In My Eyes, Be
by Lill'sis and Wahinetoa
27th November 2002
Rating: R, m/f. WIP, AU. (sorta)
NZ and Aussie haven't gotten Buffy 7thSeason yet, so the story is written as a possible lead in to the cannon. To the general Northern Hemisphere will be viewing it as AU.
Pairings: S/K, A
Rating: R. Mainly for the odd description and a few words. Nothing too graphic.
Spoilers: Buffy: What's My Line, Becoming 1&2, most of 6th season, especially "Villains, Two to Go and Grave." Angel: Everything in Season 2 up to "Epiphany"
Summary: WIP. The rewritten "R" prelude to a larger romance story. Spikes newly restored soul comes with an unexpected provision.
DISCLAIMER: All characters on Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series are the property of Joss Whedon and WB, UPN, Mutant Enemy. Hercules: the Legendary Journeys owns the Sumerian demon, called Dahok. But Dahoks demona spawn; Dahok Lohr, is my creation as Spikes Granter of Souls.
Warnings: A few swear words and inspirations of the naughty in nature. Nothing too graphic.
AN: Driven by the deliciousness of Devil Piglets "Wayward" on this site, I got the inspiration to post this unfinished story written for Poi Sempre in honor of Bianca Lawson's extraordinary character. Unbeta'd, over-written and lacking a good editor, please take all mistakes as a sign of leaving school at 15. If the prologue goes over well, however, I'd be happy to continue on their adventures. :)
Broken for length.
//...// Lohr's thoughts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
//He wanted a soul; he got it. Poor Bastard.//
His baptism of fire, ended, ironically with darkness. An endless quiescent inky oblivion, incandescent against his ashen white skin. All this for the slayer, and now he was dead.
Blinding buggery.
Suddenly, this world implodes. Lacerations tear the lamentable stillness, chalky translucent creatures bleed into the space about him. Shark circling. Feeding time at the zoo. Their facades become less translucent and take visages of those he had known before. The family he had killed after Drusilla turned him; the lives he took, the man he was before; all appeared and dissolved in quick succession. Repeated again, until he remembers in every bitter-sweet detail their lives and their dreams had spoken in earnest, when he; himself, was human.
His victims had finally found him in the ether, to take their debt at will. No asylum. No pardon. And when they came, he would not and could not defend himself against them. No longer did he have that right.
Without warning, bestial shapes become a myriad of white sharp stars flinging themselves towards him, striking and biting into his pale skin, their venom augmented by memory and guilt. His flesh burns, scars and bleeds - a final vilification.
His mind and body bent, twisted violently by the inhuman strikes, it would be impossible to feel when one of those hands taking their ultimate toll, became all too human. An unexpected reprieve. But he does.
Spike feels it; because he knows he has no right too.
A gentle caress among the madness of slayage, softly laid against his ribs, a tactile incantation of clemency, easing in their own right the bloodied mass. At her touch, the agony and voices started to crumble, fall away from the scars they had so happily inflicted; starting from the point of contact.
His eyes were closed, burned shut by the pain that still rings out around him, but William; immortal man, could still see her in a way that beholds solely to the imbedded vampire perceptions. A delicious sense of prestige and vitality housed in voluptuously smooth skin, rippled with the same fever burning inside his own. Spike frowned momentarily, trying to fight the dizziness that overtook him in grasping for her identity and logic, fearing that he wasn't worthy of her. Knowing it. The thoughts betrayed the gift, tearing her away from his mind and spirit, slashing once again. In the temporary, the voices and screams rushed back - clawing viciously.
Bloody Hell! Spike clenched with the agony, momentarily lost to it. Her touch changed, became assertive and emphatic. Elegant fingers curl against his cool flesh, evoking a brazen fire in the pit of his belly, and gloriously, a little further south. Hands that could coax the devil from his hellish crypt and then some. The voices and agony fall away slowly, drawing him back to some aspect of sanity and liberation. The more she touched him, the more the voices and attacks diminish.
He's thrashing now, straining against invisible bonds and shackles to plead for her to do as she wants -- just bloody hell, don't stop. Please.
At the revelation, bonds are broken. He reaches for her, arms encircle and draw her in, tightly - brandishing. Their bodies collided. The soft curves of her breasts pushed against his chest. Spike twitched beneath the caress, his own hands running the gamult of their hard pressed bodies to touch her in kind. Slender, smooth, the power of something dangerous beneath it all.
Spike feels his vampire self slide into place, regardless, driven by the pheromones of the sweet blood that flows just beneath her skin. Spike rallies against the base nature, but it is useless - and she knows it too. Fangs elongate, as he feels her hands tangle in his hair, drawing him down - demanding. His mouth took possession of her, breaking the tender skin to the life-force beneath.
