Title: RETURN
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13 -- Nothing you couldn't see on the show
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.
Feedback: Please!
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.
ACTUALLY NO SPOILERS THIS TIME
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
RETURN Part. 20 Fleeting Pleasures
They stumbled up the stairs, clutching each other, made clumsy as much by longing as by weariness, stopping more than once to kiss again desperately, arms grasping with rib-cracking force. Finally they made it to Buffy's bedroom, and threw themselves against the inside of the door, slamming it shut.
"Buffy, love, it's been such a long time," Spike panted, "this might be a bit quick."
"It'll be quicker than you think if you don't hurry up," Buffy said fiercely.
Then clothes fell to the floor; first a shirt, then a scorching kiss, then shoes, then another kiss, then buckles and zippers, then jeans, then arms and legs locked around each other and onto the bed at last. Then no words but formless, fervent sounds, and an eager, unthinking surrender to the rhythm until its soaring peak. Then the weightless plunge to earth again.
Buffy's gripped his shoulders with all her strength, her heart slamming against her ribcage until she felt like it could break right through. "Well, that was -- whirlwind like," she gasped.
"No frills, but plenty of enthusiasm," he agreed against her collarbone. He raised himself to his elbows and kissed the side of her neck, and made as if to roll away.
"No!" she said, wrapping her legs around him. At his inquiring glance, she whispered, "No, stay. I like it like this."
"I'd stay here for eternity, love," he said, looking at her with wonder. In all the times they had been together, she'd never wanted to stay close, or allowed herself to linger afterwards. He'd quickly learned not to even try to draw her nearer or put his arms around her; the memory of her jerking away dismissively the few times he'd tried still stung. But now instead of pulling away she melted against him.
For a while they lay joined together, legs entwined, hands toying with each other's hair. Slowly Spike kissed and nuzzled his way across her jawline from one side to the other, as she looked at him with languid, half-closed eyes, twirling bits of hair up the back of his head with her fingertips, leaving little trails of heightened sensitivity. He could feel her heart still pounding against him, hear the breath in her lungs and the blood rushing through her veins. Her strong, soft, hot little body was welcoming and responsive beneath him; her skin tasted salty and sweet and was smooth to his tongue. He felt his stomach and chest muscles begin to harden, as well as --
"Oooooh," Buffy said.
Later -- rather a long time later -- Buffy sat up a little dizzily, as the blood that had been busy elsewhere returned -- reluctantly -- to her brain. She sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, and simply looked at Spike, asleep. He was so beautiful. Whatever could she have been thinking, not to see that before? Why didn't anyone tell her? Were they all blind?
And somehow she had always associated him with darkness, though he was in fact so brilliantly fair. Sometimes it would overwhelm her, seeing his ever-reactive face reflect each feather-light touch, each taste, each grasp of her hands, each push of her limbs, and she'd retreat into darkness by shutting her eyes; maybe that explained it. It wasn't the beauty but the love that blinded her, the urgent glow of those rich and unguarded blue eyes. Now when she looked at him his pearl-white skin, his platinum hair, his eyes seemed to gleam with irresistibly attractive light. She didn't see how it could be simply his new-found soul; she'd never noticed that effect on anyone else with a soul. It was just Spike himself; his body glowed and sung to her all the time now.
He stretched a little and turned towards her side of the bed and, not finding her there, opened his eyes. She moved towards him so she was sitting about even with his hips, eyeing him with speculation.
"Going somewhere?" he said lazily.
"Uh-uh," she said, looking thoughtful. "And neither are you." His hands reached for her and she intercepted them, pinning them against the pillow on either side of his head. "Hold still," she said. "My turn."
