A/N: Certain pieces of this part are removed in order to comply with Fanfiction.net's smut rules. If you are of the age to view such content and wish to, the entire, unchanged work can be found at http://www.gypsy-dreamig.net. If not, deal with the censorship.
i15 Miles Outside of Rio De Janero, Brazil 1999/i
There was nothing all around him but emptiness. Miles and miles of soft soil, wretched trees and rich menacing plants. The air around him was silent and moist, uncurling his gelled blonde hair, weighing down on his already heavy shoulders. He pulled on his duster despite the heat, letting himself savor the movement of the worn leather as it settled around his form, the peace the familiar movement brought with it infusing him. He sucked in a deep, unneeded breath, stretching the moment out as long as possible before releasing it and turning to look back at the source of his tension.
Drusilla stood perfectly poised atop the rickety wooden porch. She shone in the moonlight, her ebony hair and eyes a stark contrast to her delicate pale skin. She watched him without a sign of emotion on her placid lunatic's face. Her pale pink lips were a straight line, her stance calm, her embroidered ivory dress and shawl clinging lovingly to her sylphlike body.
"So this is it then," Spike's voice cracked as his eyes roamed over her for what he felt would be that last time, "The grand fucking finale."
She remained impassive, unmoved by the chaos swirling in his eyes, of the tension coiling his frame, of the abject misery that clung to him. When she spoke her voice was fluid, smooth, calm ,"You're heart has wandered far from here already. Dust to dust. It is not the same heart I made. Even Miss Edith can see, the burning baby gold fish have all gone out. There are only thorns. You are not for me anymore, Spike."
He wrenched his gaze from her, no longer able to look. His undead heart burned, a searing paint at spread throughout his dead body, a numbing fear. He was leaving everything familiar, everything he loved, behind. And he desperately didn't want to. He swung his gaze pointedly as the slim-covered demon that stood in the shadows of the porch, his monstrous antlers melting mucus, a cold beer clutched between his mottled hands, "And he is, Dru? What can he do for you that I won't? That I can't?"
She turned away from him, towards the shadows which were pierced only by the pale rays of moonlight. She swayed slightly, her eyes drifting closed before slowly sliding open and alighting on him, "You taste like ashes, Spike. All I see around you is her, laughing, Spike. The naughty Slayer holds your heart now between her hands. There is nothing I can do for you. Nothing you can do for me. Science will bring you to her. Wires and electricity. But it will not last. She has a secret. And she will bind you even further to her with it. She is for you now, not me."
She turned her back to him now, dismissing him, her long black hair a shimmering cascade down her back. His fingers ached to reach up and caress it, to feel the familiar slide of that silk waterfall. He kept his distance, choking back on his tears. Silently he turned and walked away into the night, refusing to look back, refusing to accept what had happened, refusing, most of all, the tiny silver tears that fell from his eyes.
Why, he asked himself, am I crying if it isn't good-bye?
* * *
'But I fear, I have nothing to give,
I have so much to lose here,
In this lonely place,
Tangled up in our embrace.'
Buffy awoke slowly, the cool caress of his hand running over her belly luring her from the world of sleep. She sighed, softening under his touch. His fingers traced comforting circles on her skin, keeping her between the worlds of sleep and awareness. He tempted her, his hand dipping lower and lower. Again and again he went, her skin heating beneath his cool touch.
Buffy moaned, arching into his touch. Her body ached with the need for release, her sleepy eyes opening to stare into his blue ones, Her hands wound around his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest as she pressed against him, searching, wanting. He touched her and she exploded, fragmented, her world a blaze of sensation.
Their kisses were soft and teasing, tender caresses as they reveled in their new found intimacy. His tongue probed her mouth gently, sliding against hers as his fingers gripped her waist. She groaned, threw her head back as a wave of sensory information washed over her body. Her breasts were taut against his chest now and she moaned out his name as the familiar tension began to grow within her once more.
'There's nothing I'd like better than to fall.'
The midday sunshine set her hair aglow, making her features angelic. She smiled, waved up to him from her spot on the back porch before returning to her phone conversation. Joyce had called not to long ago and Buffy, eager to talk to her mother, had taken the phone to the porch and been out there for the last hour. Spike watched from his perch in the guestroom as the sunlight caressed Buffy's legs, dipping it's warmth beneath the thin fabric of her cotton tank top, caressing her breasts, which he knew were braless, and skimming over her skin.
