Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine, nothing is mine
~~~~~~~~
Right now his lips were pressed against her thigh, tomorrow his teeth would be buried deep in her neck. Right now their sweat was running freely together, tomorrow blood would flow through their pores and mingle in disharmony. Right now they lay side beside, tomorrow she'd have him on his knees. Right now they were high on life and lust, tomorrow one would die.
She forgot life, forgot death, forgot it all when he pushed himself into her body. It was an amnesia that took an aching body and stretched limbs. "You're gonna crave me..." it rang through her head, a mantra she tried not to recite. Because she knew the end of the sentence and she knew that one-day his lust for her body and lust for her blood would collide.
He crowded her thoughts like he crowded her body, and she welcomed the warmth of his creeping presence. She cried as he broke into her, as his hands seared her flesh with strong fingers. He bit his lip, a sweet habit he had when he came within her. He was holding in all she let out, leaving her in the spot light. He knew how to treat his girl, knew how to love his enemy, and how to seduce his victim. He showed her everything, showed her all his tricks.
He cried into her soul with his mind, licked at her spirit and tainted it with evil. He sighed as she collapsed at his side and whispered dirty words into her ear. She'd been to heaven, she'd been through hell, he was taking her beyond. She let him rape her, he called it love.
"It's our secret," she whispered through the haze, not quite a confident statement, but not with the uncertainty of a question.
"My dirty secret, slayer. Who are you to tell?" He straddled her and pinned her wrists above her head. His legs squeezed against her bare flesh and a small shiver ran down her side. He felt it and his eyes smiled. "You're mine now, I own you goldy-locks. You're not invisible anymore, you're not invincible. I can defeat you, I will defeat you."
His voice intimidated her, there was no fear, he hadn't given her reason. He trusted her now, that was all he wanted. He had killed a slayer who stunk of fear, and the smell had made him sick. He wanted an easy target, had wanted an easier target. But he loved her now, that he hadn't planned.
He leaned over her and stared into her eyes. He dangled his thoughts in front of her, just out of her reading. Kiss me, she pleaded. He met her lips with his and she ate, like she hadn't tasted him in years. She could make it good every time, she could stop his selfish rhyme. He ached for her, ached to fill her every corner. He wanted to be her thoughts, he wanted to own her heart, like she did his.
Love me, he burned into her. He wanted her to feel him, wanted her to be owned by him. She had dominated him for too long. He would weaken her defense, he felt he already had. Again he pushed himself into her, her hips riding up to meet his. Her body exploded beneath him, running hot all over. He broke the kiss to smirk at her. I've got you slayer, I've got you right where I want you. She had forgotten. He could see. She'd abandon it all for him, he'd make sure of that. But her eyes still carried a spark of defiance, a sparkle that scared him more than a stake through the heart.
******
Buffy woke alone, the cold early morning air pushing it's way under the thin sheet that she had draped over her naked legs. She listened for any sound, any sign that he might still be buried in the grave beside her. There was nothing, nothing but her own breath echoing through the tunnels. She couldn't stand that sound. She inhaled sharply and held it in, her lungs burned and she swallowed over and over trying not to take in the air around her as she searched for her clothes. She found them lying beside the bed and quickly dressed and ran from the crypt her heart pounding, gasping for air.
She'd gone back. Just as he said she would. She'd returned, a weakling under a demon spell. It wasn't love she was looking for, it wasn't stitches for the broken heart that Spike would give her. He wanted her, made her feel needed, not just stretched and gutted and open for questioning. He didn't ask anything from her, didn't need an answer to any question, not yet.
But she knew someday he would find out who was whose bitch, who really needed who. She didn't need him, she just needed his body. And she wasn't sure what he had been pining away for. He had followed her and cried over her, but why? She hadn't been that special to anyone else. He didn't deserve to make her special. But then maybe it was what she deserved, she was just to blind to see.
But far back she knew what he wanted. He wanted everything the way it was. He wanted a reason to smirk at her, to laugh at her. He wanted a reason to bash her into the ground, to make her feel the pain she had put him through. He never needed a reason but he wanted it, he craved it as he had craved her blood. He wanted a reason to burn through her with his eyes.