Buffy woke with Spike wrapped tightly around her like a very friendly octopus. He was out like a light -- out cold, she amended, adding one to her already burgeoning collection of sleeping vampire jokes. He held her so close that she could hardly move. She was comfy, but not sleepy; in fact, despite the strenuous activities of the past few hours, she felt invigorated. She couldn't see the clock, either, but it was still dark. For a while, she amused herself with admiring his right arm, which guarded the front of her body. His forearm was about twice as big around as hers, and rippled with steely muscle under the fair, scarred skin; though she noticed that, just as he had said, the scars were already less noticeable. She wriggled over on her side to get more comfortable, and he said, "Ungh?"
"Spike?"
"Mmmm."
"I feel good."
"Mmmm. True."
"I feel really good," she said meaningly. "I mean, lively, you know?"
She could feel him reluctantly bidding sleep goodbye. "Could that have anything to do with making insanely passionate love for four hours?" he said.
"Maybe it could," she admitted. "But I think I've got my strength back, you know, from the depletion-y thing."
That woke him up. "Now that you mention it -- " he said, propping his head up on one hand.
"I mean, it could be -- what we've been doing, but it could also be -- "
"You and me and all the other vamps in Sunnyhell suddenly getting over it?"
"Maybe we should get out there and see what's going on," she said. Though on second thought, maybe returning vigor would make staying in bed just as entertaining as going out and killing things. She was almost sorry she'd brought it up, or, um, mentioned it.
"Well," he nibbling the back of her neck just at the hairline where it was damp with delicious sweat, "I'm up for it. In fact," he drawled, sensuously pulling her against him, "I'm up for just about anything right now. Want me to demonstrate?"
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"I DREAM'D this mortal part of mine
Was metamorphosed to a vine;
Which crawling one and every way,
Enthralled my dainty Lucia.
Me thought, her long small legs and thighs
I with my tendrils did surprise;
Her belly, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nervelits were embraced:
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung:
So that my Lucia seemed to me
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.
My curls about her neck did crawl,
And arms and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely stir,
(All parts there made one prisoner.)
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts, which maids keep unespied,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with the fancy I awoke;
And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a stock then like a vine."
Robert Herrick
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13 -- Nothing you couldn't see on the show
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.
Feedback: Please!
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.
ACTUALLY NO SPOILERS THIS TIME
-------------------------------------------
RETURN
RETURN Part. 20 Fleeting Pleasures
They stumbled up the stairs, clutching each other, made clumsy as much by longing as by weariness, stopping more than once to kiss again desperately, arms grasping with rib-cracking force. Finally they made it to Buffy's bedroom, and threw themselves against the inside of the door, slamming it shut.
"Buffy, love, it's been such a long time," Spike panted, "this might be a bit quick."
"It'll be quicker than you think if you don't hurry up," Buffy said fiercely.
Then clothes fell to the floor; first a shirt, then a scorching kiss, then shoes, then another kiss, then buckles and zippers, then jeans, then arms and legs locked around each other and onto the bed at last. Then no words but formless, fervent sounds, and an eager, unthinking surrender to the rhythm until its soaring peak. Then the weightless plunge to earth again.
Buffy's gripped his shoulders with all her strength, her heart slamming against her ribcage until she felt like it could break right through. "Well, that was -- whirlwind like," she gasped.
"No frills, but plenty of enthusiasm," he agreed against her collarbone. He raised himself to his elbows and kissed the side of her neck, and made as if to roll away.
"No!" she said, wrapping her legs around him. At his inquiring glance, she whispered, "No, stay. I like it like this."
"I'd stay here for eternity, love," he said, looking at her with wonder. In all the times they had been together, she'd never wanted to stay close, or allowed herself to linger afterwards. He'd quickly learned not to even try to draw her nearer or put his arms around her; the memory of her jerking away dismissively the few times he'd tried still stung. But now instead of pulling away she melted against him.