The sun-god, Spike mused, was one lucky bastard.
He looked backed down. Buffy had hung up the phone and sat on the porch, absorbing the heat, her head upturned. Spike sighed, and turned away from the vision and padded down the stairs. When he reached the kitchen she was inside again, humming happily, her shorts riding tantalizingly against her buttocks. Spike swallowed, struggling to tear his eyes away from the sight. Buffy, oblivious to her struggle, flashed him a brilliant smile and leaned against the counter, absently poking a few perfectly round grapes into her mouth.
Forcing himself to concentrate on her eyes he took a seat opposite her, "So what did Joyce have to say, Slayer?"
She smiled at him again, "She's coming home in a week." Absently, Buffy began to hum as Spike digested the information. She'd hadn't felt so … relaxed … in a very long time. Surreptitiously, she watched Spike under lower lids as she grabbed another grape and, slowly, popped it into her mouth. She was aware of the pressure that gripped Spike, she felt his eyes as boldly as any caress, she sucked on the grape, swallowed it with relish and closed her eyes, savoring the tangy juice.
Spike swallowed heavily, his jeans more than uncomfortably tight. He slid easily off the stool and moved to her side of the counter. His cool hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him as his mouth hovered above hers. He could feel her heart beat quicken in anticipation. One warm hand came down to cover is cool chest, the other stroking the muscles of his forearm, "One week, huh? Doesn't give us much time, does it, pet?"
She shrugged, moved closer to him, sinking into his comforting coolness, "Guess we better do something about that."
He nodded, "Like make the best of the time we've got." His mouth covered hers quickly, luring her into a demanding kiss. His hands moved over her body, retracing the planes of her muscles before cupping and squeezing the fullness of one ripe breast. She gasped, her mouth parting for his tongue to slip in and meet hers. Her hands splayed out over his chest, circling the flat disks of his nipples, eliciting a small shiver from him. He deepened the kiss sending her sense flying. She clung desperately to him, certain that if she stopped she would fall boneless from his arms to the floor.
'But I fear, I have nothing to give.'
i15 Miles Outside of Rio De Janero, Brazil 1999/i
There was nothing all around him but emptiness. Miles and miles of soft soil, wretched trees and rich menacing plants. The air around him was silent and moist, uncurling his gelled blonde hair, weighing down on his already heavy shoulders. He pulled on his duster despite the heat, letting himself savor the movement of the worn leather as it settled around his form, the peace the familiar movement brought with it infusing him. He sucked in a deep, unneeded breath, stretching the moment out as long as possible before releasing it and turning to look back at the source of his tension.
Drusilla stood perfectly poised atop the rickety wooden porch. She shone in the moonlight, her ebony hair and eyes a stark contrast to her delicate pale skin. She watched him without a sign of emotion on her placid lunatic's face. Her pale pink lips were a straight line, her stance calm, her embroidered ivory dress and shawl clinging lovingly to her sylphlike body.
"So this is it then," Spike's voice cracked as his eyes roamed over her for what he felt would be that last time, "The grand fucking finale."
She remained impassive, unmoved by the chaos swirling in his eyes, of the tension coiling his frame, of the abject misery that clung to him. When she spoke her voice was fluid, smooth, calm ,"You're heart has wandered far from here already. Dust to dust. It is not the same heart I made. Even Miss Edith can see, the burning baby gold fish have all gone out. There are only thorns. You are not for me anymore, Spike."
He wrenched his gaze from her, no longer able to look. His undead heart burned, a searing paint at spread throughout his dead body, a numbing fear. He was leaving everything familiar, everything he loved, behind. And he desperately didn't want to. He swung his gaze pointedly as the slim-covered demon that stood in the shadows of the porch, his monstrous antlers melting mucus, a cold beer clutched between his mottled hands, "And he is, Dru? What can he do for you that I won't? That I can't?"
