//because, what is not due to her in our unlives?//
TITLE: Love Isn't Brains
AUTHOR: Leni
DISCLAIMER: *glares* As if!
DISTRIBUTION: Ask.
TIMELINE: I wrote this last year, only some weeks after Smashed. The poor fic is already Jossed beyond repair... but I like it. :-)
SUMMARY: Spike is alone and brooding. That always entails consequences...
AN: If you think this is confusing, it may be due to the fact that I detest Joss' B/S BUT I adore ol' Spike AND I'm a B/A-shipper.
RATING: PG-15 for language.
DEDICATION: For those who still remember evil-Spike and feel like setting fire to this ...*sniffs* 'souled version'. *shakes head* WHAT exactly did possess Joss to do this to meeeeeeeee??? *wails* ...I'll bring the matches and we'll have a nice bonfire on my backyard... you in?
FEEDBACK: Make me happy. dani_vasq@hotmail.com, a_d_v_v@yahoo.com.ar
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She left me.
Just like that.
First she sleeps with me...
//did we ever sleep? All is always a flash of flesh, rumble and screaming the night away...//
...then she tells me that I'm just 'convenient'- which, by the way, I completely agree with. I mean, there's no lost love between us. Lost fights, lost prides and lost hearts yeah, but love? Not even in our worse nightmares.
The Slayer and me ain't about poetic words and soft songs... we are always 'Take Take TAKE' and that's enough for us. Because if we talk, then the words get in the way of clothes... like that time when I said her name - the real thing - and she stopped my hand, arranged her blouse and left the crypt without a word... so, no words. It's cool, though, who needs to hear her voice when she is whimpering and grunting above me?
She said I was convenient like it was a bad thing, I swear. What does she think she is to me? The love of my fucking unlife? Oh please! Three years around the sire and she sees Romeo everywhere... but not me, no sir...
Of course, then she sleeps with me again. Comes full of naked rage and naked confusion into my arms and, anyone crazy enough to deny a naked blonde into his bed? She did it because I am so fucking 'convenient', I guess. //Stress the *fucking*, please...// Great tension reliever, that I am. And she was the third Slayer I got a hold on...
It was a fair deal, believe me.
She comes again and again, and sometimes makes me come before her... it's the same. Flesh against flesh trying to forget there's a whole world outside this dark embrace... I forget that there are beings offering me to end their misery, and she forgets the same voices ordering her to protect their lives...
...and so she comes back to forget...
...and finally decides that it was enough. She has already forgotten enough and it's time to go back to the living. All the dead weight has to go and what am I but part of it? A good-bye orgasm and some stakes through my body should be the best solution for her not-so-convenient issues.
The Slayer hates Spike but lusted after that twin darkness I carry inside. Summers needs me to open old wounds and make them bleed so she can stay awake one more day... and Buffy wants to forget that her problems existed. Enemy, Pet, Toy, Lover... all rolled into a Spike-shaped package and written PROBLEM all over...
They are right when they say that a woman is fickle!
Only that she is no woman. Sure, she screams and bleeds and fucks like the best of them but she is only fooling herself and the pest //yeah, *pest* and no *rest*// of her bloody gang.
And so, I'm left here with a stake through each thigh; also, like the best of them, Buffy knows how to hurt me, because, what better way to show me that she does not care about my heart? - and my cigarettes long smoked in a last post-coital/'good-bye, loser' party and all my licquour //She touched my *whisky*, that bitch!// on the walls of my crypt.
She certainly knows the best way to hurt me. The stakes are no problem. Hell, a lovely demonstration of Dru's affections left me in bed for more than the bloody reconciliation... But my whisky and my last Marlboros I cannot forget. It's my pride speaking - more like yelling - furiously in my brain.
Yes, as unlikely as it sounds, I still have some pride left to speak and demand through me. A pride that is pulsing with desire of revenge at the same time of my thighs...
She left just some minutes ago, our blood covering my wounds. I doubt mine got to touch hers and the only wound I ever wanted to cause anyway is a twin for the one at the side of her neck. She wouldn't let me, of course. Saving the unlife of her lover //Ha! Yeah, lover, of course. She can only wish. I'm sure he does, anyway...// seemed always more important and altruist that saving the unlife of her own mind. Had she let me, I would have given her the bliss she so craves...
But her neck was out of limits for Spike and now her body is going home for a bath, a healthy dinner and a chat with the little Summers. She left me here //No Marlboro to smoke, dammit!// and I'm already planning my revenge. If she thinks I'll crawl back to her and plead for another glimpse of her green, empty eyes //and bitter nipples and sweet belly and parted thighs// she has another thing coming.
She thinks Death has changed her... poor, poor Buffy. Nothing to do but to wallow in uncertainty. Uncertainty caused by 'convenient' me, of course. But her blood has stayed the same. And her blood is screaming for her to get even with her past //Brooding, pathetic past that it was...// even as she was screaming for me to fill the void that past left in her.
Shortly said, I will not crawl back to her. I'll just use the payphone as soon as my thighs can support the rest of my body - along with all her scratches and her bites and bitter sweat - and make some calls.
Irony must be on my side when her own money will decreed his death... Fire and pain and with his last scream he'll know that it was all due to her, because, what is not due to her in our unlives?
And when her past //...foundation, blood and fight coated in bitter goodbyes...// has abandoned her //...yet again, yet for the last time, yet for the *only* time, because, how could we ever truly leave her?// I'll be 'convenient' again and she'll come back to me.
Probably crawling, too---
"Love isn't brains, children, it's blood, blood screaming inside you to work it's will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it."
