A/N My first attempt at writing Spike and his inner thoughts, be gentle but
seriously if you have something constructive to suggest in writing Spike,
let me know. Kristi@allengames.com
-Spike-
I light a cigarette when I get outside. Bloody bint won't let me stay the night. Not that I'd want to, she keeps that bleedin bed so hot it's like sleeping on coals. I don't mind being sent home afterwards like a good little dog, ok so I do, but even more then being sent home it rankles me that she won't let me hold her. She won't let me comfort her. Bitch doesn't even let me kiss her at least not more then a light kiss on the lips, the kind you'd give your grandmother. She pulls away from my touch like it burns. The only time I'm allowed to touch Buffy is just prior to or during sex. I'm never allowed to kiss her, really kiss her, like she kissed the wanker, even during sex. Afterwards she gets up and takes a shower, like I make her feel dirty. I have to admit at one time I got off on that. I wanted to make her feel dirty and evil. I wanted to bring her down to my level.
That changed when I got my soul. No I didn't go all broody and sensitive and shit like Captain Forehead. I didn't even get my soul for her. What I wanted from the bloody smart ass demon was to be William the Bloody again. I wanted to be the vampire that dreamed of ripping the stupid bint's throat out and bathing in her blood. Demon had different ideas. I got stuck with a soul, which I'm really not minding. Oh sure I belly ache a lot about it. Just didn't want to be like Peaches and play the drama queen card.
The point is, when I got my soul I found out what loving Buffy is all about. I understand why the Big Pouf couldn't get her out of his head. Hell, I'm actually playing second fiddle to him and taking orders. If it were Dru I'd chain her up, torture her a bit until she licked my boots and agreed to obey Daddy. I'm not saying I love her to the ends of the earth forever and all time. That would be the Wanker's position. He was here at some point. I can smell him. He puts on enough of that Nancy boy hair gel the world can smell him. I didn't mention him to Buffy. I figure she'll notice him soon enough and she'll talk about it when she wants to. Unlike the pouf I know it's her life to live. I don't push, I don't prod. She's a big girl. She talks when she wants to talk.
I toss my cigarette to the sidewalk, grinding it out with the heel of my boot. There's a demon bar just up the way that I frequent. Leaving Buffy's place always leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth, the kind you can only cover up with lots of whiskey. I glance up at the night sky, still lots of time before dawn. Should be plenty to get pissed and pass out in my own bed. You can damn well bet my bed isn't as hot as a bloody sauna.
*
-Buffy-
I get out of the shower, relieved to see Spike is already gone. Every now and then he puts up a fight about leaving. I don't have the energy to fight with him now. I take off my robe and slide in between warm sheets. I flip my pillow over so that the warm side is up and lay down. I stare into the darkness like it can give me answers of some sort. There are no answers. That's part of life. When you're young you think everything will be alright if you can just get the answers, figure out how everything works. There's really only one thing you need to figure out, if you ever get close to finding out all the answers, they change the questions. I guess some people do find the answers. Just not people like me. Maybe the Powers just like screwing with me, because it's so much fun to see the look on my face when my whole world falls down around me.
I can't sleep. I've had this off feeling all day, like something's not right, or like I'm supposed to remember something, only no matter how hard I try I can't. I flip on the lamp by the bed and prop myself on one elbow. I slide open the nightstand drawer, the one I never allow anyone to look in, and take out the picture there. It's the only one I have. It's one of the few things I saved from the hellhole that is Sunnydale. The edges are slightly burned. That's my fault. One night, about four years ago, I decided it would be best if I just got rid of all the reminders I have lying around. I started with this picture. I couldn't do it. I watched the flames creep in and I smothered them.
I let the tears leak from my eyes. I don't cry those great big, oxygen stealing sobs anymore. I can't. I've actually tried and I'm incapable. I watched the Titanic dry eyed. It used to be a guaranteed sob fest. I can watch every chick flick in the world, all designed to make women weepy puddles, and never ever shed a tear. It bothers me sometimes late at night. I wonder about what I'm becoming. Last week I was too late to save a little girl from a vamp. She couldn't have been more then ten. I solemnly laid her body out in the alley for someone else to find. I came home, I screwed Spike and took a shower, but I never cried. He's the only thing that still has the ability to make him cry. Do I really have to specify which he? There's only ever been on he in my life. I'm fairly certain there will only be one.
