"Slayer."
Spike sighed; it was at least the 5th time she had shown up at his crypt, just
listening to him talk, in a month.
She sat down, looking distant as always. Finally, Spike was fed up.
"What is wrong with you? Why don't you ever show emotions anymore? Or ever
talk?"
Buffy looked at her feet.
"Because it isn't as easy as before."
"Slayer, you know you can come to me, and tell me anything. I'm not gonna go
spilling the beans to your friends. I think I've proved that you can trust me to that
extent."
Buffy was still looking at her feet.
"Tell me how you feel, or how you don't feel, but tell me something. I can't do this. I
have all these feelings that you don't seem to have. I can't read you anymore. You're
gonna have to help me out."
She stood up, moving close to his standing form, leaning against the wall. She
grabbed him by the back of his neck with one hand and kissed him roughly,
savagely, brutally.
Pouring all her emotion in the short barely a millisecond kiss.
"Read that."
she turned and started to run, but he grabbed her by the arm. She winced slightly
and pulled her arm away, immediately realizing she should've dealt with the pain and
not let it show, she was opening herself too much to him, he knew her too well.
He grabbed her sleeve and yanked it up, she couldn't stop him and guilt
immediately shone in her eyes and his. There were deep, bloody scratches on her
arms that looked like she had taken her fingernails and took all her emotions out on
there. And she had a lot of emotions.
He could plainly see the words love, hate, death, pain, torture, and bliss written
there with a knife. His eyes met hers, full of anger. He didn't know whether to kill
her or kiss her.
He decided almost immediately, that he didn't want to hurt her, he couldn't even
bear the thought, he wanted to kiss her, to make all that pain and all that guilt go
away and never come back, never dare show it's face again.
He wanted to give her pain so beyond pleasure, pleasure so beyond pain. He wanted
to kiss her and say the words he never dare spoke in his kiss, his eyes betray his
emotion, his heart betray her mind. He wanted to make her want the same thing.
He pushed her against the doorjamb, his arms on either side of her so she couldn't
move, and he kissed her back, the same way she had kissed him, only deeper, and
longer. He pulled her into his arms, and threw them down on the stone slab that was
still there.
They rolled off, still kissing, their tongues competing, combating, in a furious battle
of who felt more tortured, angry, hurt, happy, alone, hungry, passionate, brutal,
deep, shallow, honest, wicked, dark, twisted, demented, and in love at that moment.
He picked her up and took her down to his bed, where they hungrily ripped off each
other's clothes, making love time and time again until neither could stand it anymore
and they fell asleep, drenched in each other's sweat, in each other's arms.
Even as they did this they were in battle, it was constant combat. It always had
been, it always would be. They would be together, wrapped in their emotions,
dancing until the end. Crying in each other's arms until their blood ran dry and they
died, still dancing, and still loving it.
Till the end.
Spike sighed; it was at least the 5th time she had shown up at his crypt, just
listening to him talk, in a month.
She sat down, looking distant as always. Finally, Spike was fed up.
"What is wrong with you? Why don't you ever show emotions anymore? Or ever
talk?"
Buffy looked at her feet.
"Because it isn't as easy as before."
"Slayer, you know you can come to me, and tell me anything. I'm not gonna go
spilling the beans to your friends. I think I've proved that you can trust me to that
extent."
Buffy was still looking at her feet.
"Tell me how you feel, or how you don't feel, but tell me something. I can't do this. I
have all these feelings that you don't seem to have. I can't read you anymore. You're
gonna have to help me out."
She stood up, moving close to his standing form, leaning against the wall. She
grabbed him by the back of his neck with one hand and kissed him roughly,
savagely, brutally.
Pouring all her emotion in the short barely a millisecond kiss.
"Read that."
she turned and started to run, but he grabbed her by the arm. She winced slightly
and pulled her arm away, immediately realizing she should've dealt with the pain and
not let it show, she was opening herself too much to him, he knew her too well.
He grabbed her sleeve and yanked it up, she couldn't stop him and guilt
immediately shone in her eyes and his. There were deep, bloody scratches on her
arms that looked like she had taken her fingernails and took all her emotions out on
there. And she had a lot of emotions.
He could plainly see the words love, hate, death, pain, torture, and bliss written
there with a knife. His eyes met hers, full of anger. He didn't know whether to kill
her or kiss her.
He decided almost immediately, that he didn't want to hurt her, he couldn't even
bear the thought, he wanted to kiss her, to make all that pain and all that guilt go
away and never come back, never dare show it's face again.
He wanted to give her pain so beyond pleasure, pleasure so beyond pain. He wanted
to kiss her and say the words he never dare spoke in his kiss, his eyes betray his
emotion, his heart betray her mind. He wanted to make her want the same thing.
He pushed her against the doorjamb, his arms on either side of her so she couldn't
move, and he kissed her back, the same way she had kissed him, only deeper, and
longer. He pulled her into his arms, and threw them down on the stone slab that was
still there.
They rolled off, still kissing, their tongues competing, combating, in a furious battle
of who felt more tortured, angry, hurt, happy, alone, hungry, passionate, brutal,
deep, shallow, honest, wicked, dark, twisted, demented, and in love at that moment.
He picked her up and took her down to his bed, where they hungrily ripped off each
other's clothes, making love time and time again until neither could stand it anymore
and they fell asleep, drenched in each other's sweat, in each other's arms.
Even as they did this they were in battle, it was constant combat. It always had
been, it always would be. They would be together, wrapped in their emotions,
dancing until the end. Crying in each other's arms until their blood ran dry and they
died, still dancing, and still loving it.
Till the end.