'How the hell did we wind up like this?
Why weren't we able,
To see the signs that we missed?
And tried to turn the tables?'
Buffy felt faint as she stood before the imposing stone façade of the mausoleum. The summer night was warm, the wheel of the year turning towards august and it's long, moist, days. Buffy shivered despite the heat and hesitantly placed her hand on the door. He was inside, she could feel him even through the thick layer of brick, mortar and steel that separated them. She took in a deep, calming, breath; focusing herself on what she'd come here to do.
What she now had to do.
She grimaced at the thought, her resolve wavering as the wave of anguish that had first swept over her at Graham's ultimatum returned. He'd made his expectations clear: She was to choose one or the other, preferably Riley. It wasn't much of a choice when it came down to it. She knew that choosing to remain with Riley meant resigning herself to an indefinite period of emptiness. Whatever love she had felt for Riley was quickly fading; responsibility and guilt growing in it's stead. Emotions that refused to be ignored.
But could her feelings for Spike, feelings that she had yet to fully realize but who promised to be more than fulfilling -- Could those feelings be ignored so easily? She might not have much experience with love and it's assortment of related emotions, but she was sure they were just as heavy as her guilt. More dangerous too, she thought, her mind racing over her carelessness of the last month. She'd been willing to risk everything for Spike. Her reputation, her family, her friends -- herself. And she was paying for it. God, she mourned, am I paying for it.
She'd opened up to him in ways she hadn't thought she'd ever be able to since the fateful night of her seventeenth birthday. Spike had made her remember how ii was to feel, to lose yourself completely in passion; he'd reminded her how beautiful surrender could be, and how utterly, consumingly, terrifying as well.
She had to do this. If not for her past feelings for Riley, than for herself, because she knew that if she gave in now and chose Spike, she'd never be free of him. He would absorb all of her, sweep her away on the tide pf his emotion, and when he left, because they al eventually did, she wouldn't even have her soul left to call her own. At least with Riley she could keep the walls up. He would never touch that place inside of her that remembered and yearned for the kind of passion Spike promised her. She would be safe with him.
Resolve settled heavily on her shoulders and, determined once again to follow through with her plan, she pushed the heavy crypt door open.
'I wish you'd unclench your fists,
And unpack your suitcase,
Lately, there's been too much of this,
But don't think it's late.'
He sat shirtless on the sarcophagus in the middle of the floor. Lit candles littered the area and his skin shone pale gold and silver in their light. His swirling, darkening, grey-blue eyes met hers and he smiled, wickedly. Buffy sucked in her breath as her eyes began wantonly roving over his body; from the tousled spikes of his hair, to the chiseled planes of his face, down to the smooth male breasts, to his hard stomach. He stirred and hardened under her regarded and heat suffused her face as her eyes darted back up to meet his, her self-assurance quickly fading.
With cat-like grace he slid off the cold stone and prowled towards her, his hungry eyes never leaving hers. Unconsciously, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, heat pooling in her center as he stopped before her, his eyes still claiming hers, refusing to let her look elsewhere. He bent down, his lips touching hers with aching softness, gently probing, tasting, the now familiar terrain. His cool hands come up to her bare shoulders, and slid beneath the straps of her tank top, her already hot skin heating under his fingers' regard. Her mouth opened and she drank him in, memorized the taste of him, the scent that emitted from his body, the texture of his fingers against her bare skin, and felt her heart break.
"God," he sighed against the skin of her neck, "the way you feel Summers. It's enough to make a man lose his head. Or his soul." He smirked against the column of her throat, his tongue darting it out to taste her skin, "Or in my case, the remnants anyway." His mouth fond her again and she melted willingly into his touch, "I could spend forever doing this."
She let out a small sob as the remnants of her already broken heart withered into dust. He pulled back from her, concern marring his features, "What is it, Slayer? What's wrong?"
She pulled away from him, presenting her back to him as she struggled to bring her turbulent emotions under control. He took a step forward and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, "Buffy?"
Her eyes fluttered closed as she relished the brief contact and, gathering the last of her resolve together, turned to face him, "I need to talk to you."
