Red Rain
The rain comes down in sheets and yet it is not enough to wash away the blood and gore, leftovers of a battle no-one thought they would come out the other side of.
Both of them lay panting on the slick pavement amid dismembered bodies of who knows what demon. Spike looks around through one eye at the destruction, wonders why it's stopped.
The hulk of a destroyed dragon covers half the block, cushioned by the carcasses of demons it slew by falling on them.
He looks up to see dim shadows moving through the battlefield. Then a flash of gold...
After the Rain
He groans awake before he is aware. Pain seeps into his periphery and flares into agonising reality when he lifts an arm.
Bugger. He's not dead or at least, no more than normal. He turns his head and sees the bed beside him. Peaches. 'Course he'd survive wouldn't he? Looks like the next one over is not so lucky though.
Can hear a heartbeat, thready but survivable. He lifts his head to see who it is. Charlie! God, Charlie is still with us. Don't have enough friends to lose one.
Footsteps coming. A flash of gold before he fades away.
Her Loss
She looked down at the two unconscious vampires. Both had been a big part of her life. So different in looks and in character.
When she looked at Angel she remembered her cookie dough speech and a smile flicked across her face. She sure wasn't cookie dough anymore.
When she looked at Spike she felt again the pain of loss and anger at his subterfuge. How could he not have told her he was back? How could he not think that she would mourn his loss?
Friends didn't do that to each other. Lovers certainly didn't.
Except her lovers did.
He Dreams
Spike dreams.
He dreams of a dark haired woman who frees him, of a darker man he loves like a father. Of a hundred years of blood and screams. Of fighting and winning one good day. Of maddened crowds hurting his reason for existence.
Of a sire's betrayal and a childe's treachery. Of lost love and revenge. Of capture, pain and anger, hunger and fear, humiliation and hate. Of growing love and obsession. Of burning light and madness. Of a woman with long golden hair who saves him and condemns him.
He burns for her and for puppies and Christmas.
She Wants
She remembers the feel of him under her, over her, surrounding her. The soft, sensual, silk slide of his skin as he moves above her, worshipping her body, worshipping her.
He nibbles and sucks her nipples, trails his tongue down, swirling it in her belly button until she laughs and pushes him lower. Sliding down to her centre, to suck and nibble the hairs, before slipping in to lap at the juices spilling from her. Her back arches, responding to the fire he ignites.
She hated him for it. Hated him for the wrongness of it. Wanted him.
Wants him.
I'm Sorry
I didn't care when I told you, you were beneath me.
I didn't care when I called you an evil, soulless thing.
I didn't care when I wouldn't see you trying to change, for me.
I didn't care when I told you, you couldn't love, that there was nothing good or clean inside you.
I didn't care when I told you, you don't have a soul, you're dead inside, and that I could never be your girl.
I didn't care when I broke your face for showing me you loved me.
I didn't care. I'm sorry.
I do care. Now