Her life blood like a 100 year old scotch. Rare. Exquisite. Fortified. His body infused with her and the fire she had become to him. He began to suck hard, cheeks hollowed by the tantalizing pressure eliciting a quaking tremble in his long limbs - absorbing every sweet drop.
And he trembles into memories that aren't his own - yet are.
~~*~~
Vibrant dappled jade in a lush wilderness canopy--a man with mahogany skin, gentle eyes and salt&pepper hair--a faded black and white photograph; aged with time and worn with touch--Sunnydale--Not the only one--Bloody red claws that became crimson with her lifes blood. A familiar voice, tolling out a stanza, he knew he should remember.
~~*~~
Sinking down again, he sacrificed everything for another taste. Bringing his own memories to the fore, dripping with sound
~~*~~
A life before the endless. --Poetry written for the woman he loved--the stabbing pain of rejection--Drusilla making him, taking him away from humanity--Darla and Angelus--The Chinese slayer; his first and sweetest--The NY slayer; all style and refined anger--Angelus at his throat, pressing him into the wall--Drusillas dark kisses; prelude always to her wanker 'daddy' Angelus--Buffy and the scoobies--Giles--The Initiative--Riley--Hostile17-- BuffyBuffyBuffy.
~~*~~
Buffy. The reason for his soul hunt, should have stilled the madness. But thinking was not something he was very interested in at the moment, settled between her legs, sweetly torturing his celestial divinity and savoring every whimper, sliding his way back to her slender throat, already inscribed with his kiss.
Fever struck, blood boiled; they fought together on the stratosphere's narrow confines.
And fell.....
~~oo00oo~~
Lohrs dark temple, walls written with the elements of some archaic blood letting text. Peeling, crumbling as flesh, blood and bone erase their gruesome fortunes with life.
Thrumming. Alive. Alive.
It is as if his touch alone, forms her a new body. Skin, burnished bronze and gleaming copper, glistened, moist from the heat of the many fires held in gilded cages set in the cave ceiling and walls.
Long scrolls of Sumerian hieroglyphs followed the line of the forbidden lovers, rain on bodies seething, lips bruised with the flush of the other. A faint sensation of fire warmed beneath them while they strove in concert, almost as if they had been the missing piece in an ancient puzzle - finally joined to make a whole. Lohr stepped from the shadows, eyes burning to somehow commit to memory the symbols -- an incantation of desire. But as suddenly as the writing had appeared, just as quickly the presence of his kind, erased it.
The calligraphy seemed to come alive, undulate from ancient text into living fiery symbols pouring from the wall. pulsing like seizures to paint the writhing mass like snap shots of an ancient mythos.
A language seeking new living parchment.
And find it, they did. The curse formed upon his skin, incomprehensible lettering in Babylonian, striking against his naked paleness - her name. Against her own dark
cocoa-warm skin, written in glowing illuminious ivory, the name he was given. Before his death and after. William. Ochre and gold; the burnt center of this ancient land, amplified and scribbled on the quailing mortals, in tribal psyche. The rain of sweat on their bodies and the swirling inscriptions ran together, dissolving in the downpour.
Her head thrown back, lost in the vibrations of her body singing against his cool dexterous hands. Swearing, either from him or her, it didn't matter. Need and want, met again and again by touch, by fever stroked climax.
~~*~~
//And there they lay, not so much entangled, as melded together -- destiny in stark contrast to what they started out as.//
"Separate them." Lohr demanded, the few minions who remained quickly setting about to do his bidding. Those that had fled could and would be hunted later. Secondary; only, to the matters at hand.
Lohrs gaze raked over the girl. Firelight gilded her features, pooling in striking beauty to the darkness from which they had been driven. Undiminished prowess, trembling in that glistening palette of wild mahogany skin, and that tight coiled grace that reminded him of some sun-kissed lioness. But their re-animation takes it's harrowing toll, leaving them weak and vulnerable. Allowing his men to take the advantage, and drag her a few feet apart, before one of those bent figures reeled back with a jagged bit of metal between the eyes. The rest of the men dropped their precious cargo, skittering back just enough to place distance between her and them, but not enough for their king to consider it as disobeying an order. Dahok Lohr ponders briefly, before dismissing them with a wave of his hand. As they leave, his fallen quarry stirs.
