Title: Monster
Author: BlueLight
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Blurb: Spike flees from Buffy but encounters a monster from his past. Chapter 1: (rewrite) Formica, fear, brawl, cry, crouch, pretend, defiance not submission, hide-and-go-seek, one, two, three, and BAD SPIKE! (Later redemption promised)
Acknowledgement: Thanks to LadyStarlight for her advise and editing.
Distribution: Fine, just let me know where.
Reviews, constructive criticism requested.
Feedback: Please. So I learn what works and what doesn't.
*******************************************
Run
The shop was all white Formica, shiny chrome and stainless steel. Tiny place. Just the counter, a couple of booths and a grill. No separate kitchen area. It had seen better days. A few cracks here and there but mostly it was still clean and friendly, a lonely puddle of brightness in a dark and abandoned industrial district.
He swept in, unnoticed by the blond waitress as she cleaned the grill. No one in the diner but her and him. That was okay. He didn't really want to be near anyone tonight. He tended to get maudlin and babble when he was sad. Abandoning Sunnydale, trying to leave Buffy was tearing him up. He needed a drink. That was next on his list. But first a snack. Something to take the edge off his hunger.
He sat down at the end of the counter near the door. Picked up the menu, looked at the pictures. Wished he knew where to buy blood in LA at three in the morning. Wished he knew why food always look better on a menu than on a plate. He flipped through the shiny plastic pages. No blooming onions. No spicy wings. Was there anything spicy or tasty on this menu?
There was a crash and he looked up to see the waitress gaping at him, fear and horror in her face.
He'd seen that face before. Well, not that specific face, not that he remembered, but that look. Usually when he had them in his arms about to bite, his angel face morphing into his demon one. God, how he missed it. Missed being invulnerable, back before her small hands had reached in and plucked out his heart. But this girl, this blond, she was backing away from him like he was still dangerous. Her cry brought it all back. The time when he had nothing to fear. Not even a little blond Slayer.
Like Buffy this girl was a bleached blond, young like Buffy, nice shape but not so tiny. She started to look familiar. Some unfinished meal. Anne it said on her name tag.
He got up, more in recognition of the fact that she wasn't about to fix him any food than anything else. When he did she scrambled back to the far end of the counter, as far from him as she could go without digging into the wall. It just made him…happy, happy to see this blond girl afraid of him. SHE wouldn't be punching him or dumping him. He knew that he could leap the counter, corner her and, as long as he didn't bite her or deliberately try to hurt her, he could do anything he wanted. Probably bend her over the counter and stick it in and she wouldn't resist. He thought about it briefly. Her blondness. But she was more likely to remind him of Harmony than Buffy. Not an erotic picture. And he had never been one to force himself on a girl. If they weren't willing he wasn't able. Well he was able but he wasn't willing. She didn't look enough like Buffy to overcome his dislike of playing with food. He'd had to tolerate enough of that with Dru. He wondered if he could get her to let him bite her. Be a nice snack even if the chip wouldn't let him drain her dry.
But mostly it was nice to see the fear. Smell it. Someone who didn't know he was neutered. Who didn't know he was more helpless than she though she was, who didn't know he couldn't fight her or any human.
Then a thought came to him. He couldn't fight her. He couldn't eat her. But he could hunt her. He wanted a hunt. When he was human most men of his class loved hunting. Ducks at dawn, shotguns barking over a lake. Horses and hounds and tearing a fox to bits. Going out with a ferret and a terrier. The ferret running rats out of one side of a nest and the terrier killing them as they came out the other. He never fancied it himself. Seemed one-sided. The animals not having guns. But once he was a vampire and had to hunt to eat, the hunt became something he occasionally relished.
He still preferred a brawl, him against a dozen, something he could lose, some exploit that proved his prowess. Side effect of having been a human wimp, inheriting the never-ending task of proving he was a bigger bad than anyone else alive or dead. Funny how he felt more manly letting Buffy push him around than he did when he was pummeling anyone else. The thought of Buffy brought a twist of pain, the memory of her shame when Riley caught them together. The contempt and brutality she had shown him. Of how she had broke it off between them. Couldn't stand the idea it was so easy for her to crush his heart. That was why he was running from Sunnydale, why he had gathered the little he had and fled. Into the Desoto, it still day, peering out through the little slit, and drive, Drive, DRIVE. Running away. From her. From the pain of not having her, of knowing he would never have her again. Running from the desire to put himself in her way, to make her want him again, to catch her in a weak moment and pin her to the floor, stake her through the night, even if it hurt her, killed her, turned them both to dust.
