Joan the Vampire Slayer
Carpe Spuffy!
It's likely that Buffy had tried to break up with Spike before "As You Were."
Here's a possible scenario. Set somewhere between "Doublemeat Palace" and "As You Were."
-
Spike sighed. He could still feel her. He could always feel her. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was, touching him in all the right places, lingering, her hands moving over his body, causing his skin to sing.
Before they"˜d brought her back, he'd saved her in his mind every night. He'd played it back over and over and over, playing the Hero, inventing new strategies that could have saved her from what she had to do. The sacrifice she had to make. The pain she had to endure. It was his fault, he'd known it. He still knew it. He should have been strong enough to save her. Why hadn't he been? His guilt - and, well, the lust - was all he had left. Because she was gone. Everything she was - the spunk, the fire - she was only a shell now. And she used him to fill it.
Now, instead of saving her every night, he dreamed of her. When he was with her, everything fell away. He was at peace. It was afterwards that the pain started. When she got up hastily and left without saying a word. Spike had never felt so used in his life. And yet, he couldn't say no. He couldn't deny her what she wanted - him.
She, Buffy, The Slayer, was so powerful. So beautiful. So crushing. Her power overpowered him every night. Yet, the closer he got to her, the farther she withdrew. Some nights, she'd talk to him like he mattered, maybe even like she talked to her friends - but other nights, she said nothing, there was only fury and rage - she hated herself so much for how much she wanted him - and in the morning, he woke up alone, bloody and sore, the chains still around his wrists.
She was his, but was he hers? He was terrified of losing her. He knew the power he had over her, but she knew the same power she had over him. Spike closed his eyes, let his hand wander beneath the covers, slide along his stomach - He sighed again. Why wasn't he good enough for her to love? Sex was meaningless without love, wasn't it? She claimed she didn't love him, but she came to him all the same.
Spike signed again. Perhaps he was being selfish. but, how could he be the selfish one when he was giving himself to her every night? His body and soul? She wanted him. All the time. It was obvious. He could smell it on her. Yet, he got off on it too. The idea that he was using her in the same way she was using him flickered in his mind, but he pushed it away. He loved her. He did.
Anyway, he thought, she was due here soon. Time to stop thinking. It only depressed him, anyway. Time to move. Do what she wanted. She never wanted to hear what he had to say, anyway. Service the girl. That was always all she wanted.
Spike heard the door of his crypt open, and then it softly shut, her fingers locking it. Funny how delicate she was with the door when she hardly gave any mind to the rest of his furniture. He couldn't name how many times he'd had to replace the bed in the last couple of months. He heard her then. Her voice. It still made his stomach drop and his heart flutter. Which was miraculous considering it didn't even beat. It was dark in the crypt - the way she liked it - and she didn't bother lighting a candle, as she usually didn't. She needed the darkness to do what she did to him. If it had been light, and if she could see herself doing these things, she'd run off crying, hating herself even more then she did already.
Spike's mind flashed to something he'd told Buffy not long ago.
You try to be with them, but you always end up in the dark. With me.
He shuttered. He'd been wrong. She didn't belong in the darkness as he'd thought - she was supposed to fight it. She couldn't handle it. It would destry her. That's who she was. A fighter of darkness. If it meant that in order to be with him she had to be as dark as she was now - she scared him sometimes - then, well, he didn't want that.
"Spike?" Her voice was tired, defeated. He wondered if she'd had a bad run-in with a particularly nasty vamp tonight. Perhaps even one of those nasty Bringers of The First. He could smell blood on her. And it wasn't hers. He sat up in bed, alarmed. His nostrils flared. He automatically turned to get out of bed, reaching out to her.
"Buffy, you ok?" She came over to the bed, and sat gingerly on it. Spike saw a huge gash on her shoulder. Her shirt has almost been ripped clean off. His hand instinctually grazed her arm, wanting to get a better look, but she pushed him back.
"Spike, I'm fine. Sit down."
This was unusual, Spike thought. He signed and leaned against the bedpost. Normally she was down to business and usual, clothes off before her tiny feet left the floor and her hands were on his chest, her lips crushing his. But this time was different. She was different. Spike thoughtfully studied her. She was tired. But that wasn't unusual. She was bloodied, but hell, well that wasn't unusual either. Especially these says. She stared at her hands. Spike hesitated for a movement, then laid his hand on hers. Buffy continued to sit, her face away from him.