~~*~~
As her mind cleared further and awareness of her surroundings slowly sunk in, hope slowly faded to the pulse of her own heart. Even as her body repaired itself for battle, her mind rallied to give back her sight - and perhaps a chance at survival. She felt herself sag against a rough wall, relieved of something physical she could rely on given her precarious situation. Slowly, carefully she struggled to lift herself, back pressed to it, her hands bracing her to stand. But a shift of gravity, left her precariously on edge. Just as she was about to topple, a pair of cool hands steadied her - then took her breath away.
~~*~~
Her nearness was overwhelming, auxiliary limbs searching for their equal in her. He finds it, pulsing behind her flushed skin. Whatever she was, intangible, she wasn't. He finds her in the darkness, his body, mind and spirit moved instinctively, falling towards the incredible source. Spike groans softly, as his hands press her to stand, familiar territory he knows so well. Her heart beat, fast and hard against his. Her body felt warm and heavy, thrumming with life. In the trembling that had begun in her, with their touch, flowed into him with an ease that astounded him. A ragged breath, shakily exhaled, escapes - a name so long unspoken, that everything changes upon its expression.
*Whoosh!*
Suddenly Spike is thrown back, landing hard a few feet away, the result of a very fierce kick. The hard exterior of the Slayer slid into place. No trespassing emblazoned on her cheek. Lohr restrained a bark of impressed laughter. Ah, so even half-blind, half-dead, she was still a force to be reckoned. //Perhaps introductions could come later.//
Retreating to the shadows, he watched Spike inch his way up the opposite wall, fully demon and wide awake from pleasant dreams.
~*~
He tasted blood, and the fingertips he pulled from his lips glistened darkly with it. Her blood. Marking her as his own. His.
*His?*
Where the Gordon bleedin' Bennett did that come from?!
His mouth twitched into a feral grin. Who bloody 'ell cared, mate? Right now, all there was, was her. And the need to sink himself back into her--
Revoltion and desire ripped through him. Warring for dominance, as he stared down at the sanguine dark on his fingers, sliding like satin over his flesh - and beneath it. In that moment the Fates, shifted. Garnered power to the vehement eyes narrowed on the same abomination of HER blood on HIS fingers, lips and splashed against his milky skin.
His eyes reach hers, dissolute. With a death like grip, he held onto the cavern wall to stop himself from stumbling back in horror. There, standing with her eyes blazing blackest midnight, stood the physical apparition, perfect and perverse, of his newly restored soul -
Kendra; the Vampire Slayer.
"Bloody Hell......"
tbc......
by Lill'sis and Wahinetoa
27th November 2002
Rating: R, m/f. WIP, AU. (sorta)
NZ and Aussie haven't gotten Buffy 7thSeason yet, so the story is written as a possible lead in to the cannon. To the general Northern Hemisphere will be viewing it as AU.
Pairings: S/K, A
Rating: R. Mainly for the odd description and a few words. Nothing too graphic.
Spoilers: Buffy: What's My Line, Becoming 1&2, most of 6th season, especially "Villains, Two to Go and Grave." Angel: Everything in Season 2 up to "Epiphany"
Summary: WIP. The rewritten "R" prelude to a larger romance story. Spikes newly restored soul comes with an unexpected provision.
DISCLAIMER: All characters on Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series are the property of Joss Whedon and WB, UPN, Mutant Enemy. Hercules: the Legendary Journeys owns the Sumerian demon, called Dahok. But Dahoks demona spawn; Dahok Lohr, is my creation as Spikes Granter of Souls.
Warnings: A few swear words and inspirations of the naughty in nature. Nothing too graphic.
AN: Driven by the deliciousness of Devil Piglets "Wayward" on this site, I got the inspiration to post this unfinished story written for Poi Sempre in honor of Bianca Lawson's extraordinary character. Unbeta'd, over-written and lacking a good editor, please take all mistakes as a sign of leaving school at 15. If the prologue goes over well, however, I'd be happy to continue on their adventures. :)
Broken for length.
//...// Lohr's thoughts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
//He wanted a soul; he got it. Poor Bastard.//
His baptism of fire, ended, ironically with darkness. An endless quiescent inky oblivion, incandescent against his ashen white skin. All this for the slayer, and now he was dead.
Blinding buggery.
Suddenly, this world implodes. Lacerations tear the lamentable stillness, chalky translucent creatures bleed into the space about him. Shark circling. Feeding time at the zoo. Their facades become less translucent and take visages of those he had known before. The family he had killed after Drusilla turned him; the lives he took, the man he was before; all appeared and dissolved in quick succession. Repeated again, until he remembers in every bitter-sweet detail their lives and their dreams had spoken in earnest, when he; himself, was human.
His victims had finally found him in the ether, to take their debt at will. No asylum. No pardon. And when they came, he would not and could not defend himself against them. No longer did he have that right.