He forced Buffy out of his mind turned his thoughts toward the blond girl and an evening's entertainment.
He thought of how plenty of well-fed office workers would gird up in camouflage and go out in the cold looking for something to kill. Not for food but for fun. You even saw them on TV, hauling their fat asses through the leaves, rifles at the ready, pretending the hunt mattered. Maybe he could pretend too. She was scared enough to give a good run. And she wouldn't know she was running for his sport instead of her life. He could spook this girl and have his hunt. He could pretend he was still evil, still the big bad and blond girls didn't make him weep.
He took a step toward her. She gave an involuntary cry, like a ghost had stepped on her toe.
Hmmmm.
How to get her out from behind that counter and running without her catching on….
He let his game face slide into place and leapt up onto the smooth Formica surface. Then down behind the counter. He slowly approached her, letting his fangs show, hoping she would climb over the counter and bolt out the door. Instead she was frozen with fear, paralyzed.
"Hello, little girl. Do you think you could take my order? My stomach's growling and I really would fancy you helping me to find a snack."
She didn't move.
Bloody hell.
He finally reached her and she crouched down, cowering in front of him. He knew a lot of men loved that kind of thing. Even a lot of vampires. Made them feel masculine. He found it repellent. Give him a challenge, not a slaughter. Defiance not submission. He loved how Buffy would never surrender, not to anything or anyone. This chit was shaking in fear.
He walked up to her till his legs were pressing up against her quaking knees, her face at cock level. If only she was Buffy. Buffy would knock him through the plate glass window then follow to punch him out. Or she might pull his legs out from under him and take him there on the floor. But this weak little blond…animal just quaked.
He reached down and grabbed her by the hair at the nape of her neck. Gently so the chip would go off. Pulled her up till she was eye level. Whispered in her ear,
"I'm bored little girl. How about you help me have some fun? What do you say?"
The animal didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, she was almost in shock, her head twisted to the side, exposing her neck, which he proceeded to lick. She shuddered as his tongue stroked her flesh.
He pulled back and shook her slightly, "What do you say, little girl? Wanna help?"
He shook her again. No response. This was beginning to bore him. And make him feel a little guilty. He put his lips near her ears and yelled,
"WAKE UP!!"
She winced and her eyes popped open, the pupils dilated, terrified.
Too scared to run, she was.
He pushed down his demon mask and let her get used to his human face. Still holding her, he whispered, "Well little girl, like I told you, I'm bored. And hungry. What's say we play a game. I step back. Let you go and you run. You run and I chase. Even give you a head start. If you get away, then you get away. If I catch you, then I get my…snack."
He put his lips up against her ear, so his breath moved the hair hanging over it.
"What say, little girl? Wanna play? Or just wanna feed me?"
He abruptly released her and stepped back. She started to fall then caught herself and stood up. She stood looking at him for a moment. He backed up along the counter, his hand sliding along its length. When he was almost to the end near the door he stopped.
And smiled at her, his most evil, blood-chilling smile.
"I'll give you to a count of 100."
Then he turned and faced the wall, leaned into it and put his arm against its smooth surface. He pressed his eyes against the black leather over his forearm, and started to count, "One, two, three, four, five…"
He heard her clamber over the counter, falling onto the floor as she did, heard her get up and run and fall again. He lifted his head from his arm, looked over his shoulder and, glancing behind him, caught her eyes and smiled, doing the "Remember I'm Evil" smile again.
She was paralyzed for a moment, stunned by his eyes. Then she sprang up, ran to the door, threw it open and fled into the dark.
"Eleven, twelve, thirteen…"
***************************************************
FeedBack: Reviews or constructive criticism requested. Hell if you hated it and found it unreadable I need to know that too. Or how do I get better.
