and hard before. And it ain't just any scream; it's the kind that you feel with all your senses, taste it on your tongue as it rips through your insides. Makes you want to push harder, just to hear it again, pure, loud, raw and filled with lust. Faith does just that and shudders.
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