Without warning, bestial shapes become a myriad of white sharp stars flinging themselves towards him, striking and biting into his pale skin, their venom augmented by memory and guilt. His flesh burns, scars and bleeds - a final vilification.
His mind and body bent, twisted violently by the inhuman strikes, it would be impossible to feel when one of those hands taking their ultimate toll, became all too human. An unexpected reprieve. But he does.
Spike feels it; because he knows he has no right too.
A gentle caress among the madness of slayage, softly laid against his ribs, a tactile incantation of clemency, easing in their own right the bloodied mass. At her touch, the agony and voices started to crumble, fall away from the scars they had so happily inflicted; starting from the point of contact.
His eyes were closed, burned shut by the pain that still rings out around him, but William; immortal man, could still see her in a way that beholds solely to the imbedded vampire perceptions. A delicious sense of prestige and vitality housed in voluptuously smooth skin, rippled with the same fever burning inside his own. Spike frowned momentarily, trying to fight the dizziness that overtook him in grasping for her identity and logic, fearing that he wasn't worthy of her. Knowing it. The thoughts betrayed the gift, tearing her away from his mind and spirit, slashing once again. In the temporary, the voices and screams rushed back - clawing viciously.
Bloody Hell! Spike clenched with the agony, momentarily lost to it. Her touch changed, became assertive and emphatic. Elegant fingers curl against his cool flesh, evoking a brazen fire in the pit of his belly, and gloriously, a little further south. Hands that could coax the devil from his hellish crypt and then some. The voices and agony fall away slowly, drawing him back to some aspect of sanity and liberation. The more she touched him, the more the voices and attacks diminish.
He's thrashing now, straining against invisible bonds and shackles to plead for her to do as she wants -- just bloody hell, don't stop. Please.
At the revelation, bonds are broken. He reaches for her, arms encircle and draw her in, tightly - brandishing. Their bodies collided. The soft curves of her breasts pushed against his chest. Spike twitched beneath the caress, his own hands running the gamult of their hard pressed bodies to touch her in kind. Slender, smooth, the power of something dangerous beneath it all.
Spike feels his vampire self slide into place, regardless, driven by the pheromones of the sweet blood that flows just beneath her skin. Spike rallies against the base nature, but it is useless - and she knows it too. Fangs elongate, as he feels her hands tangle in his hair, drawing him down - demanding. His mouth took possession of her, breaking the tender skin to the life-force beneath.
Her life blood like a 100 year old scotch. Rare. Exquisite. Fortified. His body infused with her and the fire she had become to him. He began to suck hard, cheeks hollowed by the tantalizing pressure eliciting a quaking tremble in his long limbs - absorbing every sweet drop.
And he trembles into memories that aren't his own - yet are.
~~*~~
Vibrant dappled jade in a lush wilderness canopy--a man with mahogany skin, gentle eyes and salt&pepper hair--a faded black and white photograph; aged with time and worn with touch--Sunnydale--Not the only one--Bloody red claws that became crimson with her lifes blood. A familiar voice, tolling out a stanza, he knew he should remember.
~~*~~
Sinking down again, he sacrificed everything for another taste. Bringing his own memories to the fore, dripping with sound
~~*~~
A life before the endless. --Poetry written for the woman he loved--the stabbing pain of rejection--Drusilla making him, taking him away from humanity--Darla and Angelus--The Chinese slayer; his first and sweetest--The NY slayer; all style and refined anger--Angelus at his throat, pressing him into the wall--Drusillas dark kisses; prelude always to her wanker 'daddy' Angelus--Buffy and the scoobies--Giles--The Initiative--Riley--Hostile17-- BuffyBuffyBuffy.
~~*~~
Buffy. The reason for his soul hunt, should have stilled the madness. But thinking was not something he was very interested in at the moment, settled between her legs, sweetly torturing his celestial divinity and savoring every whimper, sliding his way back to her slender throat, already inscribed with his kiss.
Fever struck, blood boiled; they fought together on the stratosphere's narrow confines.
And fell.....
~~oo00oo~~
Lohrs dark temple, walls written with the elements of some archaic blood letting text. Peeling, crumbling as flesh, blood and bone erase their gruesome fortunes with life.
Thrumming. Alive. Alive.
It is as if his touch alone, forms her a new body. Skin, burnished bronze and gleaming copper, glistened, moist from the heat of the many fires held in gilded cages set in the cave ceiling and walls.
