'There's a chair in my head
On which I used to sit,
Took a pencil and I wrote
The following on it -- '
It's the sweetest tragedy, the sacrifice of youth. Whether by one's own hand, the heartless intent of another or just the cruel twists of fate, it always fades and vanishes. Changing as the seasons do, from the airy happiness of spring to the sweltering beauty of summer to the dimmed and dying richness of autumn and finally the barren and long winter. Time, like any cruel master, doesn't turn backwards.
Summer hit Sunnydale with a ferocious and mindless intensity, the sun shining down upon the small town oppressively. Even when it finally disappeared from the sky there was no reprieve from the heat; the silvery moon gazing down at her children without compassion as they wilted.
Buffy Summers pressed herself tighter against the hard body of Riley Finn, his large hands easily encircling her small frame. They swayed together in the middle of packed dance floor of the Bronze, each lost in their own thoughts as the music moved through their bodies. Riley leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Buffy's mouth which she returned absently, unaware of the small frown that graced his lips at her lack of a response. Ever since he had returned from his short visit to Iowa she'd been even more distant and uncommunicative than ever, rarely initiating or responding to their embraces. It wasn't that she'd pushed him away or ignored him, she'd become passive. Letting him have his way easily with no enthusiasm or response on her part that wasn't mechanical.
At least everything was still going good in bed, Riley mused, she might remain passive beneath him, but he was sure her increasingly loud screams and moans were indicators of her pleasure with him. If she was less ardent than before, Riley mentally shrugged, it could probably be attributed to the heat.
Having once again rationalized everything to himself, he cupped the chin of his girlfriend causing a faint smile to emit from her lips. He bent down again and kissed her softly, before panting in her ear, "Want to get out of here?"
She nodded, letting Riley lead her out of the nightclub and into his apartment.
* * *
'Now there's a key
Where my wonderful mouth used to be.'
Buffy stared back at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and paused in her ablutions. Water dripped from her face and neck down to the vale between her breasts, across her bare belly to the spot between her legs, before caressing her thin thighs and calves. She shivered and grabbed one of the worn dark green towels, drying herself off quickly. She slid quietly into her clothes and secured her honey-blonde hair behind her head in a loose ponytail.
Turning off the bathroom light she tiptoed out into the one room apartment, her eyes furtively running over the sleeping body of her boyfriend. Pushing down the pang of guilt that arose lately every time she thought of him, she slid on her shoes, grabbed her keys and quietly left the apartment.
The warm night air caressed her skin and she shivered despite the heat. The image of Riley lying alone in his bed haunted her mind despite her attempts to focus on something, anything, else. The guilt came back as she realized that he would be expecting her to be there in the morning. She swore lightly under her breath, debating whether or not to return to the apartment and his fevered clumsy embraces when the sight of a stumbling figure entering the grave yard caught her eye, providing the distraction she'd been praying for.
Spike, she thought as she fingered the stake in the waistband of her jeans, he's as good a distraction as any, and he's bound to take my mind off of Riley.
She took off for the grave yard in a light run, breathing in the hot air as she went, a few droplets of sweat forming on her skin. She ignored it, pushing farther into the graveyard, not noticing the black lump on the ground until she tripped over it.
She let out a small groan as she cradled her bruised arm and shot an evil glare at the black lump, which she had now identified as Spike -- a very drunk Spike. She poked him with her foot and received no response from him. She poked him again more forcefully and was greeted with a drunken moan. Spike shifted on his side and, peering at her from beneath his duster croaked out, "Bloody hell, Slayer. Can't you let a man sleep off his hangover in peace?"
Buffy snorted, "You're not a man, Spike, and, in case you haven't noticed, you've chosen the middle of the graveyard as your bed. Not the best spot for somebody with your sun allergies."
"I'm touched that you care, pet."
"Don't get any ideas in your head, blood breath," Buffy rose to her feet and arms akimbo stared down at the inert form of Spike, "I had just set my mind on doing you in personally."
Spike rolled onto his back, his arms spread out and stared up at her challengingly, "What's stopping you from doing it now, Summers?"