'Nothing's wrong just as long as you know someday I will --
Someday, somehow I'm going to make it alright,
But not right now,
I know you're wondering when.
Someday, somehow I'm gonna make it alright,
But not right now,
I know you're wondering when.'
He nodded and reading something in her eyes, took a step away from her, his face growing shuttered. He moved away to the sarcophagus and, picking up a pack of cigarettes, lit one with the flame of one of the candles. He took a long drag on it before answering, "What about, Slayer?"
Oh god, she thought as her stomach plummeted to her feet, he knows, "These last few weeks have been incredible."
He nodded, his eyes still watching her warily as she made her way nervously around the crypt. He nodded, smirking, displaying more confidence than he felt, "That it has, Slayer. But that's not the point is it?"
She shook her head, nervously, her hand tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "But it can't continue." She stopped and briefly looked at him before turning away, "We both knew this couldn't last forever, and it's time that we both moved on for our own good --"
He snorted, "Sing me another one, Slayer." He flung his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the rage he felt rising through him. The muscle in his jaw twitched uncontrollably when he looked back at her, his eyes smoldering with the weight of his pent up emotions, "Give me one good reason I should let you go."
"Riley," she answered without hesitation and instantly wished she could take it back as his face darkened with rage. Stiffening her spine she prepared to face him, "He doesn't deserve a girlfriend who cheats on him."
"So leave him," Spike snarled.
She shook her head, "It's not that simple."
He was across the crypt in two steps, his hands clutching hers, bruising the skin that he had so tenderly caressed only a few moments before, "It is that simple! You don't love him!"
Buffy's arms throbbed where his fingers dug into her skin and she could feel her own ire rising in response to him. Vehemently she spat out, "And who says I love you?"
'And I hope that since we're here anyway,
We can end it saying,
Things we've always needed to say,
So we can end up staying.'
He stopped shaking her and his face grew deadly calm. She stared back at him unflinchingly, too far gone in the disaster that was the end of the relationship to give up now. For her sake she couldn't.
He considered her slowly, before pulling her flush against him. She gasped at the sudden sensuality of the contact, his hardness throbbing against her soft stomach. "This," he said hoarsely, "This says that you love me." He covered her mouth brutally, plundered her, claimed her, left her breathless and pliant in his arms. She cling to him, her hands winding around his neck as he seduced her with his mouth, with his fingers which rubbed away the tension in her arms and neck while skillfully fondling one heavy breasts. She moaned against him, strained against the confines of her clothing as her world narrowed down to him and him alone.
He pulled away and she let out a small moan at the sudden loss, her breathing heavy as her eyes fluttered open to find staring down at her, "Tell me that you don't feel anything when we do that. Convince me that the whole world doesn't disappear and that it's as if your whole life, your very being, doesn't depend on that contact. Tell me that you don't care."
She couldn't. The realization brought her breath to a stop as she studied the face of the demon -- no, man -- before her. God help me, she thought, I love him. It was witch aching slowness that she slid out of his arms. He was vulnerable above her, his eyes pleading, desperate to convince her. She had to look away because she knew that if she continued the contact she would give in and throw everything away for him. And how she wanted too. She turned away slowly, ignoring the hand that reached out to grab her. For a split second she hesitated on the threshold as the full realization of what she was about to do, to lose, settled on her.
She didn't know how she managed to walk out of the crypt or how she got home and into her cold, empty bed. She was numb inside and she knew that she would never feel any other way ever again.
'Now the story's played out like this,
Just like a paperback novel,
Let's rewrite an ending that fits,
Instead of a Hollywood horror.
Nothing's wrong just as long as you know that someday I will --'
Why weren't we able,
To see the signs that we missed?
And tried to turn the tables?'
Buffy felt faint as she stood before the imposing stone façade of the mausoleum. The summer night was warm, the wheel of the year turning towards august and it's long, moist, days. Buffy shivered despite the heat and hesitantly placed her hand on the door. He was inside, she could feel him even through the thick layer of brick, mortar and steel that separated them. She took in a deep, calming, breath; focusing herself on what she'd come here to do.
What she now had to do.