TITLE: Love Isn't Brains
AUTHOR: Leni
DISCLAIMER: *glares* As if!
DISTRIBUTION: Ask.
TIMELINE: I wrote this last year, only some weeks after Smashed. The poor fic is already Jossed beyond repair... but I like it. :-)
SUMMARY: Spike is alone and brooding. That always entails consequences...
AN: If you think this is confusing, it may be due to the fact that I detest Joss' B/S BUT I adore ol' Spike AND I'm a B/A-shipper.
RATING: PG-15 for language.
DEDICATION: For those who still remember evil-Spike and feel like setting fire to this ...*sniffs* 'souled version'. *shakes head* WHAT exactly did possess Joss to do this to meeeeeeeee??? *wails* ...I'll bring the matches and we'll have a nice bonfire on my backyard... you in?
FEEDBACK: Make me happy. dani_vasq@hotmail.com, a_d_v_v@yahoo.com.ar
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She left me.
Just like that.
First she sleeps with me...
//did we ever sleep? All is always a flash of flesh, rumble and screaming the night away...//
...then she tells me that I'm just 'convenient'- which, by the way, I completely agree with. I mean, there's no lost love between us. Lost fights, lost prides and lost hearts yeah, but love? Not even in our worse nightmares.
The Slayer and me ain't about poetic words and soft songs... we are always 'Take Take TAKE' and that's enough for us. Because if we talk, then the words get in the way of clothes... like that time when I said her name - the real thing - and she stopped my hand, arranged her blouse and left the crypt without a word... so, no words. It's cool, though, who needs to hear her voice when she is whimpering and grunting above me?
She said I was convenient like it was a bad thing, I swear. What does she think she is to me? The love of my fucking unlife? Oh please! Three years around the sire and she sees Romeo everywhere... but not me, no sir...
Of course, then she sleeps with me again. Comes full of naked rage and naked confusion into my arms and, anyone crazy enough to deny a naked blonde into his bed? She did it because I am so fucking 'convenient', I guess. //Stress the *fucking*, please...// Great tension reliever, that I am. And she was the third Slayer I got a hold on...
It was a fair deal, believe me.
She comes again and again, and sometimes makes me come before her... it's the same. Flesh against flesh trying to forget there's a whole world outside this dark embrace... I forget that there are beings offering me to end their misery, and she forgets the same voices ordering her to protect their lives...
...and so she comes back to forget...
...and finally decides that it was enough. She has already forgotten enough and it's time to go back to the living. All the dead weight has to go and what am I but part of it? A good-bye orgasm and some stakes through my body should be the best solution for her not-so-convenient issues.
The Slayer hates Spike but lusted after that twin darkness I carry inside. Summers needs me to open old wounds and make them bleed so she can stay awake one more day... and Buffy wants to forget that her problems existed. Enemy, Pet, Toy, Lover... all rolled into a Spike-shaped package and written PROBLEM all over...
They are right when they say that a woman is fickle!
Only that she is no woman. Sure, she screams and bleeds and fucks like the best of them but she is only fooling herself and the pest //yeah, *pest* and no *rest*// of her bloody gang.
And so, I'm left here with a stake through each thigh; also, like the best of them, Buffy knows how to hurt me, because, what better way to show me that she does not care about my heart? - and my cigarettes long smoked in a last post-coital/'good-bye, loser' party and all my licquour //She touched my *whisky*, that bitch!// on the walls of my crypt.
She certainly knows the best way to hurt me. The stakes are no problem. Hell, a lovely demonstration of Dru's affections left me in bed for more than the bloody reconciliation... But my whisky and my last Marlboros I cannot forget. It's my pride speaking - more like yelling - furiously in my brain.
Yes, as unlikely as it sounds, I still have some pride left to speak and demand through me. A pride that is pulsing with desire of revenge at the same time of my thighs...
She left just some minutes ago, our blood covering my wounds. I doubt mine got to touch hers and the only wound I ever wanted to cause anyway is a twin for the one at the side of her neck. She wouldn't let me, of course. Saving the unlife of her lover //Ha! Yeah, lover, of course. She can only wish. I'm sure he does, anyway...// seemed always more important and altruist that saving the unlife of her own mind. Had she let me, I would have given her the bliss she so craves...
But her neck was out of limits for Spike and now her body is going home for a bath, a healthy dinner and a chat with the little Summers. She left me here //No Marlboro to smoke, dammit!// and I'm already planning my revenge. If she thinks I'll crawl back to her and plead for another glimpse of her green, empty eyes //and bitter nipples and sweet belly and parted thighs// she has another thing coming.
She thinks Death has changed her... poor, poor Buffy. Nothing to do but to wallow in uncertainty. Uncertainty caused by 'convenient' me, of course. But her blood has stayed the same. And her blood is screaming for her to get even with her past //Brooding, pathetic past that it was...// even as she was screaming for me to fill the void that past left in her.
Shortly said, I will not crawl back to her. I'll just use the payphone as soon as my thighs can support the rest of my body - along with all her scratches and her bites and bitter sweat - and make some calls.
Irony must be on my side when her own money will decreed his death... Fire and pain and with his last scream he'll know that it was all due to her, because, what is not due to her in our unlives?
And when her past //...foundation, blood and fight coated in bitter goodbyes...// has abandoned her //...yet again, yet for the last time, yet for the *only* time, because, how could we ever truly leave her?// I'll be 'convenient' again and she'll come back to me.
Probably crawling, too---
"Love isn't brains, children, it's blood, blood screaming inside you to work it's will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it."