A Production Created by Tacbob Productions
-An offspring off Flamboyant Tomboy Publishing
Summary: Spike's thoughts on Buffy post season five.
Rating: PG-13
The leather duster blew in the wind as I stood in the graveyard. A stake in both hands, I walked with a determination I never knew I had until know. Maybe I didn't have it until now.
I heard a growl behind me and turned to slam a stake into a vampire. I turned to see another one a few feet ahead. We both growled and morphed into vamp-face as we squared off. He got ready to fight. Apparently the wanker knew karate.
"I'm not in the mood for a bloody fight!" I growled, throwing a vial of holy water on him. I raised both my hands just in time to stake two vampires flanking me from both sides. The both exploded into dust around me. Like a twisted Fourth of July.
A wind chime chimed as the wind blew harder. It hung from a tree. Who the hell would want to hang a wind chime from a tree in a graveyard? And then I saw it. Buffy Anne Summers.
No, I don't need to see this! And yet, I can't stop looking at it. And thinking about her. The only place I could be with her was in my dreams. And when I made that stupid robot.
Was it really that bad though? I just wanted one touch, one glance. Make her smile once. And all I got was a kiss. Just once. That meant absolutely nothing to her.
Why was I so bad anyway? I had a chip, she knew I could never hurt her. Angel said at once after kissing her the first time he wanted to kill her. And yet she loved him, completely. Utterly. The way I love her now.
But I do want to hurt her. I want to make her scream, I want to force her to be mine. I want her to beg me.
I wanted to bite her, lick her, suck her, taste her, hear her, and drown in her. And I wouldn't care is she consented or not to what I was doing to her.
Oh course I wanted the bloody bitch to consent! All I asked her was to give me a little piece. A little taste.
I kneeled down by her grave, sitting on my heels.
Sometimes I didn't want her to consent though. Sometimes in the middle of the afternoon as I toss and turn in my sleep I think about that. To destroy her, to rip away her innocence by raping her. And I get off on it every single bloody time I think about it.
But sometimes I just wanted to fight her. To go hand to hand like the other slayers and share blood and sweat instead of kisses and hugs. I get off on that too.
But I only told her about the kisses and the hugs. And those were true. I wanted her to love me and make me warm. I wanted tender kisses in the moonlight. Kisses turning to slow caresses all over her warm, golden body. I wanted to wake up and see her on my chest cuddling closer.
Those are the reasons why I hurt so much. Thinking about seeing her dead body right now makes me sick in the pit of my stomach. I turn from her grave and throw up, a mixture of my pain form and for her and the damp, warm night.
Another feeling I got from her was jealousy. Okay, so she didn't like me, I understand. But she would choose Captain Cardboard over me? First of all the bloody greaseball has absolutely no looks. Him always botching, "Oh Buffy doesn't love me. And I love her…sooooo…very much. I think I might get my cardboard wet by crying a little now."
And what about personality? She would have had a better time with a wall. And not the living kind, I mean.
But I guess that is what she wanted. Something normal. Her own personal piece of Iowa.
But that is all past. Now all I think of, my feeling, my fantasy about Buffy is time. Not to have more, but to change some of the things I did in the past. Maybe if I had been a little gentler about the whole, made my feelings out to be a little more innocent…
She would have accepted it with an open heart. Not been disgusted. Not been revolted.
But then again she probably would of. Nothing could change the fact that I was a vampire. But there was Angel. And that whole 'don't bring him into this' or 'he had a soul' bullshit just wasn't cutting it anymore.
He was still a bloodthirsty killer, just like me. He still wanted to feed, couldn't resist getting his game face on in front of fresh human blood. Like Buffy's.
He will fight between his good and evil side till it kills him. Personally speaking, I don't care if it's Angel or Angelus I can't stand either of them.
But I wasn't here to think about Angel. I am here to think about Buffy Summers. Even though her friends shunned me after I expressed just a little part of my feelings her. And that was the good part of them too...
The one I couldn't stand most of all; most of all was Xander. Big, dumb asshole was against every boy to enter Buffy's life accept Riley and himself. Like I did anything to him.
And Giles was a little loony, especially after what happened to Buffy. It was as if his life meant nothing to him now, it had no meaning accept to just watch time pass away.
Willow grieved over Buffy more than she did Oz. She would babble about everything Buffy that had done for her, Tara the only thing to keep her clinging to her scrapes of a life.
It was hardest for Dawn. She thought she should die, that everyone would hate her for just letting Buffy do that. Of course nobody did. But as horrible as it is...sometimes I felt a little bitter about the way things turned out.
Whenever the though of Glory coming again came into the conversation, Giles would just assure everyone it wouldn't happen, never explaining his reasoning. When he did, Xander started yelling at him. They screamed at each other, getting very close face to face. But Willow luckily broke them up in time before the real show started.
I sat at Buffy's grave fore hours, just thinking about her and her dumbfounded friends. Mostly about her. When I wasn't at her grave, I was either fighting with or fucking the Buffybot. My one possession to remind me of Buffy. And what our love could have been like.
I have to go back to my crypt soon, because Angel and the LA Scobbies will be here soon. I don't want to have to here the big poof bitch the rest of my perfectly good evening.
I stand up, and pull the railroad spike from my jacket. I think about checking to see if anyone is around, and then think better of it. Let them watch and my bleeding sympathies to them.
I lean over Buffy's grave, and right next to all the flowers at the tombstone I slam the spike into the dirt. I then walk back a few paces, admiring my handiwork.
In the gleam of the moonlight, the words 'Forever Yours' shine brightly, engraved on the side.
THE END
Please, please review this story. I know there are a million afterthought stories of Spike's but this is the first piece I've written in Spike's perspective. Is it to dark? Should Spike be more sensitive? Please be constructive with the criticism.