Authors Note: I'm not trying to lie to anyone here. If you like Spike as
the helpful/helpless/hopeless tame demon, then you'll probably dislike this
fic. Spike/Buffy moments (but to be honest, S/B shippers will hate this)
also Spike/Drusilla, because that's what I personally like better :)
Disclaimer: I dont own them, they belong to Joss Whedon. However I think I might DESERVE to own them after what that cruel cruel man has done to them. Still, thats just opinion...
Soulless Monster
I'm lying in her bed, and it's what I've wanted for so long, but actually having it seems cheap. This was the sex I hungered for night and day, this was the sex I couldn't stop thinking about, the face and body lodged in my mind eternally. Because she was the Slayer, and I had to have her. One way or the other she was going to be mine, submit to me, I would *take* her. It should have felt better.
Not that she's bad in bed. She's good, or at least, she's alright. I did sleep with her, and it was completely distanced from everything we've been through. I was gentle with her - I couldn't be anything else, I think splitting pain through my skull might have spoilt the mood - and in return, she was gentle as well. A warm, soft body, all mine to taste, touch, enjoy. The physical pleasure wasn't absent, but everything else was. She's not meant to be so sweet to me. The cold glances of fury she once gave me, now they were beautiful. The way she looked at me just then told me they were gone forever.
I know her scent better than the back of my sodding hand, and it's been all I've wanted for the last few months. The sweet scent of a young human girl to start with, and then perfume, deodorant, cosmetics, bleach (yeah, I know, I'm a fine one to talk), and on top of that there's something else. Lets not beat around the bush here, I know full well what I smell on her is death. The dust of my own kind. But it's something so uniquely *Buffy* that the details never bothered me. To breathe her in was heaven to me. Now it's tired. Stale. I've taken her, and she's still alive. The scent seems nauseating, and it's all over me, on every inch of skin on my body. My corpse. My corpse that should never *ever* have been in her bed. Why did she give in? Surely she didn't just start feeling attracted to me - it would never have happened, or she'd never have admitted it. Maybe she was just lonely? I smirk a little, knowing this is pretty likely. I wonder who she was thinking of? Not me, she can't be that tender with me. Maybe Riley, or some other all American tanned, muscular bloke she knows. Or maybe... and it takes an effort to suppress my laughter here... maybe Angel. It would make sense, after all, she never really got over him. And my body must be about the right temperature to fit the memories. I sigh, and then get up, pulling my jeans on. She's still asleep, and I want to go for a fag. My mouth tastes of *her*. It's like venom.
The sun will be coming up soon. And I'll have to go back inside, and lie in her bed in the mess we've created. All the wrong sort of mess. I've taken her, she shouldn't be like this. She shouldn't be warm and alive and breathing, she should be a drained, white, cold corpse on blood stained sheets. She should be bloody *dead* by now, but she's not. That's the sickening part, the lack of satisfaction. I want to kill her, thats all I want, I want to tear her heart from her body, and suck on it until its just a dry husk of skin. But I can't. I physically *can't*. Ok, so this has to end here, today. I don't want her to see the light of the next morning. I most certainly do *not* want a relationship. But as usual, I can't kill her, and I have to either leave now or I'll stay here and be stuck in her life in a way I couldn't stand now. Sex changes things, I realise. Or at least it does between two mortal enemies. Why the hell did I think this was what I wanted anyway? I put on the rest of my clothes and walk silently downstairs and out of the house. Then I walk quickly, to make it back to the crypt before sunrise.
Cold in the crypt, compared to the dangerously rising heat of outside. Sunrise, sunrise, it was all I could think of when running back here, how bloody close it was... and I would never have risked my life like that if the only alternative hadn't been waking up... Next. To. Her. Buffy, the vampire slayer, also known as murderer of my kind. My loathing and obsession personified, except now she was less of a goddess to me. No, forget that. She was *not* a goddess to me, she was not even a very attractive young woman, she was the Slayer, the killer, the horror we have to face every waking night. The intimacy destroyed my image of her. She is nothing but sickness to me. I close my eyes, and lay my head back upon the cool granite. Day is dawning, and I need to sleep.
"Spike." A voice is saying my name. It has to be about 1pm for gods sakes, who on earth...?
"Hmm?" I get out.
"It's me, Buffy." She puts her arm around my shoulders. Stupid dreams. I don't want them anymore, they've lost their edge. The Slayer can go live in Timbuctoo for all I care. Stop the dreams, please.
"Buffy." I say her name clearly, looking into the distance as if I'm thinking profoundly. Really though, I'm trying to remember exactly how this all happened. One thing, I'm putting the lil' bit up in bed for the night, then I'm in the kitchen annoyed at how there isn't any blood, then she's in the living room crying about her trauma... and I comfort her with a kiss. Fuck. "This isn't right, Buffy."
"Don't be like that," she smiles into my eyes, with a face like sunshine. I bloody hate sunshine, you know. "I know you've wanted this, for longer than I have. Now you have me. I want to be with you Spike."
"And I would like nothing better than... " I growl at the ceiling of this wretched crypt. "Sod it, I want to sleep, it's too early for me."