Buffy hesitated, thinking of the stake in her jeans. It would only take a few moments, she mused, Spike was drunk, and chipped, and in no state to fight her. Five minutes tops and he'd be gone from her life forever. She frowned, waiting for the usual feeling of glee to appear, her frown deepening when it didn't. Instead an unfamiliar sense of loss worked it's way in at the thought and she quickly pushed it away into the back corners of her mind where she banished all the things she didn't want to confront, like Riley. At the renewed thoughts of him she let out a sigh and, determined to chase away her relationship problems once more, reached down and gripped one of Spike's arms.
She gave the limb a yank as she endeavored to pull him into a standing position, "I can't kill an enemy as pathetic as this." She gave another tug and was met with his inert resistance, she growled at him, "A little help here?"
Spike glared at her but eased himself off the ground until he stood, or rather swayed, before the Slayer, "I'm all yours, love."
Buffy made a sound of disgust as she took in his sorry state. A large brown stain marred his white cotton shirt. His jeans were rumpled as was his normally helmet flat hair. His duster hung loosely around his shoulders and his eyes, though still annoyingly penetrating, were glassy with alcohol. She reached a hand out to still his swaying form and, despite herself, felt a prick of amusement. A small smile flickered across her face as the ridiculousness of his drunken state penetrated her mind, "What am I going to do with you?"
He shrugged, "Beats me, Summers. You'd probably die of uptightness without me."
She scowled at him, "I am not uptight."
He rolled his eyes sarcastically, "Whatever, Summers."
She pouted at him, her mind shooting back to her stake, "I am not."
He smirked at her, "Immature too."
She glared at him before turning around and starting towards the gate of the cemetery. Behind her she could hear Spike stumbling around as he sought to follow her. He finally reached her side and, grabbing her arm to steady himself said, "Cheer up, Summers, someone has to knock you off your pedestal. It's only healthy."
She glared at him, "And who knocks you off yours?"
He smirked again, "You."
She gave a snort of disgust and continued down the street toward her house, intent on seeking the comfort of her bed. Spike continued to follow her, not stopping even when she paused at her front door, fumbling with the lock, "Go home, Spike."
"Don't got one, love."
She whirled angrily to face him, "Go back to Giles' then!"
He shrugged annoyingly, sending her a sexy smirk, "Can't, love. He's got company. Told me specifically to make my self scarce."
Buffy waved away his excuse, "They must have left hours ago."
Spike shook his head, instantly regretting the action when his world spun out of control wildly, "Don't think so, love. She was his lady friend."
Buffy paused in her efforts, "Ew." She turned back to the lock, finally forcing the door open and stepping into her house. Spike followed her inside, closing the door quietly behind him, up the stairs and into her room.
"Never been in a Slayer's room before," he mused out loud, causing Buffy to glare at him once more, "It's more … girl-y than I would've expected."
"Well," she snarked, "In case you haven't noticed, I happen to be a girl."
Spike nodded, "That's right." He slipped out of his duster and tossed it across her bed before moving forward and collapsing on the mattress. His eyes closed blissfully as unconsciousness beckoned, only to be rudely interrupted by the Slayer as she shook him violently.
"Oh, no you don't, buddy," she pushed at him, "You are so not sleeping here."
He cracked one eye at her and scooted over, "There's room enough for the two of us."
She shook her head violently, "I am so not sleeping in the same bed as you."
He gave her a rakish grin and eyed her appreciatively from head to toe, "Don't be shy, love. I won't bite."
"Spike!"
He shrugged, pulled back the covers and settled beneath them, turning his back to her, "'Night Slayer."
Buffy clenched her fists in anger until the feeling dissipated. Whatever, she thought wearily, looks like I will be going back to Riley's after all. She started towards her bedroom door but the memory of Riley's earlier amorous attentions made her wince and stop in her tracks; the sound of her overly loud and enthusiastic screams echoing in her ears. The fact that he actually considered her attempts valid spoke volumes, and the thought of going back for what had become another fifteen minutes of discomfort turned her stomach. Silently, she turned around and considered the bleached-blonde vampire asleep in her bed.
What would it matter, she thought carefully, it's not as if anything would happen. No one would know, her mom was out of town and Riley … she frowned not letting her mind wander farther down that path. She slipped out of her shoes, the rest of her clothes following as she pulled as light sleeping shirt and boxers on. She lay on the bed carefully, determined not to disturb her bedmate and turned to face away from him. Her weariness gradually easing her to sleep.
