Epilogue
I miss them. Years have gone by without the smallest and most minuscule contact with them. A sigh of longing curls from my lips to float into the dense night club.
"Do you still, miss them, love?" Spike inquires, clasping his arms around me protectively in an overly familiar gesture.
"Don't you?" My question churns a multitude of memories in him.
"The bit, absolutely. Red, she was fiery. The whelp, not on your death." A swift jab with my elbow makes him regret that remark, but steadily he goes on as if I didn't just do anything at all, "Glinda, she had a gentle charm. Rupert, the ol' son of a bitch," I can picture the wistful grin on his lips, "of course. He was the only other British bloke around for miles . . ." His hands begin massaging my already swaying hips to the music, "Come on love, lets stop being nostalgic. It's drastically un-constructive to this outing I took my bloody time to plan."
I release a girlie giggle, "That sounds like a form of diarrhea."
"See, either way it equals bad." The comment is flippant, showing me where his attention really is.
I whirl around nestling deep into my lovers arms, purring secretively into his ear, "You're bad."
"No, baby, no." He tightens his already steel grip around me, sliding his hands excitingly lower, eyes misty and praising "You're bad."
Smelling my mate's scent all over me sends me in a mental love struck giggling spree. The best years of my life weren't even spent in a living body. Now that's some real irony. If he didn't turn me I would have never admitted my love for him. We would never have traveled the world, gotten to know each other deeper than twins, never ever have experienced this love . . . this love that never fails us, no matter how angry and harmful we get at each other. Hey, you can't buy that in stores!
But even now, I haven't forgiven him. I did say never. I meant it. The Slayer in me will never bow to that request. He's accepted it though. Spike's just one big horde of love and energy, I'm only here to put him to good use.
Like to love me, fuck me, buy me things, take me places, kill for me, do anything to please me. What a marvelous way to live out eternity with the one you actually, truly, and fully love . . . Not to sadly though, I do the same exact things for his tight little ass.
"Badder than bad?" My eyes capture his gaze that I will never get tired of. "Do you need to show me?" Spike quirks his mouth into a grin that reminds me of the looks in those underfed kids over in . . . somewhere, but he surely isn't hungry for food . . .
Dark and mysterious is the atmosphere suffocating us into a sweet oblivion. The heady and musky smell of sweaty humans tickle our noses. The roar of the music pulses through us all. And our hips never cease their slow and sensual grinding. Smiling at him with pure affection, I can see no other future that would have been even a smidge better.
"Clearly, you want me to show you." I lick my lips, only fueling his hard-on that's rubbing and petting me.
"In public?" Spike fakes the saddest act of shock, I've ever seen him try.
And the most weirdest thing I've learned from all of this bloody mess, is don't try to close your eyes to the hated, for they'll peal them open without hesitation, to show you something you might love. I also realized, the dead can have way more fun than the living!
Snuggling into the bite marks I recently reopened, soaking in that sexy rumbling purr he's projecting, and placing a teasing lick on them, I vocally caress with joyous mirth:
"Like we've never done it before."
Author's Note: Don't ask what made me make the ending as I made it. You Spike and Buffy fans . . . should already know. hehe. That was just gay of me, I truly know. So screw me.
I miss them. Years have gone by without the smallest and most minuscule contact with them. A sigh of longing curls from my lips to float into the dense night club.
"Do you still, miss them, love?" Spike inquires, clasping his arms around me protectively in an overly familiar gesture.
"Don't you?" My question churns a multitude of memories in him.
"The bit, absolutely. Red, she was fiery. The whelp, not on your death." A swift jab with my elbow makes him regret that remark, but steadily he goes on as if I didn't just do anything at all, "Glinda, she had a gentle charm. Rupert, the ol' son of a bitch," I can picture the wistful grin on his lips, "of course. He was the only other British bloke around for miles . . ." His hands begin massaging my already swaying hips to the music, "Come on love, lets stop being nostalgic. It's drastically un-constructive to this outing I took my bloody time to plan."
I release a girlie giggle, "That sounds like a form of diarrhea."
"See, either way it equals bad." The comment is flippant, showing me where his attention really is.
I whirl around nestling deep into my lovers arms, purring secretively into his ear, "You're bad."
"No, baby, no." He tightens his already steel grip around me, sliding his hands excitingly lower, eyes misty and praising "You're bad."
Smelling my mate's scent all over me sends me in a mental love struck giggling spree. The best years of my life weren't even spent in a living body. Now that's some real irony. If he didn't turn me I would have never admitted my love for him. We would never have traveled the world, gotten to know each other deeper than twins, never ever have experienced this love . . . this love that never fails us, no matter how angry and harmful we get at each other. Hey, you can't buy that in stores!
But even now, I haven't forgiven him. I did say never. I meant it. The Slayer in me will never bow to that request. He's accepted it though. Spike's just one big horde of love and energy, I'm only here to put him to good use.
Like to love me, fuck me, buy me things, take me places, kill for me, do anything to please me. What a marvelous way to live out eternity with the one you actually, truly, and fully love . . . Not to sadly though, I do the same exact things for his tight little ass.
"Badder than bad?" My eyes capture his gaze that I will never get tired of. "Do you need to show me?" Spike quirks his mouth into a grin that reminds me of the looks in those underfed kids over in . . . somewhere, but he surely isn't hungry for food . . .
Dark and mysterious is the atmosphere suffocating us into a sweet oblivion. The heady and musky smell of sweaty humans tickle our noses. The roar of the music pulses through us all. And our hips never cease their slow and sensual grinding. Smiling at him with pure affection, I can see no other future that would have been even a smidge better.
"Clearly, you want me to show you." I lick my lips, only fueling his hard-on that's rubbing and petting me.
"In public?" Spike fakes the saddest act of shock, I've ever seen him try.
And the most weirdest thing I've learned from all of this bloody mess, is don't try to close your eyes to the hated, for they'll peal them open without hesitation, to show you something you might love. I also realized, the dead can have way more fun than the living!
Snuggling into the bite marks I recently reopened, soaking in that sexy rumbling purr he's projecting, and placing a teasing lick on them, I vocally caress with joyous mirth:
"Like we've never done it before."
Author's Note: Don't ask what made me make the ending as I made it. You Spike and Buffy fans . . . should already know. hehe. That was just gay of me, I truly know. So screw me.