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Rating: PG14 or R ish, I guess? *Shrugs* read and find out, seeing as there's no adult content. :P
Distribution: Take it. Just let me know where it's going.
Humanity's a dangerous thing. Everyone's so quick to give away what's so impossible to get back. Over time 'fun' gets more and more dangerous. Long walks have turned to bungee jumping, horse drawn carriages have become race cars that move so fast a small collision could be fatal. My love never seems to notice. She travels through the constant threat that is human life, the frail brevity of it all not seeming to reach her.
I wince every time she leaves my arms. She was 27 yesterday and my soul was only bound a short year ago. Every time I can't see her I become aware of how not invincible she is, no matter how many monsters she can take on. My fears are no longer focused on the monsters, but on the normal.
She could die a million and one ways and in one precious instant. Every time I hold her it could be the last. She laughs when I caution her, and tells me she's a big girl and the boogey men don't scare her. I start to cut her off, but in twelve months she's learned a lot about how to distract me.
Most of the time she doesn't use what she's learned; we talk a lot and about everything. Our worlds are no longer seperate; she has a day job, but I do as well. Our friends have grown more supportive, and we rarely have a new story to tell, but we still talk endlessly. She curls up in my arms with a mug of coffee and we stare at the fire place and talk.
Even Cordelia never wormed out of me the stuff we talk about. I tell her about Kathy, about my parents, about the servant girl I seduced. I tell her about Darla's promises and turning Spike (then William) and the Master's hatred. I tell her about Penn, and the gypsy girl, and the long, lonely years without her. I tell her about Whistler, and the night she was called and the years after I left.
She tells me about her childhood, about her friend Gracie, who'd been there for her through everything and then some, 'like Willow, only more,' until Lothos ravaged her and tore out her throat and heart as gifts for Buffy. She tells me about Ford, before he got sick, and Jeoffrey, and Tyler. She tells me about Celia and her father's drinking. She tells me about Merrick and how much she admired and loved the dead Watcher, how much she still misses him.
She tells me what her friends can never hear and I listen and I understand. I tell her what no one should have to hear and she listens and consoles me. And then she makes it go away.
She compared once. She said with Riley it was about actual sex, no foreplay, no talking, and no cuddling after. What they'd had was physical. She said Scott was more about the talking and companionship. They'd kissed twice the entire time they were together and only once with tongue, when his friends had died.
'And hey, he turned gay. Who knew?' she quipped, looking away. I know she wanted that to work, all those years ago. She wanted to love Scott, and she actually did love Riley sometimes.
"But us," she turned to me with a fire in her eyes and smiled sensuously. "We've got it perfect."
And we do, compared to those reports. It's not just physical, and it's so much more than companionship. We talk, we cuddle (I actually like to cuddle more than she does), we have foreplay (Hell, some nights we have just foreplay, take the next day off and have the intercourse with no foreplay), and we have each other.
Still, content as I am, I worry. I have to worry. A mortal lifespan is so short without any other factors. She's twenty seven; soon I know it'll hit her that even with sex, we don't have sunlight, or children. We'll never have the beach wedding she always wanted. She gives up so much for me every day and one day she'll be gone, forever this time, and I don't think I can last. Without her my world will crumble.
The door opens and I look up to see her glare. "Stop brooding," she scolds. "See? I'm home, all safe and sound."
"One day you won't be," she climbs onto my lap and kisses my worry lines.
"Stop," she commands in a whisper. "We've gone now. You will Shanshu, Mister."
"But what if you're not..."
"I'm twenty seven and you've already got my Eulogy ready," she teases. "Angel, I'm always careful, with everything. You know that. I know the world can be big and scary, but I'm here now and we'll just have to deal with that."
Her tongue slides into my mouth, coaxing mine, and I decide to agree tonight. Humanity is dangerous. The world is dangerous. But she's in my arms and the rest of it is outside of them.
She's safe for now.