Long scrolls of Sumerian hieroglyphs followed the line of the forbidden lovers, rain on bodies seething, lips bruised with the flush of the other. A faint sensation of fire warmed beneath them while they strove in concert, almost as if they had been the missing piece in an ancient puzzle - finally joined to make a whole. Lohr stepped from the shadows, eyes burning to somehow commit to memory the symbols -- an incantation of desire. But as suddenly as the writing had appeared, just as quickly the presence of his kind, erased it.
The calligraphy seemed to come alive, undulate from ancient text into living fiery symbols pouring from the wall. pulsing like seizures to paint the writhing mass like snap shots of an ancient mythos.
A language seeking new living parchment.
And find it, they did. The curse formed upon his skin, incomprehensible lettering in Babylonian, striking against his naked paleness - her name. Against her own dark
cocoa-warm skin, written in glowing illuminious ivory, the name he was given. Before his death and after. William. Ochre and gold; the burnt center of this ancient land, amplified and scribbled on the quailing mortals, in tribal psyche. The rain of sweat on their bodies and the swirling inscriptions ran together, dissolving in the downpour.
Her head thrown back, lost in the vibrations of her body singing against his cool dexterous hands. Swearing, either from him or her, it didn't matter. Need and want, met again and again by touch, by fever stroked climax.
~~*~~
//And there they lay, not so much entangled, as melded together -- destiny in stark contrast to what they started out as.//
"Separate them." Lohr demanded, the few minions who remained quickly setting about to do his bidding. Those that had fled could and would be hunted later. Secondary; only, to the matters at hand.
Lohrs gaze raked over the girl. Firelight gilded her features, pooling in striking beauty to the darkness from which they had been driven. Undiminished prowess, trembling in that glistening palette of wild mahogany skin, and that tight coiled grace that reminded him of some sun-kissed lioness. But their re-animation takes it's harrowing toll, leaving them weak and vulnerable. Allowing his men to take the advantage, and drag her a few feet apart, before one of those bent figures reeled back with a jagged bit of metal between the eyes. The rest of the men dropped their precious cargo, skittering back just enough to place distance between her and them, but not enough for their king to consider it as disobeying an order. Dahok Lohr ponders briefly, before dismissing them with a wave of his hand. As they leave, his fallen quarry stirs.
~~*~~
As her mind cleared further and awareness of her surroundings slowly sunk in, hope slowly faded to the pulse of her own heart. Even as her body repaired itself for battle, her mind rallied to give back her sight - and perhaps a chance at survival. She felt herself sag against a rough wall, relieved of something physical she could rely on given her precarious situation. Slowly, carefully she struggled to lift herself, back pressed to it, her hands bracing her to stand. But a shift of gravity, left her precariously on edge. Just as she was about to topple, a pair of cool hands steadied her - then took her breath away.
~~*~~
Her nearness was overwhelming, auxiliary limbs searching for their equal in her. He finds it, pulsing behind her flushed skin. Whatever she was, intangible, she wasn't. He finds her in the darkness, his body, mind and spirit moved instinctively, falling towards the incredible source. Spike groans softly, as his hands press her to stand, familiar territory he knows so well. Her heart beat, fast and hard against his. Her body felt warm and heavy, thrumming with life. In the trembling that had begun in her, with their touch, flowed into him with an ease that astounded him. A ragged breath, shakily exhaled, escapes - a name so long unspoken, that everything changes upon its expression.
*Whoosh!*
Suddenly Spike is thrown back, landing hard a few feet away, the result of a very fierce kick. The hard exterior of the Slayer slid into place. No trespassing emblazoned on her cheek. Lohr restrained a bark of impressed laughter. Ah, so even half-blind, half-dead, she was still a force to be reckoned. //Perhaps introductions could come later.//
Retreating to the shadows, he watched Spike inch his way up the opposite wall, fully demon and wide awake from pleasant dreams.
~*~
He tasted blood, and the fingertips he pulled from his lips glistened darkly with it. Her blood. Marking her as his own. His.
*His?*
Where the Gordon bleedin' Bennett did that come from?!
His mouth twitched into a feral grin. Who bloody 'ell cared, mate? Right now, all there was, was her. And the need to sink himself back into her--
Revoltion and desire ripped through him. Warring for dominance, as he stared down at the sanguine dark on his fingers, sliding like satin over his flesh - and beneath it. In that moment the Fates, shifted. Garnered power to the vehement eyes narrowed on the same abomination of HER blood on HIS fingers, lips and splashed against his milky skin.
His eyes reach hers, dissolute. With a death like grip, he held onto the cavern wall to stop himself from stumbling back in horror. There, standing with her eyes blazing blackest midnight, stood the physical apparition, perfect and perverse, of his newly restored soul -
Kendra; the Vampire Slayer.
"Bloody Hell......"
tbc......