"What's wrong, love? Tough night?" Buffy's hand twitched involuntarily as she felt Spike's hand envelope hers. Spike sighed, and withdrew his hand. Here we go again, he thought. Doesn't like to be touched. Not like this. Not by him.
"Spike"¦" Buffy heaved such a big sigh her whole body seemed to crumple. "I can't do this anymore. It's over." She looked at him. Spike felt his blood run cold. The monster threatened to emerge in him, the anger overwhelming - but he held it in. Not again. Not tonight. He couldn't take another round of this. It was never permanent. She always came back to him, so matter what she said. He just never thought it'd happen so soon. She wanted him so badly, after all. And he couldn't handle the idea of losing her.
He choose his words wisely. "Love, it's late. I'm not up for another round of this tonight." He stroked her shoulder, pushed aside her golden hair and caressed her neck, tried to entice her into their usual routine. "Besides, in the morning you'll wish you hadn't said it."
Something in Buffy snapped. She turned and looked at him sharply. She slapped his hand away.
"I'm serious, Spike. Listen to me. I can't do this anymore. I"¦" She stopped, looked down. Spike saw her briefly close her eyes and take a deep breath. Spike moved closer to her, risking another slap but didn't care, and wrapped his arms around her tiny frame. For a moment, he felt her relax into him, then she pulled away, resolve renewed.
"No Spike, don't. I-"
"What? So, I can't touch you now?" Spike asked, irritated, hurt, rejected yet again. He got out of bed and pulled his pants on. He faced her and said,
"Here we go again! I can't love you! Blah, blah! You know what? I've heard it already. All if it. I'm a monster. You can't love me. You think I don't know that! Well, bollocks, because I love you. I can't help it. You think I chose to fall in love with you, the way you, you - treat me? Like a piece of meat you can manipulate whenever you want!"
Spike felt himself gasping, and knew he needed to stop before he said something he'd regret. Something that could cause her to stop coming around his place. He knew he couldn't live without her.
Buffy, fire flashing in her eyes, glared at Spike, as if she couldn't believe what he'd said.
"You didn't let me finish." She managed to spit out. Spike's mouth dropped open.
"Oh, well, have at it, Princess! Never mind what I have to say! What was it, "I" what? I can't do this anymore, because" he was mimicking her now, "even though he gives me the best sex I've ever had in my life, I can't do this because he's not good enough for me because I'm all up on my high horse -
Buffy interrupted him then, and the anger in her eyes scared even him a bit. Suddenly, she flew off the bed and slapped him so hard he flew across the room, hitting the granite side of a nearby table. He, shocked, quickly righted himself and stood there, unsure of how to react. She normally wasn't this violent towards him outside of sex anymore. They squared off. Time seemed to stop. Turning towards away from him, Buffy suddenly seemed defeated, and sitting on the other side of the bed, turned herself away from him. After a moment, he slowly approached the bed, until he was standing on the other side of it, facing her back. He gingerly sat down. It was a few minutes before she said,
"It's because I want you too much, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear?" She said this as she was facing away from him but that didn't lessen the impact.
Spike just stared at her, the back of her head, the sting on his cheek from where she'd hit him nothing next to the shock of what she had just admitted to him. Buffy stood up, faced him, then started pacing.
"Spike, when I'm with you, everything falls away, there's no me, there's no Dawn, there's no war - I can't afford that! Do you understand?" She turned back to him with an exasperated look on her face, as if she should understand with perfect clarity what she was saying.
Spike was speechless. That was what this was about? She was afraid of losing herself with him? He almost laughed. He hadn't imagined that was a possibility at all. Didn't the Slayer have complete control of everything? She had it over him. He tried to grasp what she was saying.
"So"¦you don't want to sleep with me anymore because you"¦want me too much? Not seeing the issue her, love." He couldn't help but smirk. Every cell in his body ached to reachout to her. Kiss her, touch her. But he knew this wasn't the time. Buffy threw her hands in the air.
"You're impossible! You can't understand, can you? I can't deal with this right now." And with that, she was gone.
Spike knew she'd be back.