~END~ Feedback to BANearYouAlways@yahoo.com
Rating: PG14 or R ish, I guess? *Shrugs* read and find out, seeing as there's no adult content. :P
Distribution: Take it. Just let me know where it's going.
Humanity's a dangerous thing. Everyone's so quick to give away what's so impossible to get back. Over time 'fun' gets more and more dangerous. Long walks have turned to bungee jumping, horse drawn carriages have become race cars that move so fast a small collision could be fatal. My love never seems to notice. She travels through the constant threat that is human life, the frail brevity of it all not seeming to reach her.
I wince every time she leaves my arms. She was 27 yesterday and my soul was only bound a short year ago. Every time I can't see her I become aware of how not invincible she is, no matter how many monsters she can take on. My fears are no longer focused on the monsters, but on the normal.
She could die a million and one ways and in one precious instant. Every time I hold her it could be the last. She laughs when I caution her, and tells me she's a big girl and the boogey men don't scare her. I start to cut her off, but in twelve months she's learned a lot about how to distract me.
Most of the time she doesn't use what she's learned; we talk a lot and about everything. Our worlds are no longer seperate; she has a day job, but I do as well. Our friends have grown more supportive, and we rarely have a new story to tell, but we still talk endlessly. She curls up in my arms with a mug of coffee and we stare at the fire place and talk.
Even Cordelia never wormed out of me the stuff we talk about. I tell her about Kathy, about my parents, about the servant girl I seduced. I tell her about Darla's promises and turning Spike (then William) and the Master's hatred. I tell her about Penn, and the gypsy girl, and the long, lonely years without her. I tell her about Whistler, and the night she was called and the years after I left.
She tells me about her childhood, about her friend Gracie, who'd been there for her through everything and then some, 'like Willow, only more,' until Lothos ravaged her and tore out her throat and heart as gifts for Buffy. She tells me about Ford, before he got sick, and Jeoffrey, and Tyler. She tells me about Celia and her father's drinking. She tells me about Merrick and how much she admired and loved the dead Watcher, how much she still misses him.
She tells me what her friends can never hear and I listen and I understand. I tell her what no one should have to hear and she listens and consoles me. And then she makes it go away.
She compared once. She said with Riley it was about actual sex, no foreplay, no talking, and no cuddling after. What they'd had was physical. She said Scott was more about the talking and companionship. They'd kissed twice the entire time they were together and only once with tongue, when his friends had died.
'And hey, he turned gay. Who knew?' she quipped, looking away. I know she wanted that to work, all those years ago. She wanted to love Scott, and she actually did love Riley sometimes.
"But us," she turned to me with a fire in her eyes and smiled sensuously. "We've got it perfect."
And we do, compared to those reports. It's not just physical, and it's so much more than companionship. We talk, we cuddle (I actually like to cuddle more than she does), we have foreplay (Hell, some nights we have just foreplay, take the next day off and have the intercourse with no foreplay), and we have each other.
Still, content as I am, I worry. I have to worry. A mortal lifespan is so short without any other factors. She's twenty seven; soon I know it'll hit her that even with sex, we don't have sunlight, or children. We'll never have the beach wedding she always wanted. She gives up so much for me every day and one day she'll be gone, forever this time, and I don't think I can last. Without her my world will crumble.
The door opens and I look up to see her glare. "Stop brooding," she scolds. "See? I'm home, all safe and sound."
"One day you won't be," she climbs onto my lap and kisses my worry lines.
"Stop," she commands in a whisper. "We've gone now. You will Shanshu, Mister."
"But what if you're not..."
"I'm twenty seven and you've already got my Eulogy ready," she teases. "Angel, I'm always careful, with everything. You know that. I know the world can be big and scary, but I'm here now and we'll just have to deal with that."
Her tongue slides into my mouth, coaxing mine, and I decide to agree tonight. Humanity is dangerous. The world is dangerous. But she's in my arms and the rest of it is outside of them.
She's safe for now.
~END~ Feedback to BANearYouAlways@yahoo.com