On which I used to sit,
Took a pencil and I wrote
The following on it -- '
It's the sweetest tragedy, the sacrifice of youth. Whether by one's own hand, the heartless intent of another or just the cruel twists of fate, it always fades and vanishes. Changing as the seasons do, from the airy happiness of spring to the sweltering beauty of summer to the dimmed and dying richness of autumn and finally the barren and long winter. Time, like any cruel master, doesn't turn backwards.
Summer hit Sunnydale with a ferocious and mindless intensity, the sun shining down upon the small town oppressively. Even when it finally disappeared from the sky there was no reprieve from the heat; the silvery moon gazing down at her children without compassion as they wilted.
Buffy Summers pressed herself tighter against the hard body of Riley Finn, his large hands easily encircling her small frame. They swayed together in the middle of packed dance floor of the Bronze, each lost in their own thoughts as the music moved through their bodies. Riley leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Buffy's mouth which she returned absently, unaware of the small frown that graced his lips at her lack of a response. Ever since he had returned from his short visit to Iowa she'd been even more distant and uncommunicative than ever, rarely initiating or responding to their embraces. It wasn't that she'd pushed him away or ignored him, she'd become passive. Letting him have his way easily with no enthusiasm or response on her part that wasn't mechanical.
At least everything was still going good in bed, Riley mused, she might remain passive beneath him, but he was sure her increasingly loud screams and moans were indicators of her pleasure with him. If she was less ardent than before, Riley mentally shrugged, it could probably be attributed to the heat.
Having once again rationalized everything to himself, he cupped the chin of his girlfriend causing a faint smile to emit from her lips. He bent down again and kissed her softly, before panting in her ear, "Want to get out of here?"
She nodded, letting Riley lead her out of the nightclub and into his apartment.
* * *
'Now there's a key
Where my wonderful mouth used to be.'
Buffy stared back at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and paused in her ablutions. Water dripped from her face and neck down to the vale between her breasts, across her bare belly to the spot between her legs, before caressing her thin thighs and calves. She shivered and grabbed one of the worn dark green towels, drying herself off quickly. She slid quietly into her clothes and secured her honey-blonde hair behind her head in a loose ponytail.
Turning off the bathroom light she tiptoed out into the one room apartment, her eyes furtively running over the sleeping body of her boyfriend. Pushing down the pang of guilt that arose lately every time she thought of him, she slid on her shoes, grabbed her keys and quietly left the apartment.
The warm night air caressed her skin and she shivered despite the heat. The image of Riley lying alone in his bed haunted her mind despite her attempts to focus on something, anything, else. The guilt came back as she realized that he would be expecting her to be there in the morning. She swore lightly under her breath, debating whether or not to return to the apartment and his fevered clumsy embraces when the sight of a stumbling figure entering the grave yard caught her eye, providing the distraction she'd been praying for.
Spike, she thought as she fingered the stake in the waistband of her jeans, he's as good a distraction as any, and he's bound to take my mind off of Riley.
She took off for the grave yard in a light run, breathing in the hot air as she went, a few droplets of sweat forming on her skin. She ignored it, pushing farther into the graveyard, not noticing the black lump on the ground until she tripped over it.
She let out a small groan as she cradled her bruised arm and shot an evil glare at the black lump, which she had now identified as Spike -- a very drunk Spike. She poked him with her foot and received no response from him. She poked him again more forcefully and was greeted with a drunken moan. Spike shifted on his side and, peering at her from beneath his duster croaked out, "Bloody hell, Slayer. Can't you let a man sleep off his hangover in peace?"
Buffy snorted, "You're not a man, Spike, and, in case you haven't noticed, you've chosen the middle of the graveyard as your bed. Not the best spot for somebody with your sun allergies."
"I'm touched that you care, pet."
"Don't get any ideas in your head, blood breath," Buffy rose to her feet and arms akimbo stared down at the inert form of Spike, "I had just set my mind on doing you in personally."
Spike rolled onto his back, his arms spread out and stared up at her challengingly, "What's stopping you from doing it now, Summers?"
