Spike sighed as he lay in bed in his crypt, a single candle burning on the nightstand next to him. He could still feel her. She'd been there that morning. He could always feel her. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was, touching him in all the right places, lingering, her hands moving over his body, causing his skin to sing. He missed her every moment.
He giggled almost manically at the thought of her. Boy, was he a loser, he thought. Everyone knew she didn't the same way. He was nothing but a plaything to her. A distraction. A fleshy object she could manipulate.
Spike thought about when she had died. Before they'd brought her back - Tara, Red, and Xander - he'd saved her in his mind every night. He'd played it back over and over and over, fantasizing about different scenarios, playing the Hero, inventing new strategies that could have saved her from what she had to do. The sacrifice she had to make. The pain she had to endure. It was his fault, he'd known it. He still knew it. He should have been strong enough to save her. Why hadn't he been? His hand crushed the remaining stub of his cigarette. She'd come back wrong, you see. He knew how much she hated being here. She told him she had felt done. She didn't want to fight anymore. The Buffy that was back wasn't her - it was a shell of her former self, he knew it. Everyone did. She was going through the motions, but she had lost that zest for life, that drive, that spark that drew people to her. Spike believed this was his fault. Wasn't it, after all? If he had saved her on that tower that awful day she wouldn't have had to jump for Dawn, and she would have never known Heaven. His guilt - and, well, the lust he still had for her - was all he had left now. Buffy was gone. He wasn're sure she was stronge enough to get "over" this.
Now, instead of saving her every night, he dreamed of her. Her face, her hands, the way she spoke - he wanted her every minute. He was desperately in love with her. When he was with her, everything fell away. He was at peace. It was afterwards that the pain started. When she got up, dressed, and left without saying a word, sometimes without even looking back. Spike had never felt so used in his life. And yet, he couldn't say no. He couldn't deny her what she wanted.
She, Buffy, The Slayer, was so powerful. So beautiful. So crushing. Her power fascinated him. But instead of being threatened by it, he was in awe. He admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. Not just her physical power, but the emotional pull she had over him. He knew it was wrong to love her, he knew it went against everything he'd ever been taught about how vampires and Slayers should interact - yet, all the same, he loved her. He laughed slightly, again boggled by the absurdity of all of this. He lit another ciggarette, and glanced at the digital reading on the clock next to his bed. She was due here soon.
A vampire in love with a Slayer. Ridiculous, really. He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it.
He took a drag of his fresh cigarette. He knew he'd have her tonight. Yet, the closer he got to her, the farther she withdrew. Some nights, she'd talk to him like he mattered, maybe even like she talked to her friends - but other nights, she said nothing, there was only fury and rage - she hated herself so much for how much she wanted him - and in the morning, Spike woke up alone, bloody and sore, the chains still around his wrists. He dreamed of tying her up and making her feel as used as he felt. But he doubted she'd ever allow that. In the end, no matter how much she "lost" herself with him, she was the one in control.
He was hers body and soul- she knew that - but was she his? Spike sighed again, the air escaping his lungs as if defeated. Why wasn't he good enough for her to love? Sex was meaningless without love, wasn't it? She claimed she didn't love him, but she came to him all the same. Yet, what never made sense to him was how much she seemed to despise him. How was it possible to both hate and want someone so intensely? The only way she could justify her relationship with him was to put herself on a pedestal and reject the humanity in him. That way, she couldn't feel guilty about using him, because he was incapable of love. Or so she thought. Spike's mind flashed to something she had said to him;
There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside!
Spike cringed. He'd let her beat him silly that night - she'd needed that release - and sometimes it couldn't be found in the bed they so often shared. If the distraction of beating him saved her, so he'd take the beating. He'd take anything for her. She had told him he couldn't "understand." He'd wondered what she meant. Perhaps he'd never know. She'd said that he was being selfish, too. But, how could he be the selfish one when he was giving himself to her every night? Wasn't it selfish to use someone for sex when you obviously knew they wanted more than that? Spike hated Buffy's hypocrisy more than anything. Hell, he gave her everything he had! What else did she expect? His soul? He laughed and took another drag of his cigarette. It'd be just soddin' classic if she asked him for that, knowing he couldn't give her that. His soul had been gone for a long, long time. In fact, he couldn't remember what it was like to have one. Now, Buffy was the one who taught him what it meant to be human. Yet, she confused him because she so often acted so inhuman.
Anyway, he thought, she was due here soon. She always came at night. Time to stop thinking. It only depressed him, anyway. Time to service the girl.
Spike continued to lay in bed, chain-smoking, until he heard the door of his crypt open, and then it softly shut. Funny how delicate she was with the door when she hardly gave any mind to the rest of his furniture. He couldn't name how many times he'd had to replace the bed in the last couple of months. He heard her then. Her voice. It still made his stomach drop and his heart flutter. Which was miraculous considering it didn't even beat. It was dark in the crypt - the way she liked it - and she didn't bother turning on the light. She needed the darkness to do what she did to him. If it had been light, and she could see herself, she'd run off, crying.
"Spike?" Her voice was tired, defeated. He wondered if she'd had a bad run-in with a particularly nasty vamp tonight. He could smell blood on her. And it wasn't all hers. He sat up in bed, alarmed. His nostrils flared. He automatically turned to get out of bed, reaching out to her.
"Buffy, you ok?" She came over to the bed, and sat gingerly on it. Spike saw a huge gash on her shoulder. Her shirt has almost been ripped clean off. His hand instinctually grazed her arm, wanting to get a better look, but she pushed him back.
"Spike, I'm fine. Sit down."