"Oh, well, you know. That's ok. You're a vampire, you should sleep through the day." She sounds upset, but I'm too tired to laugh right now. "I'll come back later."
"Great." I close my eyes again. Fucking luckless existence.
Disclaimer: I dont own them, they belong to Joss Whedon. However I think I might DESERVE to own them after what that cruel cruel man has done to them. Still, thats just opinion...
Soulless Monster
I'm lying in her bed, and it's what I've wanted for so long, but actually having it seems cheap. This was the sex I hungered for night and day, this was the sex I couldn't stop thinking about, the face and body lodged in my mind eternally. Because she was the Slayer, and I had to have her. One way or the other she was going to be mine, submit to me, I would *take* her. It should have felt better.
Not that she's bad in bed. She's good, or at least, she's alright. I did sleep with her, and it was completely distanced from everything we've been through. I was gentle with her - I couldn't be anything else, I think splitting pain through my skull might have spoilt the mood - and in return, she was gentle as well. A warm, soft body, all mine to taste, touch, enjoy. The physical pleasure wasn't absent, but everything else was. She's not meant to be so sweet to me. The cold glances of fury she once gave me, now they were beautiful. The way she looked at me just then told me they were gone forever.
I know her scent better than the back of my sodding hand, and it's been all I've wanted for the last few months. The sweet scent of a young human girl to start with, and then perfume, deodorant, cosmetics, bleach (yeah, I know, I'm a fine one to talk), and on top of that there's something else. Lets not beat around the bush here, I know full well what I smell on her is death. The dust of my own kind. But it's something so uniquely *Buffy* that the details never bothered me. To breathe her in was heaven to me. Now it's tired. Stale. I've taken her, and she's still alive. The scent seems nauseating, and it's all over me, on every inch of skin on my body. My corpse. My corpse that should never *ever* have been in her bed. Why did she give in? Surely she didn't just start feeling attracted to me - it would never have happened, or she'd never have admitted it. Maybe she was just lonely? I smirk a little, knowing this is pretty likely. I wonder who she was thinking of? Not me, she can't be that tender with me. Maybe Riley, or some other all American tanned, muscular bloke she knows. Or maybe... and it takes an effort to suppress my laughter here... maybe Angel. It would make sense, after all, she never really got over him. And my body must be about the right temperature to fit the memories. I sigh, and then get up, pulling my jeans on. She's still asleep, and I want to go for a fag. My mouth tastes of *her*. It's like venom.
The sun will be coming up soon. And I'll have to go back inside, and lie in her bed in the mess we've created. All the wrong sort of mess. I've taken her, she shouldn't be like this. She shouldn't be warm and alive and breathing, she should be a drained, white, cold corpse on blood stained sheets. She should be bloody *dead* by now, but she's not. That's the sickening part, the lack of satisfaction. I want to kill her, thats all I want, I want to tear her heart from her body, and suck on it until its just a dry husk of skin. But I can't. I physically *can't*. Ok, so this has to end here, today. I don't want her to see the light of the next morning. I most certainly do *not* want a relationship. But as usual, I can't kill her, and I have to either leave now or I'll stay here and be stuck in her life in a way I couldn't stand now. Sex changes things, I realise. Or at least it does between two mortal enemies. Why the hell did I think this was what I wanted anyway? I put on the rest of my clothes and walk silently downstairs and out of the house. Then I walk quickly, to make it back to the crypt before sunrise.
Cold in the crypt, compared to the dangerously rising heat of outside. Sunrise, sunrise, it was all I could think of when running back here, how bloody close it was... and I would never have risked my life like that if the only alternative hadn't been waking up... Next. To. Her. Buffy, the vampire slayer, also known as murderer of my kind. My loathing and obsession personified, except now she was less of a goddess to me. No, forget that. She was *not* a goddess to me, she was not even a very attractive young woman, she was the Slayer, the killer, the horror we have to face every waking night. The intimacy destroyed my image of her. She is nothing but sickness to me. I close my eyes, and lay my head back upon the cool granite. Day is dawning, and I need to sleep.
"Spike." A voice is saying my name. It has to be about 1pm for gods sakes, who on earth...?
"Hmm?" I get out.
"It's me, Buffy." She puts her arm around my shoulders. Stupid dreams. I don't want them anymore, they've lost their edge. The Slayer can go live in Timbuctoo for all I care. Stop the dreams, please.
"Buffy." I say her name clearly, looking into the distance as if I'm thinking profoundly. Really though, I'm trying to remember exactly how this all happened. One thing, I'm putting the lil' bit up in bed for the night, then I'm in the kitchen annoyed at how there isn't any blood, then she's in the living room crying about her trauma... and I comfort her with a kiss. Fuck. "This isn't right, Buffy."
"Don't be like that," she smiles into my eyes, with a face like sunshine. I bloody hate sunshine, you know. "I know you've wanted this, for longer than I have. Now you have me. I want to be with you Spike."
"And I would like nothing better than... " I growl at the ceiling of this wretched crypt. "Sod it, I want to sleep, it's too early for me."
"Oh, well, you know. That's ok. You're a vampire, you should sleep through the day." She sounds upset, but I'm too tired to laugh right now. "I'll come back later."
"Great." I close my eyes again. Fucking luckless existence.
