- -
Buffy is trashing the place with his body, kicking him, shoving him, throwing
him away like garbage. Spike enjoys the torture of the pain, laughing to
himself.
"Poor little lost girl."
How long was I gone?
He jumps, catches onto a chandelier and uses it to propel his body towards
Buffy. He kicks her in the face, sending her crashing to the ground. It feels
good. Feels right, to be beating on her, as she is beating on him.
147 days yesterday...
"She doesn't fit in anywhere," says Spike, advancing towards the Slayer.
"She's got no one to love." Oh, pity, pity. Tsk tsk tsk.
He grabs for Buffy. She rebuffs him, as expected, and pummels him into the
rock hard stairs of this house they are trespassing in.
"Me?" Buffy asks in disgust and disbelief. "I'm lost? Look at you, you
idiot," she accuses. She likes to accuse others of everything she can get away
with. He's noticed that. "Poor Spikey. Can't be a human, can't be a vampire."
She's advancing toward him, and all he can think is that he has no thoughts of
sending her away. "Where the hell do you fit in?"
...148 today.
Stung, Spike takes a swing, but Buffy is quick to duck her head. She then
continues to beat the crap out of the vampire in black. Always in black, the
color of darkness, of bleakness, of an empty soul.
Is this hell?
Brick crumbles around Spike's legs. Buffy isn't finished. "Your job is to
kill the Slayer. But all you can do is follow me around, making moon eyes."
"I'm in love with you," he says, his voice husky in his pain of all kinds.
I love you...
Buffy is convinced otherwise. "You're in love with pain. Admit it: you like
me because you enjoy getting beat down. So, really, who's screwed up?"
...you know it.
"Hello, I'm a vampire," Spike so kindly reminds her behind clenched teeth.
Punch here, punch there. None of it stings at all. "I'm supposed to be treading
on the dark side."
Tossing Buffy around like a rag doll, Spike delights in the crunch of the
walls and the insulation beneath Buffy's slight weight. When he has her
positioned below him on the ground, he steps over her body and lifts her upper
half up to meet his. "What's your excuse?"
If my heart could beat...
"Ahh!" Buffy grunts, slapping Spike's entire face within one hand and shoving
him away. He's off of her now, no longer on top, and it just doesn't feel right.
He gets to his surprisingly still steady feet just in time for Buffy to launch
herself at his body, taking him down.
...it would break my chest.
They're up against the stairs. Those hard, cold stairs. Those stairs that are
like his body, but slanted. Spike grabs a hold of Buffy by the neck, but just as
soon as he starts to get a good grip she punches him, pushing him away. He
punches her right back. Tit for tat.
"I wasn't planning on hurting you," he says, then adds playfully, "much."
Buffy clenches her teeth. "You haven't even come close to hurting me."
Everything here is...
Ooh, a challenge. "Afraid to give me the chance?"
...hard...
Buffy shoves him into one wall, and then another. Grabbing him by his shirt
collar, she pulls back, looking at him for a split second. As he looks into her
eyes, something isn't there. They are vacant. She is giving him a blank stare.
It's only for a moment, and then he's not looking at her eyes anymore.
...and bright...
Spike almost looks frightened. "Are you afraid I'm gonna -- "
Buffy silences him by putting her lips to his, grinding her mouth into his
teeth. Caught off-guard, Spike fights to keep from losing his cool. He kisses
her. He kisses her back.
...and violent.
Buffy's skinny arm is around his neck, and then her fist goes through the
wall behind him. And he is kissing her, kissing her...
They're on the move. They crash together into one of the endless walls.
Plaster breaks under their combined weight, and still they cling together. It is
an ugly kind of primal urge that drives them and creates something close to
beautiful.
Everything I feel...
A crack starts in the wall, and quickly ascends to the ceiling, widening as
it goes. Buffy is grabbing at Spike's lips, pulling his entire being into her
mouth, searching for something within him that he doesn't know is there.
...everything I touch...
Things start breaking. The house is beginning to fall apart. Buffy pushes
hard at Spike, sending him out of the way of crashing pieces of the house.
Somebody's home that they are now destroying. Spike doesn't care. He doesn't
care about anything except Buffy and her lips, fused to his. In between their
two tongues is fire, the flames licking at their teeth and his hollowed-out
cheeks. It burns, oh, how it burns, like whiskey, sliding down the throat. You'd
think the spark between them would create light, like a match lit on a scratchy
surface. Spike sees no light, only Buffy. Only Buffy.
...this is hell.
She pushes him up against a wall, their lips become unattached, and he looks
for a moment uncertain, beginning to pull away. But when she crushes her lips to
his again, he has no complaints, and gets lost in the feeling of her again.
Perhaps in him she is feeling nothing, but he's feeling enough for both of them.
He is feeling everything. Everything good, everything bad, everything not even
worth remembering is there, caught in this moment like in a spider's web.
Just getting through...