-
(Be nice! This is my first fic, ever. Feedback is appreciated! I"˜m not much of a creative writer (lit crit"˜s more my thing) but I was seized with the desire to write this very late Friday night. )
Here's a possible scenario. Set somewhere between "Doublemeat Palace" and "As You Were."
-
Spike sighed. He could still feel her. He could always feel her. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was, touching him in all the right places, lingering, her hands moving over his body, causing his skin to sing.
Before they"˜d brought her back, he'd saved her in his mind every night. He'd played it back over and over and over, playing the Hero, inventing new strategies that could have saved her from what she had to do. The sacrifice she had to make. The pain she had to endure. It was his fault, he'd known it. He still knew it. He should have been strong enough to save her. Why hadn't he been? His guilt - and, well, the lust - was all he had left. Because she was gone. Everything she was - the spunk, the fire - she was only a shell now. And she used him to fill it.
Now, instead of saving her every night, he dreamed of her. When he was with her, everything fell away. He was at peace. It was afterwards that the pain started. When she got up hastily and left without saying a word. Spike had never felt so used in his life. And yet, he couldn't say no. He couldn't deny her what she wanted - him.
She, Buffy, The Slayer, was so powerful. So beautiful. So crushing. Her power overpowered him every night. Yet, the closer he got to her, the farther she withdrew. Some nights, she'd talk to him like he mattered, maybe even like she talked to her friends - but other nights, she said nothing, there was only fury and rage - she hated herself so much for how much she wanted him - and in the morning, he woke up alone, bloody and sore, the chains still around his wrists.
She was his, but was he hers? He was terrified of losing her. He knew the power he had over her, but she knew the same power she had over him. Spike closed his eyes, let his hand wander beneath the covers, slide along his stomach - He sighed again. Why wasn't he good enough for her to love? Sex was meaningless without love, wasn't it? She claimed she didn't love him, but she came to him all the same.
Spike signed again. Perhaps he was being selfish. but, how could he be the selfish one when he was giving himself to her every night? His body and soul? She wanted him. All the time. It was obvious. He could smell it on her. Yet, he got off on it too. The idea that he was using her in the same way she was using him flickered in his mind, but he pushed it away. He loved her. He did.
Anyway, he thought, she was due here soon. Time to stop thinking. It only depressed him, anyway. Time to move. Do what she wanted. She never wanted to hear what he had to say, anyway. Service the girl. That was always all she wanted.
Spike heard the door of his crypt open, and then it softly shut, her fingers locking it. Funny how delicate she was with the door when she hardly gave any mind to the rest of his furniture. He couldn't name how many times he'd had to replace the bed in the last couple of months. He heard her then. Her voice. It still made his stomach drop and his heart flutter. Which was miraculous considering it didn't even beat. It was dark in the crypt - the way she liked it - and she didn't bother lighting a candle, as she usually didn't. She needed the darkness to do what she did to him. If it had been light, and if she could see herself doing these things, she'd run off crying, hating herself even more then she did already.
Spike's mind flashed to something he'd told Buffy not long ago.
You try to be with them, but you always end up in the dark. With me.
He shuttered. He'd been wrong. She didn't belong in the darkness as he'd thought - she was supposed to fight it. She couldn't handle it. It would destry her. That's who she was. A fighter of darkness. If it meant that in order to be with him she had to be as dark as she was now - she scared him sometimes - then, well, he didn't want that.
"Spike?" Her voice was tired, defeated. He wondered if she'd had a bad run-in with a particularly nasty vamp tonight. Perhaps even one of those nasty Bringers of The First. He could smell blood on her. And it wasn't hers. He sat up in bed, alarmed. His nostrils flared. He automatically turned to get out of bed, reaching out to her.
"Buffy, you ok?" She came over to the bed, and sat gingerly on it. Spike saw a huge gash on her shoulder. Her shirt has almost been ripped clean off. His hand instinctually grazed her arm, wanting to get a better look, but she pushed him back.
"Spike, I'm fine. Sit down."
This was unusual, Spike thought. He signed and leaned against the bedpost. Normally she was down to business and usual, clothes off before her tiny feet left the floor and her hands were on his chest, her lips crushing his. But this time was different. She was different. Spike thoughtfully studied her. She was tired. But that wasn't unusual. She was bloodied, but hell, well that wasn't unusual either. Especially these says. She stared at her hands. Spike hesitated for a movement, then laid his hand on hers. Buffy continued to sit, her face away from him.