It was his eyes that kept her held to him. the eyes of an animal, reflecting everything he saw but nothing he felt. They slid over her like icy showers waking her from the unconscious. They kept her asking the questions that made her care she was alive. At least disgust was a feeling, slef-loathing was better than numbness. His eyes were uncomfortable, poking at her like a tack through the sole of a shoe that couldn't be removed. She wasn't sure she wanted to remove it. The little trickle of blood wasn't enough to drain her yet.
But someday it would be. Someday the rivulet would become and ocean and she'd drown in her own blood. She'd fall victim to herself like so many others had already. She had to stop it. She had to find the plug that had been pulled.
Her walk home was uneventful, no demons lurking in hidden places. Only her disgust and insecurities lurked behind her in the shadows where she couldn't catch them, but couldn't get rid of them either.
She slipped through her kitchen door, the sun just rising behind her. "Morning luv," she heard, her stomach sinking. She wanted to turn and run, run until her lungs burned and ached and her muscles knotted and froze. She wanted to freeze and melt to the ground in a puddle. She wanted to scream and cry and laugh all together. She wanted him out of her life. 'Buffy doesn't need Spike,' the wind cried through the partially opened door. 'Find yourself in the good.'
And she knew that would be her mission. That would make her feel. Buffy closed the door behind her and walked past the leather-clad shadow lurking in the corners. It was just a dream, a bad dream she was letting run her life. She let him bruise her and enter her and throw her through walls.
She went to check on Dawn. Buffy watched as her back rose and fell with each breath that entered the little girl's body. She had grown so fast and Buffy had missed it all. She had been buried too deep in the grave to notice, forgotten to watch the little things while she stuck her tongue farther and farther down Spike's throat, begging him for acceptance.
She pitied the girl who lay on her pillows, hair fanned in a halo about her head. She deserved a mother, a father, a sister, and all she had was a shell of a person who didn't care. Pitied...had it crossed her mind? A feeling. Right now she was feeling. Right now she was angry. Right now she would kill.
Buffy ran, the world around her pushing her farther. She ran right through the crypt door wood splintering at her sides, small drips of blood from her bare arms warmed her chilly flesh. Tearing the doorframe from the wall she adjusted her eyes to the murkiness of the room.
Spike was sitting on the floor propped against the farthest wall from her. His icy eyes gave her goosepimples as they coolly watched her passionate rage. His shirt was open to the middle, it clung to his muscular body and Buffy took a sharp breadth in. She could feel his stomach under her hands and she balled her fists to try and squash the memory.
Rising slowly he teetered a bit. He was drunk, she could smell it. He came towards her, hands reaching for her waist. She side stepped him and round kicked him in the head. Spike staggered sideways cursing under his breath. The smell of cigarettes and brandy followed his words into her brain and she could remember how they taste against her lips. He came back at her with a punch but he was too slow. She grabbed his wrist and flipped him onto his back. There would be no long fight that another slayer could perform with him blow by blow in the future. His chest begged to be pierced, ached for the feel of grating wood against muscle. His flesh cried to feel the burning of the sun. His whole body asked for it. 'Death' it whispered.
She stood back as he made a final lunge towards her and swiftly ended her pain before she could begin it again. She smiled as his beautiful body showered her in glittering dust. His scream rung in her ears but this time was not echoed by her own. Birds sung as she left the terror of Spike behind her, though she knew his shadow would always be at her back toying with the ends of her hair, pulling her back to the darkness, whispering...softly...
Right now she tried to forget another lover, yesterday she'd fought to remember why she was with him. Right now she brushed the dust of his body from her shoulders, yesterday she couldn't wrap him tight enough around her. Right now she shook with the courage and fear it would take to face tomorrow, yesterday she shook with pleasure and ecstasy. Right now she let the sun kiss her face and make her shine, yesterday she let darkness kiss her skin. Right now she was Buffy, yesterday she was Spike's.