Spike lifts Buffy as if she weighs nothing (which is close to the truth), as
she wraps her legs around his waist. He's so lost in the kiss that he doesn't
realize what she's doing, that she's unzipping him and pulling his erection out
of his pants, and shimmying her own pants down her legs. Suddenly she's on top
of him, and she slides onto his aching cock. And they are joined now, truly
fused. Together.
...the next moment...
Spike looks at her as if in shock, and her baby face looks much the same way.
What are they doing? Why are they doing it? Oh, does it matter? Does anything
matter but her?
...and the one after that...
Buffy begins riding him, slowly sliding up and down, then up and down again.
Her lips part, and waver, the feelings in her groin surfacing on a face that
doesn't know how to contort. There is no expression for what she is feeling. She
looks as though she's on a freefall, careening down beside a cliff, destination
death. And she looks so much like she doesn't care.
...knowing what I've lost...
Lips meet again for a heated kiss. Spike's cock is on fire, his cold flesh
pushed into her achingly sweet core. Her body is bobbing up and down, his cock
sliding in and out, creating an inferno between them. The house around them is
cool, the air not even touching Spike's body as a sweat starts to form on his
brow. Cradling Buffy less than gently in his arms, he turns her around so that
her back is to the wall. She grabs a portion of plaster, up above her head,
seemingly holding on for dear life as they both fall into one another.
Isn't that what you sang?
The house is falling apart, absolutely crumbling to bits and pieces. Buffy's
letting out gasps and moans as she continues to ride the dark hero who couldn't
save her, and who is witness to her undoing.
Buffy breaks away from the kiss, and Spike's face looked pained from the loss
of contact. Breathing hard, Buffy lets go of the wall and moves forward as if
she had a running start, her Slayer power overcoming Spike's legs and sending
them both tumbling to the ground, to have it hit Spike's back, hard. Like
playing on pebbles the size of rocks, unyielding and punishing of those who must
be punished.
How long was it...
Spike opens his eyes that he just now realizes were closed to look into
Buffy's. Ice blue looking into winter green. If his seed weren't so cold and
dead, they could have children with turquoise eyes, eyes that could stop a man's
heart from ten feet away, put a spell over a parent, send ice traveling on a
whim. The turquoise silence that rests between them creates a sort of calm amid
the frenzy going on outside their bodies. The house is falling, crumbling,
tortured from their wrestling, and ready to die.
...for you...
Spike could die this very second and think nothing of it. It's bloody
perfect, fucking Buffy this way, loving her with his whole heart while his cock
worships her god-like body. She is his sunshine goddess, scorching him with the
heat of her words, the bite of her insults, the insulation of her core. Writhing
below her, he keeps his eyes open, very aware of the short times when he has to
blink or risk tears sliding down his cheeks. He just looks at her as she nears
orgasm, straddling him, bringing him home like nothing he's ever seen.
...where you were?
"Buffy..." he starts, not sure what he's prepared to say, but oh, God,
does she ever know how to work it.
Buffy slaps his face, hard. "Shut up!"
Longer.
He does as he's told, ready to do whatever she wants, for she is giving him
exactly what he has wanted for so long now. The love part would make it better,
but that he cannot have, so he will accept what she chooses to give him.
Willow knew...
Pants and underwear thrown somewhere amid the rough and tumble, the pair is
still covered from the waist up. As Buffy slows down on climbing the mountain,
Spike takes her top off, and throws it away from them, wanting to rid of her all
clothes for an eternity, wanting to stare at her, gloriously naked, struggling
for a free moment above him, a moment without consequences and earth, with only
blue, blue sky.
...there was a chance...
She follows his lead and hastily tears Spike's duster and shirt from his
chest, tossing them away, like so much filthy trash.
..that she'd come back wrong.
He can see her now, breasts heaving in her effort, small curls at her cunt
drawing him in. He can feel her now, skin against skin, sweat draining out of
her pores and onto his body. He's been with women before, with Dru for decades,
but he's never felt this kind of attachment, dangerous in that it leaves him
unarmed, unprepared. In this moment, he would do anything for this girl, and he
used to swear love would never knock him around that way. But love tosses him
wherever it chooses these days. Love's bitch forever. In this moment, he doesn't
care.
Spike reaches up, wanting to touch more of this glorious picture before him.
He grabs her left breast, massaging the nipple slowly with the pad of his thumb,
bringing it to a peak. It's so hard to concentrate, her heat soaking his member,
her motions placing dazzling stars before his eyes. But he wants, and he needs,
to touch her.
Buffy whimpers at this extra contact, and she's staring at him, staring so
hard as if she's looking for something deep inside. Her eyes are empty, but his
are not. His are full of the love and devotion he will always feel for her. Full
of the regrets of letting her down, of being tossed off that tower and letting
her plunge to her death. He blames himself eternally for that, for not saving
the Little Bit... for not giving Buffy what she so badly needed to have: a hero.
He can taste the salt of his tears from that day, when her body lay among the
rubble, beaten, electrified to death. Bruises formed around her face, and those
eyes. Dark purple circles around eyes that were as dead as the heart that no
longer beat within them. Her war scars that followed her to her grave. He can
feel the gravity pulling him down to his knees, where he buried his face in his
hands, crying out for her, for what she means to him, for what was taken away
from them both. For what they didn't get the chance to discover.
