Title: I Don't Know You Anymore
Author: The Zeppo
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, all characters belong to Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy and Twentieth Century Fox so please, don't sue me!
Spoilers: Everything until Buffy season 6 and Angel season 3 just to be on
the safe side
Summary: Angel discovers Buffy's secret
Rating: PG-14
Content: Just a bit of Buffy/Spike kissage. Nothing graphic, don't worry.
Feedback: I guess so, just don't be too harsh. (slayage@hotmail.com)
Comment: My first fanfic. So if it totally sucks, I apologize, but at least
I tried
His lips are running down my neck as his hands caress my back. He pushes me against the wall of the crypt as he continues his explorations. My hands move up his arms to be tangled in his hair.
What I'm doing is wrong, I know it is, but for some reason I keep coming back for that one last high. I know it may sound strange, but that's what he is to me. A drug. Something I'm addicted to.
I don't keep coming back because I have feelings for him, at least that's not the way it started; I come back because I need to. I was just empty. I needed something to make me forget, but to make me feel, just feel, at the same time. The part that scares me the most is that he's the one I go to when I want to feel alive. Not my friends, not Giles. Him. I keep telling myself, 'this is the last time, this is the last time', but my body never keeps that promise.
I crave him now, the way that I crave a coffee in the morning or non-fat yogurt after patrol. As we continue to moan and whisper to eachother, I think I hear something outside.
"Spike," I whisper into his ear. He doesn't stop, I don't even know if he hears me. "Spike, stop. I think I hear something." His kisses and caresses slow, but he still doesn't stop.
"Well, it is a crypt, love. I'm sure there're all sorts of lil' nasties around here," he says between kisses. "You can go kill them later, you know, when we're done."
He starts unbuttoning my blouse, and I watch him, still a little wary. Suddenly, the door to the crypt bursts open and reveals a man I know all too well. "Oh, God," I whisper quietly to no one in particular.
He wears his usual black ensemble. However, the look on his face is something I haven't ever seen. Pure disgust.
Angel hasn't said a word, he merely stares at me, not looking at Spike at all. "Angel," I mean to sound firm when I say his name, but it comes out barely a squeak. I firmly move Spike off of me, and he looks at the floor, knowing he doesn't want to get involved in this. I just look into Angel's eyes from across the room. What I see there now brings tears to my eyes. He looks so sad. I begin to walk toward him, but he suddenly backs up a few steps, then turns around out of the crypt and out into the darkness of the cemetery. I run out to follow him.
"Oh come on!" I hear Spike call after me.
He's walking quickly but I easily catch up. "Angel," I call, with a great regret in my tone. He ignores me and keeps walking. I am merely two steps behind him, so I violently grab his arm and turn him around. "Look at me!" I finally scream. He turns around, and I see a single tear roll down his left cheek.
"Please," I plead, "talk to me." My hand softly grasps his, and when I think he's going to finally say something, he takes his free hand, puts it over mine, and removes my hand from his. That simple act hurts more than I can describe. After recovering from it, I continue to speak. "Say something, anything." He is silent. "Tell me you hate me, at least then you'd be talking to me," I say, getting a little more nervous with each passing second.
"I need time," he finally says, huskily. "I can't even look at you right now." His words cut me right to the core, and I stare down at his feet. "How did you know?" I ask him, wanting to know who would hate me so much as to tell my Angel what my life has been reduced to.
"Does it really matter?" he asks me in return. "I guess I just don't understand. If you needed to talk to someone.have we really grown that far apart that you couldn't even come to me?" He asks, sadly.
I look up to his face, trying to read exactly what he's feeling, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make the pain less. "I'm sorry," is all I manage to say, my sobs finally getting the best of me. He looks at me square in the eyes, studies my features for a moment, and it seems like he's taking one last look at me before he finally leaves forever. I silently pray that is not the case.
"So am I," he whispers. He then lifts his hand up and wipes a single tear from my cheek, just as gentle as he always was. I watch him slowly turn around and walk out of my life. Again. I stare after him. I know I should not follow.
His lips are running down my neck as his hands caress my back. He pushes me against the wall of the crypt as he continues his explorations. My hands move up his arms to be tangled in his hair.
What I'm doing is wrong, I know it is, but for some reason I keep coming back for that one last high. I know it may sound strange, but that's what he is to me. A drug. Something I'm addicted to.
I don't keep coming back because I have feelings for him, at least that's not the way it started; I come back because I need to. I was just empty. I needed something to make me forget, but to make me feel, just feel, at the same time. The part that scares me the most is that he's the one I go to when I want to feel alive. Not my friends, not Giles. Him. I keep telling myself, 'this is the last time, this is the last time', but my body never keeps that promise.
I crave him now, the way that I crave a coffee in the morning or non-fat yogurt after patrol. As we continue to moan and whisper to eachother, I think I hear something outside.
"Spike," I whisper into his ear. He doesn't stop, I don't even know if he hears me. "Spike, stop. I think I hear something." His kisses and caresses slow, but he still doesn't stop.
"Well, it is a crypt, love. I'm sure there're all sorts of lil' nasties around here," he says between kisses. "You can go kill them later, you know, when we're done."
He starts unbuttoning my blouse, and I watch him, still a little wary. Suddenly, the door to the crypt bursts open and reveals a man I know all too well. "Oh, God," I whisper quietly to no one in particular.
He wears his usual black ensemble. However, the look on his face is something I haven't ever seen. Pure disgust.
Angel hasn't said a word, he merely stares at me, not looking at Spike at all. "Angel," I mean to sound firm when I say his name, but it comes out barely a squeak. I firmly move Spike off of me, and he looks at the floor, knowing he doesn't want to get involved in this. I just look into Angel's eyes from across the room. What I see there now brings tears to my eyes. He looks so sad. I begin to walk toward him, but he suddenly backs up a few steps, then turns around out of the crypt and out into the darkness of the cemetery. I run out to follow him.
"Oh come on!" I hear Spike call after me.
He's walking quickly but I easily catch up. "Angel," I call, with a great regret in my tone. He ignores me and keeps walking. I am merely two steps behind him, so I violently grab his arm and turn him around. "Look at me!" I finally scream. He turns around, and I see a single tear roll down his left cheek.
"Please," I plead, "talk to me." My hand softly grasps his, and when I think he's going to finally say something, he takes his free hand, puts it over mine, and removes my hand from his. That simple act hurts more than I can describe. After recovering from it, I continue to speak. "Say something, anything." He is silent. "Tell me you hate me, at least then you'd be talking to me," I say, getting a little more nervous with each passing second.
"I need time," he finally says, huskily. "I can't even look at you right now." His words cut me right to the core, and I stare down at his feet. "How did you know?" I ask him, wanting to know who would hate me so much as to tell my Angel what my life has been reduced to.
"Does it really matter?" he asks me in return. "I guess I just don't understand. If you needed to talk to someone.have we really grown that far apart that you couldn't even come to me?" He asks, sadly.
I look up to his face, trying to read exactly what he's feeling, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make the pain less. "I'm sorry," is all I manage to say, my sobs finally getting the best of me. He looks at me square in the eyes, studies my features for a moment, and it seems like he's taking one last look at me before he finally leaves forever. I silently pray that is not the case.
"So am I," he whispers. He then lifts his hand up and wipes a single tear from my cheek, just as gentle as he always was. I watch him slowly turn around and walk out of my life. Again. I stare after him. I know I should not follow.