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Summary: This is a short Buffy/Spike fic told from Spike's P.O.V. set during Doublemeat Palace. It's an answer to a challenge which was to write about my favourite BtVS ship but completely turn it on it's head and explain why that particular couple shouldn't be together. So before you flame me understand that I am a devout Buffy/Spike shipper and would like nothing more than to see them live happily ever after in the Crypt o' Lurve.
Disclaimer: Oh yeah I own it all (note the hint of sarcasm)
Dedication: To Jeff (from the BC&S board) who set the original challenge and to kitty who, when I hit a rough patch, told me to quit; knowing full well that I'd do the opposite and keep writing. :-)
This fic contains unconfirmed spoilers for Doublemeat Palace -- don't say I didn't warn you.
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A bed with cool, crisp cotton sheets, surrounded by vanilla scented candles, blood red rose petals scattered on the floor and... bloody hell when did I turn into the Playvamp version of Martha Stewart? Ok I've lost the buffet car on my train of thought here, where was I? It's kinda tough to think when there isn't a drop of blood left in your brain. Oh yeah, I remember now.... I swore to myself that the next time we did this we'd at least be lying on a bed, but here I am leaning against this cold, hard alley wall while Buffy is doing things to me that good little Slayers should not be doing to vampires.
I know I ought to be grateful; I'm living the dream here, well my dream at least, but it's not enough... trust me I can practically feel all my Y chromosomes switching sides as I say this but I kinda want the romance. I want to pace nervously out on her porch as I wait to take her out to dinner. I want to order the most expensive thing on the menu and then be too awed by her beauty, to eat anything. I want to hold her in my arms as we dance to classical music that neither of us can name. I want to whisper 'I love you' in her ear and have her whisper it back. But most of all, right now, I want this to be happening in a damn bed!
The saddest part of this whole sodding situation is that deep down I realize that I'm never going to get what I want. I'm dirt, plain and simple. Dirt doesn't get to go to fancy restaurants, it doesn't get to dance, it's only good enough for abandoned buildings and grimy, rat infested, alleyways, and it sure as hell doesn't get to be loved in return.
I meant what I said to her the night she di... went away... about how I knew she'd never love me. I still know it. Despite the kisses we've shared and that one incredible night in that old building and regardless of what we're doing in this rotten, hellhole of an alley, she doesn't love me. I doubt that she feels anything for me besides a passing appreciation of the fact that I'd do anything to be with her. She thinks she can rip my heart from my chest and use it as a yoyo and I'll just keep coming back for more. Well she's wrong 'cause y'know what, I bloody well have got my rocks back and I'm not gonna take this for one moment lon... where did she learn to do that... ah oh... okay maybe I'll take it for a little while longer.
She hasn't said a word to me since she took my hand and pulled me into this dank fleapit behind the burger restaurant, Doublemeat something-or-other, and I'm finding it more than a little irritating to tell the truth. I like my women on the noisy side and believe me if I'm feeling energetic enough I can make Buffy scream with the best of them, but her eerie silence, in its own twisted way, is speaking volumes. It's proof that she's leaving me, she doesn't realise it yet but she is. Bit by bit she's clawing her way towards daylight and further away from the darkness... from me. Every day she'll crave my touch a little less, 'till one day she won't even bother to come calling. That'll be the day I stop existing, when I drink myself into a stupor and go for a stroll at sunrise.
'Cause I might be dirt when I'm with her but I am nothing without her.
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Thank you for reading.