They're discovering it now.
But I want...
He leans up and kisses that taut nipple, coaxing her body along with his
tongue that he runs over her collarbone as she bends down closer to him. His
finger flows, drawing a sketch from her left cheek, to her chin, to her neck,
where he would bite if he didn't love her so damn much. He can see a vein
popping there, at the soft spot just behind her ear. He takes her lobe into his
mouth and sucks on it lovingly.
Buffy giggles because it tickles, but quickly re-gathers her composure, and
continues on her mission to dominate and to finally get something back after all
this hell she's been through.
...you to know...
Spike continues trailing his finger along her skin that's so pristine,
wondering if she tastes like snow. His finger follows a line down in the valley
between her breasts, past her sternum, to her toned stomach, and then on to the
damp curls beneath that conceal the heat spreading all through him, warming his
veins and arteries like a forest fire. He fingers her skin, getting a feel for
the course hair, and then seeks out her clit.
Buffy moans, despite herself, not being able to hold back the applause for
this maneuver. Discovering the little nub, Spike begins to slowly build circles
around it with his pointer finger, circling around and around, perilously close
to the center that will take her over the edge. He likes this journey, and
wishes to prolong it, but the pressing matter at hand is his cock that is
trapped in such luxurious pleasure that he's ready to spill.
...I did save you.
He doesn't want to leave without her, so he pinches her clit slightly, and
then begins rubbing it furiously with two fingers, not hard, not feather-light,
but just soft enough.
"Ahh!" Buffy cries out, shuddering in waves. Spike smiles because he's doing
this to her. He is actually responsible for those sounds. Finally, she comes,
with short breaths that inhale little oxygen, as if she's an Other being that
doesn't need it to live. Her inner muscles clamp down on Spike, and as he yells
out her name in release, spilling his seed, he looks at her closed eyelids, at
her mussed up hair, at her lips that are parted just so, and he knows without a
doubt that he's never seen something so beautiful. Nothing like his girl.
Not when it counted...
Spent, Buffy collapses on top of him, panting in exhaustion. Spike matches
her, breath for breath, more for her sake than his, as these unneeded gulps of
air showcase how normal he can be.
He reaches forward to cuddle her close, but Buffy shoves him away. "No," she
says, regaining her composure. "No." He pulls back, gives her a look, and sighs
when she doesn't see it. She isn't looking at him. She's haunted by what they've
just done. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words die on her lips.
"Pet..." She glares at him. "Buffy... Slayer."
Lips trembling, Buffy suddenly gives in, as if she's given up, and melts into
Spike's arms. He looks at her, confused, his brow wrinkling, but hugs her close.
"I'm so... tired," she says.
...of course...
With a bit of an impish grin, Spike gets an idea. He rolls over onto his
back, growling low in his throat, like a bear, pulling Buffy's body on top of
his. With his legs between Buffy's, he spreads hers so that her calves are
hugging his thighs. She looks at him in confusion, but doesn't say a thing.
Tired, she had said. Not too tired to feel.
Locking his arms around her slim, naked back, Spike begins moving Buffy's
groin up over his, in slow motions, hair touching hair, skin matching to skin.
The golden color of her radiant skin looks like a rainbow over his pale corpse,
and she shivers like the rain. Her clit is rubbing slowly but surely along his
cock, in strokes that are dizzying her senses. Once again, she hangs her mouth
open, and it flutters close to shut several times. Her plump lips let forth
small gasps of surprise and pleasure.
...but...
Spike begins to speed up, Buffy continuing to dry hump above him. "That's it,
pretty," he says, confident that he can make her smile. "Come for me, baby, just
like that."
"Spike, I..."
"Shh. Just feel it. Can you feel it?"
Buffy nods wordlessly, lost in the feeling of her clit being rubbed, from the
softest brush to a strong stroke. Now at a full speed, Spike bucks his hips up
to meet hers until her shivering ceases and she moans his name. His name.
He nearly comes on the spot. Somehow stops himself.
...after that.
"There, pet." He kisses her so softly, feather-light on the forehead, then on
those plump rosy lips. "I love you," he whispers, as if he doesn't want her to
hear.
Every...
She doesn't. She is lost in her own world. Coming down from her second
orgasm, she shivers from the cool chill of the air. Spike grabs his duster and
in a gentlemanly fashion covers his love with it. She accepts it gratefully
without thanking him, and settles into the floor to sleep.
every night...
She's already dozing as Spike curls himself around her, like a cat. He hugs
her close, breathing in the papaya scent of her shampoo, reveling in the silk of
her hair. He pulls it out of the ponytail and lets the strands spill out over
his arm. Smiling to himself, he leans down and rests, at last, with her.
night...
Spike and his love may never be enough for her, but baby, having her in his
arms like this, well, that's enough for him any day.
Every night I save you.
- -
end