Author: BlueLight
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Blurb: Spike flees from Buffy but encounters a monster from his past. Chapter 1: (rewrite) Formica, fear, brawl, cry, crouch, pretend, defiance not submission, hide-and-go-seek, one, two, three, and BAD SPIKE! (Later redemption promised)
Acknowledgement: Thanks to LadyStarlight for her advise and editing.
Distribution: Fine, just let me know where.
Reviews, constructive criticism requested.
Feedback: Please. So I learn what works and what doesn't.
*******************************************
Run
The shop was all white Formica, shiny chrome and stainless steel. Tiny place. Just the counter, a couple of booths and a grill. No separate kitchen area. It had seen better days. A few cracks here and there but mostly it was still clean and friendly, a lonely puddle of brightness in a dark and abandoned industrial district.
He swept in, unnoticed by the blond waitress as she cleaned the grill. No one in the diner but her and him. That was okay. He didn't really want to be near anyone tonight. He tended to get maudlin and babble when he was sad. Abandoning Sunnydale, trying to leave Buffy was tearing him up. He needed a drink. That was next on his list. But first a snack. Something to take the edge off his hunger.
He sat down at the end of the counter near the door. Picked up the menu, looked at the pictures. Wished he knew where to buy blood in LA at three in the morning. Wished he knew why food always look better on a menu than on a plate. He flipped through the shiny plastic pages. No blooming onions. No spicy wings. Was there anything spicy or tasty on this menu?
There was a crash and he looked up to see the waitress gaping at him, fear and horror in her face.
He'd seen that face before. Well, not that specific face, not that he remembered, but that look. Usually when he had them in his arms about to bite, his angel face morphing into his demon one. God, how he missed it. Missed being invulnerable, back before her small hands had reached in and plucked out his heart. But this girl, this blond, she was backing away from him like he was still dangerous. Her cry brought it all back. The time when he had nothing to fear. Not even a little blond Slayer.
Like Buffy this girl was a bleached blond, young like Buffy, nice shape but not so tiny. She started to look familiar. Some unfinished meal. Anne it said on her name tag.
He got up, more in recognition of the fact that she wasn't about to fix him any food than anything else. When he did she scrambled back to the far end of the counter, as far from him as she could go without digging into the wall. It just made him…happy, happy to see this blond girl afraid of him. SHE wouldn't be punching him or dumping him. He knew that he could leap the counter, corner her and, as long as he didn't bite her or deliberately try to hurt her, he could do anything he wanted. Probably bend her over the counter and stick it in and she wouldn't resist. He thought about it briefly. Her blondness. But she was more likely to remind him of Harmony than Buffy. Not an erotic picture. And he had never been one to force himself on a girl. If they weren't willing he wasn't able. Well he was able but he wasn't willing. She didn't look enough like Buffy to overcome his dislike of playing with food. He'd had to tolerate enough of that with Dru. He wondered if he could get her to let him bite her. Be a nice snack even if the chip wouldn't let him drain her dry.
But mostly it was nice to see the fear. Smell it. Someone who didn't know he was neutered. Who didn't know he was more helpless than she though she was, who didn't know he couldn't fight her or any human.
Then a thought came to him. He couldn't fight her. He couldn't eat her. But he could hunt her. He wanted a hunt. When he was human most men of his class loved hunting. Ducks at dawn, shotguns barking over a lake. Horses and hounds and tearing a fox to bits. Going out with a ferret and a terrier. The ferret running rats out of one side of a nest and the terrier killing them as they came out the other. He never fancied it himself. Seemed one-sided. The animals not having guns. But once he was a vampire and had to hunt to eat, the hunt became something he occasionally relished.
He still preferred a brawl, him against a dozen, something he could lose, some exploit that proved his prowess. Side effect of having been a human wimp, inheriting the never-ending task of proving he was a bigger bad than anyone else alive or dead. Funny how he felt more manly letting Buffy push him around than he did when he was pummeling anyone else. The thought of Buffy brought a twist of pain, the memory of her shame when Riley caught them together. The contempt and brutality she had shown him. Of how she had broke it off between them. Couldn't stand the idea it was so easy for her to crush his heart. That was why he was running from Sunnydale, why he had gathered the little he had and fled. Into the Desoto, it still day, peering out through the little slit, and drive, Drive, DRIVE. Running away. From her. From the pain of not having her, of knowing he would never have her again. Running from the desire to put himself in her way, to make her want him again, to catch her in a weak moment and pin her to the floor, stake her through the night, even if it hurt her, killed her, turned them both to dust.