For a while they lay joined together, legs entwined, hands toying with each other's hair. Slowly Spike kissed and nuzzled his way across her jawline from one side to the other, as she looked at him with languid, half-closed eyes, twirling bits of hair up the back of his head with her fingertips, leaving little trails of heightened sensitivity. He could feel her heart still pounding against him, hear the breath in her lungs and the blood rushing through her veins. Her strong, soft, hot little body was welcoming and responsive beneath him; her skin tasted salty and sweet and was smooth to his tongue. He felt his stomach and chest muscles begin to harden, as well as --
"Oooooh," Buffy said.
Later -- rather a long time later -- Buffy sat up a little dizzily, as the blood that had been busy elsewhere returned -- reluctantly -- to her brain. She sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, and simply looked at Spike, asleep. He was so beautiful. Whatever could she have been thinking, not to see that before? Why didn't anyone tell her? Were they all blind?
And somehow she had always associated him with darkness, though he was in fact so brilliantly fair. Sometimes it would overwhelm her, seeing his ever-reactive face reflect each feather-light touch, each taste, each grasp of her hands, each push of her limbs, and she'd retreat into darkness by shutting her eyes; maybe that explained it. It wasn't the beauty but the love that blinded her, the urgent glow of those rich and unguarded blue eyes. Now when she looked at him his pearl-white skin, his platinum hair, his eyes seemed to gleam with irresistibly attractive light. She didn't see how it could be simply his new-found soul; she'd never noticed that effect on anyone else with a soul. It was just Spike himself; his body glowed and sung to her all the time now.
He stretched a little and turned towards her side of the bed and, not finding her there, opened his eyes. She moved towards him so she was sitting about even with his hips, eyeing him with speculation.
"Going somewhere?" he said lazily.
"Uh-uh," she said, looking thoughtful. "And neither are you." His hands reached for her and she intercepted them, pinning them against the pillow on either side of his head. "Hold still," she said. "My turn."
Buffy woke with Spike wrapped tightly around her like a very friendly octopus. He was out like a light -- out cold, she amended, adding one to her already burgeoning collection of sleeping vampire jokes. He held her so close that she could hardly move. She was comfy, but not sleepy; in fact, despite the strenuous activities of the past few hours, she felt invigorated. She couldn't see the clock, either, but it was still dark. For a while, she amused herself with admiring his right arm, which guarded the front of her body. His forearm was about twice as big around as hers, and rippled with steely muscle under the fair, scarred skin; though she noticed that, just as he had said, the scars were already less noticeable. She wriggled over on her side to get more comfortable, and he said, "Ungh?"
"Spike?"
"Mmmm."
"I feel good."
"Mmmm. True."
"I feel really good," she said meaningly. "I mean, lively, you know?"
She could feel him reluctantly bidding sleep goodbye. "Could that have anything to do with making insanely passionate love for four hours?" he said.
"Maybe it could," she admitted. "But I think I've got my strength back, you know, from the depletion-y thing."
That woke him up. "Now that you mention it -- " he said, propping his head up on one hand.
"I mean, it could be -- what we've been doing, but it could also be -- "
"You and me and all the other vamps in Sunnyhell suddenly getting over it?"
"Maybe we should get out there and see what's going on," she said. Though on second thought, maybe returning vigor would make staying in bed just as entertaining as going out and killing things. She was almost sorry she'd brought it up, or, um, mentioned it.
"Well," he nibbling the back of her neck just at the hairline where it was damp with delicious sweat, "I'm up for it. In fact," he drawled, sensuously pulling her against him, "I'm up for just about anything right now. Want me to demonstrate?"
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"I DREAM'D this mortal part of mine
Was metamorphosed to a vine;
Which crawling one and every way,
Enthralled my dainty Lucia.
Me thought, her long small legs and thighs
I with my tendrils did surprise;
Her belly, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nervelits were embraced:
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung:
So that my Lucia seemed to me
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.
My curls about her neck did crawl,
And arms and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely stir,
(All parts there made one prisoner.)
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts, which maids keep unespied,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with the fancy I awoke;
And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a stock then like a vine."
Robert Herrick