Hate is a Dangerous Thing
By: charisma
Summary: Takes place during DMP, or somewhere during that time. Buffy's thinking about all the reasons that she hates Spike. Short little fiction, from Buffy's POV.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own a single thing. You can thank these creations as they came from the mind of master tormentor, Joss Whedon. A shame that geniuses came be raving lunatics, huh?
Feedback: Please. I crave it more than Buffy craves Spike.*wink, wink
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Love isn't brains people. It's blood." - Spike, Season 3
~*~*~*
Hate is a very twisted thing. Truth is, there is a fine line between love and hate. To hate someone, you have to deeply feel for them, with a divine passion that rivals that of true love. You have to be thinking of them all the time, feel your blood start to pump faster and hotter at the mere mention of them. See nothing else but them when they're in front of you, and know for the rest of your life you'll never feel the same about another person. A delicious twinge whenever they're near, the kind that starts at the base of your spine and slowly makes it's way through the rest of your body. Like I said, that's how love is, too. But hate is much more interesting.
And I hate him.
He's always there, always around when my life seems to be falling to pieces and I can't pick them up. Listening to my deepest admissions, telling me that it's okay to cry, it's okay to hurt, it's okay to want to die. Soothing my pain, wiping my hot tears, warming my cold heart. Sitting me down and actually caring about how I feel, even when no one else does. I hate him for that.
I hate the way he loves me so completely, like I'm the only thing that can appease his inner hunger. The way he gives me that hurting look in his deep blue eyes when I leave him after sex, after a night of actually feeling. That droop of his soft mouth, his forehead scrunching as he accepts my insults, my cruelty, my selfishness. That tell-tale sign that I've driven that knife into him again, all because I'm a messed up head case that he happens to love. I hate the fact that he loves me.
The way he helps me patrol, and kills his own kind even though he doesn't have too. His absolute caring for Dawn, when I can't even give her that much love anymore. His smile when he sees her, all because she accepts him for the person that he is, not the demon. His uncharacteristic love for her, when he took on the responsibility gratefully and followed until I came back. I hate that he does all of that and hasn't asked anything back for it.
I hate his capacity to feel human emotion, to know what it is that can make people cry or laugh, or rage and boil. His intuitiveness to feelings, especially mine, even when I can't admit them to myself. I hate his acceptance of my anger and despair, even when it tears him apart inside. The way he accepts everything I do, without question or interruption, even when we both know I'm wrong. I hate his heart, which has somehow begun to beat again after almost fifteen decades.
I hate the times he makes me smile, even when I tell myself that he's not funny. I hate the way that he is funny, and has a sharp wit that rivals my own. The way that he even reduces Giles to sputters and sounds that I find amusing, even if Giles didn't. I hate the way that I would like having verbal matches with him, all the while not really meaning anything that I said. I hate the fact that his smile makes me weak in the knees, that genuine smile he gives me even after I've just hurt him. His forgiveness, which is mind blowing. I hate that.
That stupid leather duster that he wears, which I would really enjoy owning myself. His tight black t-shirt that shows of his amazing abs, and those black jeans that fit him perfectly, making me salivate as I speak. I hate his clothing, and even the fact that he has that gorgeous body which allows him to wear tight clothes in the first place. I hate his muscular legs, the ones I straddle when I take him from on top. Those nice arms that lead to those long hands that grip my waist. I hate his hard chest, the color of white marble. I hate that the mere sight of his naked body, that can suddenly make me sopping we, that familiar heat taking over my senses. I hate that we have the greatest, most passionate sex ever.
I hate his beautiful blue eyes, the same color of the ocean. The way those eyes sparkle when he looks at me, that intense gaze peering into my soul. I hate his lips that are soft and good for kissing, and that tongue that can make me wet, or cum in a hard, searing orgasm. I hate that thing he does with his tongue. I hate his high cheekbones, ones so defined that they should be outlawed. Or his thick eyelashes that frame those drool worthy eyes. I hate his bleached hair, which is actually cool if you realize that it gives him that bad boy punker edge, especially with that scar on his eyebrow that I hate too. Of course, I hate the way that he's extremely handsome, even though I know that he isn't.
I hate his voice that makes me shiver, especially when he's talking dirty to me. The way he purrs when he's lying there after an orgasm, his chest rumbling appetizingly. Or the loud growl he makes when he cums, usually igniting my own fiery orgasm. The way he whispers sweet nothings in my ear, old poems that are incredibly romantic and. heart breaking at the same time. I hate the way he holds me, before I get up and leave when it's all over. I hate that a lot.
The way that my heart breaks when I have to leave, my body refusing to leave the safety of his arms. I hate that he's grown on me, and I know that he'll always be there, because he loves me more than anyone else. I hate that he'd do anything for me, even when it means his own death. The fact that I can't stake him, or even hurt him, except when it suits my own needs. But I even hate the fact that I feel so numbingly bad after I beat him up, and he won't touch me because he loves me too much. That makes me hate him even more.
I hate that I've forgiven him for the Buffy Bot, or all those times that he's tried to kill me before. I hate that he's a vampire without a soul, and the fact that my heart wishes he did have a soul. I hate that he's fighting his own inner demon all for me. I hate that I have to lie to everyone about him, about us, because I'm ashamed. I hate that I feel bad about being ashamed at all. I hate my denial, I hate my foolishness, I hate myself. I hate that I might actually love him.
But do you want to know what I hate most of all?
I hate the fact that I don't hate him even a little bit, not even at all.