He forced Buffy out of his mind turned his thoughts toward the blond girl and an evening's entertainment.
He thought of how plenty of well-fed office workers would gird up in camouflage and go out in the cold looking for something to kill. Not for food but for fun. You even saw them on TV, hauling their fat asses through the leaves, rifles at the ready, pretending the hunt mattered. Maybe he could pretend too. She was scared enough to give a good run. And she wouldn't know she was running for his sport instead of her life. He could spook this girl and have his hunt. He could pretend he was still evil, still the big bad and blond girls didn't make him weep.
He took a step toward her. She gave an involuntary cry, like a ghost had stepped on her toe.
Hmmmm.
How to get her out from behind that counter and running without her catching on….
He let his game face slide into place and leapt up onto the smooth Formica surface. Then down behind the counter. He slowly approached her, letting his fangs show, hoping she would climb over the counter and bolt out the door. Instead she was frozen with fear, paralyzed.
"Hello, little girl. Do you think you could take my order? My stomach's growling and I really would fancy you helping me to find a snack."
She didn't move.
Bloody hell.
He finally reached her and she crouched down, cowering in front of him. He knew a lot of men loved that kind of thing. Even a lot of vampires. Made them feel masculine. He found it repellent. Give him a challenge, not a slaughter. Defiance not submission. He loved how Buffy would never surrender, not to anything or anyone. This chit was shaking in fear.
He walked up to her till his legs were pressing up against her quaking knees, her face at cock level. If only she was Buffy. Buffy would knock him through the plate glass window then follow to punch him out. Or she might pull his legs out from under him and take him there on the floor. But this weak little blond…animal just quaked.
He reached down and grabbed her by the hair at the nape of her neck. Gently so the chip would go off. Pulled her up till she was eye level. Whispered in her ear,
"I'm bored little girl. How about you help me have some fun? What do you say?"
The animal didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, she was almost in shock, her head twisted to the side, exposing her neck, which he proceeded to lick. She shuddered as his tongue stroked her flesh.
He pulled back and shook her slightly, "What do you say, little girl? Wanna help?"
He shook her again. No response. This was beginning to bore him. And make him feel a little guilty. He put his lips near her ears and yelled,
"WAKE UP!!"
She winced and her eyes popped open, the pupils dilated, terrified.
Too scared to run, she was.
He pushed down his demon mask and let her get used to his human face. Still holding her, he whispered, "Well little girl, like I told you, I'm bored. And hungry. What's say we play a game. I step back. Let you go and you run. You run and I chase. Even give you a head start. If you get away, then you get away. If I catch you, then I get my…snack."
He put his lips up against her ear, so his breath moved the hair hanging over it.
"What say, little girl? Wanna play? Or just wanna feed me?"
He abruptly released her and stepped back. She started to fall then caught herself and stood up. She stood looking at him for a moment. He backed up along the counter, his hand sliding along its length. When he was almost to the end near the door he stopped.
And smiled at her, his most evil, blood-chilling smile.
"I'll give you to a count of 100."
Then he turned and faced the wall, leaned into it and put his arm against its smooth surface. He pressed his eyes against the black leather over his forearm, and started to count, "One, two, three, four, five…"
He heard her clamber over the counter, falling onto the floor as she did, heard her get up and run and fall again. He lifted his head from his arm, looked over his shoulder and, glancing behind him, caught her eyes and smiled, doing the "Remember I'm Evil" smile again.
She was paralyzed for a moment, stunned by his eyes. Then she sprang up, ran to the door, threw it open and fled into the dark.
"Eleven, twelve, thirteen…"
***************************************************
FeedBack: Reviews or constructive criticism requested. Hell if you hated it and found it unreadable I need to know that too. Or how do I get better.