-Spike-
I light a cigarette when I get outside. Bloody bint won't let me stay the night. Not that I'd want to, she keeps that bleedin bed so hot it's like sleeping on coals. I don't mind being sent home afterwards like a good little dog, ok so I do, but even more then being sent home it rankles me that she won't let me hold her. She won't let me comfort her. Bitch doesn't even let me kiss her at least not more then a light kiss on the lips, the kind you'd give your grandmother. She pulls away from my touch like it burns. The only time I'm allowed to touch Buffy is just prior to or during sex. I'm never allowed to kiss her, really kiss her, like she kissed the wanker, even during sex. Afterwards she gets up and takes a shower, like I make her feel dirty. I have to admit at one time I got off on that. I wanted to make her feel dirty and evil. I wanted to bring her down to my level.
That changed when I got my soul. No I didn't go all broody and sensitive and shit like Captain Forehead. I didn't even get my soul for her. What I wanted from the bloody smart ass demon was to be William the Bloody again. I wanted to be the vampire that dreamed of ripping the stupid bint's throat out and bathing in her blood. Demon had different ideas. I got stuck with a soul, which I'm really not minding. Oh sure I belly ache a lot about it. Just didn't want to be like Peaches and play the drama queen card.
The point is, when I got my soul I found out what loving Buffy is all about. I understand why the Big Pouf couldn't get her out of his head. Hell, I'm actually playing second fiddle to him and taking orders. If it were Dru I'd chain her up, torture her a bit until she licked my boots and agreed to obey Daddy. I'm not saying I love her to the ends of the earth forever and all time. That would be the Wanker's position. He was here at some point. I can smell him. He puts on enough of that Nancy boy hair gel the world can smell him. I didn't mention him to Buffy. I figure she'll notice him soon enough and she'll talk about it when she wants to. Unlike the pouf I know it's her life to live. I don't push, I don't prod. She's a big girl. She talks when she wants to talk.
I toss my cigarette to the sidewalk, grinding it out with the heel of my boot. There's a demon bar just up the way that I frequent. Leaving Buffy's place always leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth, the kind you can only cover up with lots of whiskey. I glance up at the night sky, still lots of time before dawn. Should be plenty to get pissed and pass out in my own bed. You can damn well bet my bed isn't as hot as a bloody sauna.
*
-Buffy-
I get out of the shower, relieved to see Spike is already gone. Every now and then he puts up a fight about leaving. I don't have the energy to fight with him now. I take off my robe and slide in between warm sheets. I flip my pillow over so that the warm side is up and lay down. I stare into the darkness like it can give me answers of some sort. There are no answers. That's part of life. When you're young you think everything will be alright if you can just get the answers, figure out how everything works. There's really only one thing you need to figure out, if you ever get close to finding out all the answers, they change the questions. I guess some people do find the answers. Just not people like me. Maybe the Powers just like screwing with me, because it's so much fun to see the look on my face when my whole world falls down around me.
I can't sleep. I've had this off feeling all day, like something's not right, or like I'm supposed to remember something, only no matter how hard I try I can't. I flip on the lamp by the bed and prop myself on one elbow. I slide open the nightstand drawer, the one I never allow anyone to look in, and take out the picture there. It's the only one I have. It's one of the few things I saved from the hellhole that is Sunnydale. The edges are slightly burned. That's my fault. One night, about four years ago, I decided it would be best if I just got rid of all the reminders I have lying around. I started with this picture. I couldn't do it. I watched the flames creep in and I smothered them.
I let the tears leak from my eyes. I don't cry those great big, oxygen stealing sobs anymore. I can't. I've actually tried and I'm incapable. I watched the Titanic dry eyed. It used to be a guaranteed sob fest. I can watch every chick flick in the world, all designed to make women weepy puddles, and never ever shed a tear. It bothers me sometimes late at night. I wonder about what I'm becoming. Last week I was too late to save a little girl from a vamp. She couldn't have been more then ten. I solemnly laid her body out in the alley for someone else to find. I came home, I screwed Spike and took a shower, but I never cried. He's the only thing that still has the ability to make him cry. Do I really have to specify which he? There's only ever been on he in my life. I'm fairly certain there will only be one.