"What's wrong, love? Tough night?" Buffy's hand twitched involuntarily as she felt Spike's hand envelope hers. Spike sighed, and withdrew his hand. Here we go again, he thought. Doesn't like to be touched. Not like this. Not by him.
"Spike"¦" Buffy heaved such a big sigh her whole body seemed to crumple. "I can't do this anymore. It's over." She looked at him. Spike felt his blood run cold. The monster threatened to emerge in him, the anger overwhelming - but he held it in. Not again. Not tonight. He couldn't take another round of this. It was never permanent. She always came back to him, so matter what she said. He just never thought it'd happen so soon. She wanted him so badly, after all. And he couldn't handle the idea of losing her.
He choose his words wisely. "Love, it's late. I'm not up for another round of this tonight." He stroked her shoulder, pushed aside her golden hair and caressed her neck, tried to entice her into their usual routine. "Besides, in the morning you'll wish you hadn't said it."
Something in Buffy snapped. She turned and looked at him sharply. She slapped his hand away.
"I'm serious, Spike. Listen to me. I can't do this anymore. I"¦" She stopped, looked down. Spike saw her briefly close her eyes and take a deep breath. Spike moved closer to her, risking another slap but didn't care, and wrapped his arms around her tiny frame. For a moment, he felt her relax into him, then she pulled away, resolve renewed.
"No Spike, don't. I-"
"What? So, I can't touch you now?" Spike asked, irritated, hurt, rejected yet again. He got out of bed and pulled his pants on. He faced her and said,
"Here we go again! I can't love you! Blah, blah! You know what? I've heard it already. All if it. I'm a monster. You can't love me. You think I don't know that! Well, bollocks, because I love you. I can't help it. You think I chose to fall in love with you, the way you, you - treat me? Like a piece of meat you can manipulate whenever you want!"
Spike felt himself gasping, and knew he needed to stop before he said something he'd regret. Something that could cause her to stop coming around his place. He knew he couldn't live without her.
Buffy, fire flashing in her eyes, glared at Spike, as if she couldn't believe what he'd said.
"You didn't let me finish." She managed to spit out. Spike's mouth dropped open.
"Oh, well, have at it, Princess! Never mind what I have to say! What was it, "I" what? I can't do this anymore, because" he was mimicking her now, "even though he gives me the best sex I've ever had in my life, I can't do this because he's not good enough for me because I'm all up on my high horse -
Buffy interrupted him then, and the anger in her eyes scared even him a bit. Suddenly, she flew off the bed and slapped him so hard he flew across the room, hitting the granite side of a nearby table. He, shocked, quickly righted himself and stood there, unsure of how to react. She normally wasn't this violent towards him outside of sex anymore. They squared off. Time seemed to stop. Turning towards away from him, Buffy suddenly seemed defeated, and sitting on the other side of the bed, turned herself away from him. After a moment, he slowly approached the bed, until he was standing on the other side of it, facing her back. He gingerly sat down. It was a few minutes before she said,
"It's because I want you too much, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear?" She said this as she was facing away from him but that didn't lessen the impact.
Spike just stared at her, the back of her head, the sting on his cheek from where she'd hit him nothing next to the shock of what she had just admitted to him. Buffy stood up, faced him, then started pacing.
"Spike, when I'm with you, everything falls away, there's no me, there's no Dawn, there's no war - I can't afford that! Do you understand?" She turned back to him with an exasperated look on her face, as if she should understand with perfect clarity what she was saying.
Spike was speechless. That was what this was about? She was afraid of losing herself with him? He almost laughed. He hadn't imagined that was a possibility at all. Didn't the Slayer have complete control of everything? She had it over him. He tried to grasp what she was saying.
"So"¦you don't want to sleep with me anymore because you"¦want me too much? Not seeing the issue her, love." He couldn't help but smirk. Every cell in his body ached to reachout to her. Kiss her, touch her. But he knew this wasn't the time. Buffy threw her hands in the air.
"You're impossible! You can't understand, can you? I can't deal with this right now." And with that, she was gone.
Spike knew she'd be back.
-
(Be nice! This is my first fic, ever. Feedback is appreciated! I"˜m not much of a creative writer (lit crit"˜s more my thing) but I was seized with the desire to write this very late Friday night. )