She turned away from him, towards the shadows which were pierced only by the pale rays of moonlight. She swayed slightly, her eyes drifting closed before slowly sliding open and alighting on him, "You taste like ashes, Spike. All I see around you is her, laughing, Spike. The naughty Slayer holds your heart now between her hands. There is nothing I can do for you. Nothing you can do for me. Science will bring you to her. Wires and electricity. But it will not last. She has a secret. And she will bind you even further to her with it. She is for you now, not me."
She turned her back to him now, dismissing him, her long black hair a shimmering cascade down her back. His fingers ached to reach up and caress it, to feel the familiar slide of that silk waterfall. He kept his distance, choking back on his tears. Silently he turned and walked away into the night, refusing to look back, refusing to accept what had happened, refusing, most of all, the tiny silver tears that fell from his eyes.
Why, he asked himself, am I crying if it isn't good-bye?
* * *
'But I fear, I have nothing to give,
I have so much to lose here,
In this lonely place,
Tangled up in our embrace.'
Buffy awoke slowly, the cool caress of his hand running over her belly luring her from the world of sleep. She sighed, softening under his touch. His fingers traced comforting circles on her skin, keeping her between the worlds of sleep and awareness. He tempted her, his hand dipping lower and lower. Again and again he went, her skin heating beneath his cool touch.
Buffy moaned, arching into his touch. Her body ached with the need for release, her sleepy eyes opening to stare into his blue ones, Her hands wound around his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest as she pressed against him, searching, wanting. He touched her and she exploded, fragmented, her world a blaze of sensation.
Their kisses were soft and teasing, tender caresses as they reveled in their new found intimacy. His tongue probed her mouth gently, sliding against hers as his fingers gripped her waist. She groaned, threw her head back as a wave of sensory information washed over her body. Her breasts were taut against his chest now and she moaned out his name as the familiar tension began to grow within her once more.
'There's nothing I'd like better than to fall.'
The midday sunshine set her hair aglow, making her features angelic. She smiled, waved up to him from her spot on the back porch before returning to her phone conversation. Joyce had called not to long ago and Buffy, eager to talk to her mother, had taken the phone to the porch and been out there for the last hour. Spike watched from his perch in the guestroom as the sunlight caressed Buffy's legs, dipping it's warmth beneath the thin fabric of her cotton tank top, caressing her breasts, which he knew were braless, and skimming over her skin.
The sun-god, Spike mused, was one lucky bastard.
He looked backed down. Buffy had hung up the phone and sat on the porch, absorbing the heat, her head upturned. Spike sighed, and turned away from the vision and padded down the stairs. When he reached the kitchen she was inside again, humming happily, her shorts riding tantalizingly against her buttocks. Spike swallowed, struggling to tear his eyes away from the sight. Buffy, oblivious to her struggle, flashed him a brilliant smile and leaned against the counter, absently poking a few perfectly round grapes into her mouth.
Forcing himself to concentrate on her eyes he took a seat opposite her, "So what did Joyce have to say, Slayer?"
She smiled at him again, "She's coming home in a week." Absently, Buffy began to hum as Spike digested the information. She'd hadn't felt so … relaxed … in a very long time. Surreptitiously, she watched Spike under lower lids as she grabbed another grape and, slowly, popped it into her mouth. She was aware of the pressure that gripped Spike, she felt his eyes as boldly as any caress, she sucked on the grape, swallowed it with relish and closed her eyes, savoring the tangy juice.
Spike swallowed heavily, his jeans more than uncomfortably tight. He slid easily off the stool and moved to her side of the counter. His cool hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him as his mouth hovered above hers. He could feel her heart beat quicken in anticipation. One warm hand came down to cover is cool chest, the other stroking the muscles of his forearm, "One week, huh? Doesn't give us much time, does it, pet?"
She shrugged, moved closer to him, sinking into his comforting coolness, "Guess we better do something about that."
He nodded, "Like make the best of the time we've got." His mouth covered hers quickly, luring her into a demanding kiss. His hands moved over her body, retracing the planes of her muscles before cupping and squeezing the fullness of one ripe breast. She gasped, her mouth parting for his tongue to slip in and meet hers. Her hands splayed out over his chest, circling the flat disks of his nipples, eliciting a small shiver from him. He deepened the kiss sending her sense flying. She clung desperately to him, certain that if she stopped she would fall boneless from his arms to the floor.
'But I fear, I have nothing to give.'