Buffy hesitated, thinking of the stake in her jeans. It would only take a few moments, she mused, Spike was drunk, and chipped, and in no state to fight her. Five minutes tops and he'd be gone from her life forever. She frowned, waiting for the usual feeling of glee to appear, her frown deepening when it didn't. Instead an unfamiliar sense of loss worked it's way in at the thought and she quickly pushed it away into the back corners of her mind where she banished all the things she didn't want to confront, like Riley. At the renewed thoughts of him she let out a sigh and, determined to chase away her relationship problems once more, reached down and gripped one of Spike's arms.
She gave the limb a yank as she endeavored to pull him into a standing position, "I can't kill an enemy as pathetic as this." She gave another tug and was met with his inert resistance, she growled at him, "A little help here?"
Spike glared at her but eased himself off the ground until he stood, or rather swayed, before the Slayer, "I'm all yours, love."
Buffy made a sound of disgust as she took in his sorry state. A large brown stain marred his white cotton shirt. His jeans were rumpled as was his normally helmet flat hair. His duster hung loosely around his shoulders and his eyes, though still annoyingly penetrating, were glassy with alcohol. She reached a hand out to still his swaying form and, despite herself, felt a prick of amusement. A small smile flickered across her face as the ridiculousness of his drunken state penetrated her mind, "What am I going to do with you?"
He shrugged, "Beats me, Summers. You'd probably die of uptightness without me."
She scowled at him, "I am not uptight."
He rolled his eyes sarcastically, "Whatever, Summers."
She pouted at him, her mind shooting back to her stake, "I am not."
He smirked at her, "Immature too."
She glared at him before turning around and starting towards the gate of the cemetery. Behind her she could hear Spike stumbling around as he sought to follow her. He finally reached her side and, grabbing her arm to steady himself said, "Cheer up, Summers, someone has to knock you off your pedestal. It's only healthy."
She glared at him, "And who knocks you off yours?"
He smirked again, "You."
She gave a snort of disgust and continued down the street toward her house, intent on seeking the comfort of her bed. Spike continued to follow her, not stopping even when she paused at her front door, fumbling with the lock, "Go home, Spike."
"Don't got one, love."
She whirled angrily to face him, "Go back to Giles' then!"
He shrugged annoyingly, sending her a sexy smirk, "Can't, love. He's got company. Told me specifically to make my self scarce."
Buffy waved away his excuse, "They must have left hours ago."
Spike shook his head, instantly regretting the action when his world spun out of control wildly, "Don't think so, love. She was his lady friend."
Buffy paused in her efforts, "Ew." She turned back to the lock, finally forcing the door open and stepping into her house. Spike followed her inside, closing the door quietly behind him, up the stairs and into her room.
"Never been in a Slayer's room before," he mused out loud, causing Buffy to glare at him once more, "It's more … girl-y than I would've expected."
"Well," she snarked, "In case you haven't noticed, I happen to be a girl."
Spike nodded, "That's right." He slipped out of his duster and tossed it across her bed before moving forward and collapsing on the mattress. His eyes closed blissfully as unconsciousness beckoned, only to be rudely interrupted by the Slayer as she shook him violently.
"Oh, no you don't, buddy," she pushed at him, "You are so not sleeping here."
He cracked one eye at her and scooted over, "There's room enough for the two of us."
She shook her head violently, "I am so not sleeping in the same bed as you."
He gave her a rakish grin and eyed her appreciatively from head to toe, "Don't be shy, love. I won't bite."
"Spike!"
He shrugged, pulled back the covers and settled beneath them, turning his back to her, "'Night Slayer."
Buffy clenched her fists in anger until the feeling dissipated. Whatever, she thought wearily, looks like I will be going back to Riley's after all. She started towards her bedroom door but the memory of Riley's earlier amorous attentions made her wince and stop in her tracks; the sound of her overly loud and enthusiastic screams echoing in her ears. The fact that he actually considered her attempts valid spoke volumes, and the thought of going back for what had become another fifteen minutes of discomfort turned her stomach. Silently, she turned around and considered the bleached-blonde vampire asleep in her bed.
What would it matter, she thought carefully, it's not as if anything would happen. No one would know, her mom was out of town and Riley … she frowned not letting her mind wander farther down that path. She slipped out of her shoes, the rest of her clothes following as she pulled as light sleeping shirt and boxers on. She lay on the bed carefully, determined not to disturb her bedmate and turned to face away from him. Her weariness gradually easing her to sleep.