This was unusual, Spike thought. He signed and leaned against the bedpost. Normally she was down to business and usual, clothes off before her tiny feet left the floor and her hands were on his chest, her lips crushing his, her fingers in his hair. But this time was different. She was different. Spike thoughtfully studied her. She was tired. But that wasn't unusual. She was bloodied, but hell, well that wasn't unusual either. She stared at her hands. Spike hesitated for a movement, then laid his hand on hers. Buffy continued to sit, her face away from him.
"What's wrong, love? Tough night?" Buffy's hand twitched involuntarily as she felt Spike's hand envelope hers. Spike sighed, and withdrew his hand. "Here we go again" he signed. "Doesn't like to be touched. Not like this. Not by me."
"Spike…" Buffy heaved such a big sigh her whole body seemed to crumple. "I can't do this anymore. It's over." She looked at him. Spike felt his blood run cold. The monster threatened to emerge in him, the anger overwhelming - but he held it in. Not again. Not tonight. He couldn't take another round of this. It was never permanent. She always came back to him, so matter what she said. He just never thought it'd happen so soon. She wanted him so badly, after all. He took a deep breath, even though he didn't need too.
He choose his words wisely. "Love, it's late. I'm not up for another round of Break Up With Spike tonight." He stroked her shoulder, pushed aside her golden hair and caressed her neck.
"Besides, in the morning you'll wish you hadn't said it."
Something in Buffy snapped. She turned and looked at him sharply. She slapped his hand away.
"I'm serious, Spike. Listen to me. I can't do this anymore. I…" She stopped, looked down. Spike saw her briefly close her eyes and take a deep breath. Spike moved closer to her, risking another slap but didn't care, and wrapped his arms around her tiny frame. For a moment, he felt her relax into him, her body turned, her face tilted and she attacked his lips with hers, almost drawing blood. He could feel her pushing into him through the thin sheets, and he felt that familiar twinge in his groin - then she pulled away, resolve renewed.
"No Spike."
"What?" Spike said, irritated, hurt, rejected, and stunned by the intensity of her kiss. He got out of bed and pulled his pants on. He wanted to be standing for this. He faced her and said,
"Here we go again! I can't love you! Blah, blah! You know what? I've heard it already. All if it. I'm a monster. You can't love me. You think I don't know that! Well, bollocks, because I love you. I can't - can't - help it! It's in me...all the time! You think I chose to fall in love with you, the way you, you - treat me? Like a piece of - " he struggled for the right word, "meat you can manipulate whenever you want!" Spike felt himself gasping, and knew he needed to stop before he said something he'd regret. Something that could cause her to stop coming around his place.
Buffy, fire flashing in her eyes, glared at Spike, as if she couldn't believe what he'd said.
"You think I treat you like a piece of meat? Oh, I see. Well, look at you! All you do is stare at me like you're in love with me, and you aren't! You can't be! You don't have the ability -
Spike cut her off. "Buffy, you know damn well I love you. How can you say that? The only reason you want to break this off is because -
Buffy balled her hands into fists, "Let me talk, Spike!" Spike's mouth dropped open. Was she really not going to let him have a word in this? He threw his hands in the air.
"Oh, well, have at it, Princess! Never mind what I have to say? What was it, "I" what? I can't do this anymore, because" he was mimicking her now, "even though he gives me the best sex I've ever had in my life, I can't do this because he's not good enough for me because I'm all up on my high horse -
Buffy interrupted him again, and the anger in her eyes scared even him a bit. Suddenly, she flew off the bed and her fist collided with his face with such force that he flew across the room, hitting the granite side of a nearby table. She marched over to him, hoisted him up, and pinned him against the table. He, shocked, was unsure of how to react. She normally wasn't this violent towards him outside of sex anymore. They stared at each other. He could feel the heat between them, as always, and he desperately wanted to grab her and turn her around, pin her against the pillar, rip her clothes off, and fall back into the familiar and destructive pattern they'd created.
"Buffy…" Spike whispered. What was going on? Why was she so angry?
Turning towards away from him, Buffy let go of his collar, and suddenly seemed defeated, sat on the other side of the bed, turned herself away from him. After a moment, he slowly approached the bed, until he was standing on the other side of it, facing her back. He gingerly sat down. It was a few minutes before she said,
"It's because I want you too much, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear?" She said this as she was facing away from him - but that didn't lessen the impact of her words.
Spike just stared at her, the back of her head, the sting on his cheek from where she'd hit him nothing next to the shock of what she had just admitted to him. Buffy stood up, faced him, then started pacing.
"Spike, when I'm with you, everything falls away, there's no me, there's no Dawn, there's no slaying - I can't afford that! Do you understand?" She turned back to him with an exasperated look on her face, as if he should understand with perfect clarity what she was saying.
Spike was speechless. That was what this was about? She was afraid of losing herself with him? He almost laughed. He hadn't imagined that was a possibility at all. Didn't the Slayer have control of everything? She had it over him. He tried to grasp what she was saying.
"So…you don't want to sleep with me anymore because you…want me too much? Not seeing the issue her, love." He couldn't help but smirk. Every cell in his body ached to reach out to her. But he knew this wasn't the time. Buffy signed and sat back on the bed. She looked over at him.
"You're impossible! You can't understand, can you?" There was that word again. "Understand." Spike's jaw tightened at the sound, but he held it in. He wasn't some schoolboy. He understood alright.
They lay there, side by side, looking at each other. Buffy sidled up next to him. Her hand snacked underneath the sheets that covered him, and her small hand found the cool, smooth planes of his stomach.
"This is the last time." She said.