Title: More Than Words
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. I just borrowed them.
Summary: I woke up this morning with words dancing in my head and had to put them down on paper. These are Spike's reflections on a night (every night) with Buffy. As you can see there's still a lot of William in Spike.
Rating: PG 13. Adult themes but no actual naughty bits.
Sharing: Sure, if you like but just let me know where it's headed. Email to elizard100@yahoo.ca
In the beginning was the darkness. It spread it's wings across the land like a plague of locusts, swallowing up everything that nourished the body and the soul until there was only the gnawing in the belly that came to represent daily life. Spike hadn't realized how dark it was until he saw the tiny flicker of light that burned brighter than a thousand candles. That light was the Slayer, Buffy.
She claimed he obsessed over her. How could he not? She, of the warmth and tenderness compared to his cold hardness. When she said his name he heard angel choirs and the demon in him revulsed but the man in him rejoiced at the sound of her voice.
Each night he tried on her affection like a borrowed coat. He knew he couldn't keep it but for the meantime it kept him warm. As he slid into it, he grew lightheaded and feverish, overcome by passion.
These borrowed, secret moments were more than he had ever dared hope for. "Do me." Her words were like lightening, bright, deadly and elusive.
He was the knife between the ribcage before the sweet release. The gnawing in the belly moved lower driving him mad with need. The sound of her heart beating set the pace. He heard it in his sleep sometimes, mocking the stillness of his own.
Her tiny hands splayed against his chest as he entered her. The cold was fading, the darkness receding. Sheer amazement turned to sheer joy. Colours danced in his head as he chased the darting candle flickers around her body with his tongue. The demon inside him was quelling, making room for a new beast. A creature not of dark but of light. So warm.
He would die in her arms this night, to be reborn on morning's light. She gave him life and substance. Every touch, every fleeting glance fed him and he yearned for more.
Her breathing stilled for a moment, eyes closed. The little death was upon her and was a blessing for she who had been on such intimate terms with Death already. Her eyes opened upon him, lashes fluttering. Willing himself to spend the rest of his eternal life in the look frozen there, Spike continued his ministrations.
She was taken a second time. A gasp tore through her throat and her heart leapt and galloped, piercing his chest with it's insane cacophony. For these brief moments, joined as one, Spike shared her heartbeat, the flow of blood racing through her veins across his icy cold ones.
So close to her now, moving inside her, Spike dreamed he could taste her soul. Her ripe, juicy, peach of a soul. He licked his lips at the thought of her radiance. Her nails raked across his back, he was so close and needed her so much but he feared letting go of her. Finally he gave in to it, to her.
It was bliss. It was ecstasy. It was poetry.
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. I just borrowed them.
Summary: I woke up this morning with words dancing in my head and had to put them down on paper. These are Spike's reflections on a night (every night) with Buffy. As you can see there's still a lot of William in Spike.
Rating: PG 13. Adult themes but no actual naughty bits.
Sharing: Sure, if you like but just let me know where it's headed. Email to elizard100@yahoo.ca
In the beginning was the darkness. It spread it's wings across the land like a plague of locusts, swallowing up everything that nourished the body and the soul until there was only the gnawing in the belly that came to represent daily life. Spike hadn't realized how dark it was until he saw the tiny flicker of light that burned brighter than a thousand candles. That light was the Slayer, Buffy.
She claimed he obsessed over her. How could he not? She, of the warmth and tenderness compared to his cold hardness. When she said his name he heard angel choirs and the demon in him revulsed but the man in him rejoiced at the sound of her voice.
Each night he tried on her affection like a borrowed coat. He knew he couldn't keep it but for the meantime it kept him warm. As he slid into it, he grew lightheaded and feverish, overcome by passion.
These borrowed, secret moments were more than he had ever dared hope for. "Do me." Her words were like lightening, bright, deadly and elusive.
He was the knife between the ribcage before the sweet release. The gnawing in the belly moved lower driving him mad with need. The sound of her heart beating set the pace. He heard it in his sleep sometimes, mocking the stillness of his own.
Her tiny hands splayed against his chest as he entered her. The cold was fading, the darkness receding. Sheer amazement turned to sheer joy. Colours danced in his head as he chased the darting candle flickers around her body with his tongue. The demon inside him was quelling, making room for a new beast. A creature not of dark but of light. So warm.
He would die in her arms this night, to be reborn on morning's light. She gave him life and substance. Every touch, every fleeting glance fed him and he yearned for more.
Her breathing stilled for a moment, eyes closed. The little death was upon her and was a blessing for she who had been on such intimate terms with Death already. Her eyes opened upon him, lashes fluttering. Willing himself to spend the rest of his eternal life in the look frozen there, Spike continued his ministrations.
She was taken a second time. A gasp tore through her throat and her heart leapt and galloped, piercing his chest with it's insane cacophony. For these brief moments, joined as one, Spike shared her heartbeat, the flow of blood racing through her veins across his icy cold ones.
So close to her now, moving inside her, Spike dreamed he could taste her soul. Her ripe, juicy, peach of a soul. He licked his lips at the thought of her radiance. Her nails raked across his back, he was so close and needed her so much but he feared letting go of her. Finally he gave in to it, to her.
It was bliss. It was ecstasy. It was poetry.