By: charisma
Summary: Takes place during DMP, or somewhere during that time. Buffy's thinking about all the reasons that she hates Spike. Short little fiction, from Buffy's POV.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own a single thing. You can thank these creations as they came from the mind of master tormentor, Joss Whedon. A shame that geniuses came be raving lunatics, huh?
Feedback: Please. I crave it more than Buffy craves Spike.*wink, wink
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Love isn't brains people. It's blood." - Spike, Season 3
~*~*~*
Hate is a very twisted thing. Truth is, there is a fine line between love and hate. To hate someone, you have to deeply feel for them, with a divine passion that rivals that of true love. You have to be thinking of them all the time, feel your blood start to pump faster and hotter at the mere mention of them. See nothing else but them when they're in front of you, and know for the rest of your life you'll never feel the same about another person. A delicious twinge whenever they're near, the kind that starts at the base of your spine and slowly makes it's way through the rest of your body. Like I said, that's how love is, too. But hate is much more interesting.
And I hate him.
He's always there, always around when my life seems to be falling to pieces and I can't pick them up. Listening to my deepest admissions, telling me that it's okay to cry, it's okay to hurt, it's okay to want to die. Soothing my pain, wiping my hot tears, warming my cold heart. Sitting me down and actually caring about how I feel, even when no one else does. I hate him for that.
I hate the way he loves me so completely, like I'm the only thing that can appease his inner hunger. The way he gives me that hurting look in his deep blue eyes when I leave him after sex, after a night of actually feeling. That droop of his soft mouth, his forehead scrunching as he accepts my insults, my cruelty, my selfishness. That tell-tale sign that I've driven that knife into him again, all because I'm a messed up head case that he happens to love. I hate the fact that he loves me.
The way he helps me patrol, and kills his own kind even though he doesn't have too. His absolute caring for Dawn, when I can't even give her that much love anymore. His smile when he sees her, all because she accepts him for the person that he is, not the demon. His uncharacteristic love for her, when he took on the responsibility gratefully and followed until I came back. I hate that he does all of that and hasn't asked anything back for it.
I hate his capacity to feel human emotion, to know what it is that can make people cry or laugh, or rage and boil. His intuitiveness to feelings, especially mine, even when I can't admit them to myself. I hate his acceptance of my anger and despair, even when it tears him apart inside. The way he accepts everything I do, without question or interruption, even when we both know I'm wrong. I hate his heart, which has somehow begun to beat again after almost fifteen decades.
I hate the times he makes me smile, even when I tell myself that he's not funny. I hate the way that he is funny, and has a sharp wit that rivals my own. The way that he even reduces Giles to sputters and sounds that I find amusing, even if Giles didn't. I hate the way that I would like having verbal matches with him, all the while not really meaning anything that I said. I hate the fact that his smile makes me weak in the knees, that genuine smile he gives me even after I've just hurt him. His forgiveness, which is mind blowing. I hate that.
That stupid leather duster that he wears, which I would really enjoy owning myself. His tight black t-shirt that shows of his amazing abs, and those black jeans that fit him perfectly, making me salivate as I speak. I hate his clothing, and even the fact that he has that gorgeous body which allows him to wear tight clothes in the first place. I hate his muscular legs, the ones I straddle when I take him from on top. Those nice arms that lead to those long hands that grip my waist. I hate his hard chest, the color of white marble. I hate that the mere sight of his naked body, that can suddenly make me sopping we, that familiar heat taking over my senses. I hate that we have the greatest, most passionate sex ever.
I hate his beautiful blue eyes, the same color of the ocean. The way those eyes sparkle when he looks at me, that intense gaze peering into my soul. I hate his lips that are soft and good for kissing, and that tongue that can make me wet, or cum in a hard, searing orgasm. I hate that thing he does with his tongue. I hate his high cheekbones, ones so defined that they should be outlawed. Or his thick eyelashes that frame those drool worthy eyes. I hate his bleached hair, which is actually cool if you realize that it gives him that bad boy punker edge, especially with that scar on his eyebrow that I hate too. Of course, I hate the way that he's extremely handsome, even though I know that he isn't.
I hate his voice that makes me shiver, especially when he's talking dirty to me. The way he purrs when he's lying there after an orgasm, his chest rumbling appetizingly. Or the loud growl he makes when he cums, usually igniting my own fiery orgasm. The way he whispers sweet nothings in my ear, old poems that are incredibly romantic and. heart breaking at the same time. I hate the way he holds me, before I get up and leave when it's all over. I hate that a lot.
The way that my heart breaks when I have to leave, my body refusing to leave the safety of his arms. I hate that he's grown on me, and I know that he'll always be there, because he loves me more than anyone else. I hate that he'd do anything for me, even when it means his own death. The fact that I can't stake him, or even hurt him, except when it suits my own needs. But I even hate the fact that I feel so numbingly bad after I beat him up, and he won't touch me because he loves me too much. That makes me hate him even more.
I hate that I've forgiven him for the Buffy Bot, or all those times that he's tried to kill me before. I hate that he's a vampire without a soul, and the fact that my heart wishes he did have a soul. I hate that he's fighting his own inner demon all for me. I hate that I have to lie to everyone about him, about us, because I'm ashamed. I hate that I feel bad about being ashamed at all. I hate my denial, I hate my foolishness, I hate myself. I hate that I might actually love him.
But do you want to know what I hate most of all?
I hate the fact that I don't hate him even a little bit, not even at all.