She grimaced at the thought, her resolve wavering as the wave of anguish that had first swept over her at Graham's ultimatum returned. He'd made his expectations clear: She was to choose one or the other, preferably Riley. It wasn't much of a choice when it came down to it. She knew that choosing to remain with Riley meant resigning herself to an indefinite period of emptiness. Whatever love she had felt for Riley was quickly fading; responsibility and guilt growing in it's stead. Emotions that refused to be ignored.
But could her feelings for Spike, feelings that she had yet to fully realize but who promised to be more than fulfilling -- Could those feelings be ignored so easily? She might not have much experience with love and it's assortment of related emotions, but she was sure they were just as heavy as her guilt. More dangerous too, she thought, her mind racing over her carelessness of the last month. She'd been willing to risk everything for Spike. Her reputation, her family, her friends -- herself. And she was paying for it. God, she mourned, am I paying for it.
She'd opened up to him in ways she hadn't thought she'd ever be able to since the fateful night of her seventeenth birthday. Spike had made her remember how ii was to feel, to lose yourself completely in passion; he'd reminded her how beautiful surrender could be, and how utterly, consumingly, terrifying as well.
She had to do this. If not for her past feelings for Riley, than for herself, because she knew that if she gave in now and chose Spike, she'd never be free of him. He would absorb all of her, sweep her away on the tide pf his emotion, and when he left, because they al eventually did, she wouldn't even have her soul left to call her own. At least with Riley she could keep the walls up. He would never touch that place inside of her that remembered and yearned for the kind of passion Spike promised her. She would be safe with him.
Resolve settled heavily on her shoulders and, determined once again to follow through with her plan, she pushed the heavy crypt door open.
'I wish you'd unclench your fists,
And unpack your suitcase,
Lately, there's been too much of this,
But don't think it's late.'
He sat shirtless on the sarcophagus in the middle of the floor. Lit candles littered the area and his skin shone pale gold and silver in their light. His swirling, darkening, grey-blue eyes met hers and he smiled, wickedly. Buffy sucked in her breath as her eyes began wantonly roving over his body; from the tousled spikes of his hair, to the chiseled planes of his face, down to the smooth male breasts, to his hard stomach. He stirred and hardened under her regarded and heat suffused her face as her eyes darted back up to meet his, her self-assurance quickly fading.
With cat-like grace he slid off the cold stone and prowled towards her, his hungry eyes never leaving hers. Unconsciously, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, heat pooling in her center as he stopped before her, his eyes still claiming hers, refusing to let her look elsewhere. He bent down, his lips touching hers with aching softness, gently probing, tasting, the now familiar terrain. His cool hands come up to her bare shoulders, and slid beneath the straps of her tank top, her already hot skin heating under his fingers' regard. Her mouth opened and she drank him in, memorized the taste of him, the scent that emitted from his body, the texture of his fingers against her bare skin, and felt her heart break.
"God," he sighed against the skin of her neck, "the way you feel Summers. It's enough to make a man lose his head. Or his soul." He smirked against the column of her throat, his tongue darting it out to taste her skin, "Or in my case, the remnants anyway." His mouth fond her again and she melted willingly into his touch, "I could spend forever doing this."
She let out a small sob as the remnants of her already broken heart withered into dust. He pulled back from her, concern marring his features, "What is it, Slayer? What's wrong?"
She pulled away from him, presenting her back to him as she struggled to bring her turbulent emotions under control. He took a step forward and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, "Buffy?"
Her eyes fluttered closed as she relished the brief contact and, gathering the last of her resolve together, turned to face him, "I need to talk to you."
'Nothing's wrong just as long as you know someday I will --
Someday, somehow I'm going to make it alright,
But not right now,
I know you're wondering when.
Someday, somehow I'm gonna make it alright,
But not right now,
I know you're wondering when.'
He nodded and reading something in her eyes, took a step away from her, his face growing shuttered. He moved away to the sarcophagus and, picking up a pack of cigarettes, lit one with the flame of one of the candles. He took a long drag on it before answering, "What about, Slayer?"
Oh god, she thought as her stomach plummeted to her feet, he knows, "These last few weeks have been incredible."
He nodded, his eyes still watching her warily as she made her way nervously around the crypt. He nodded, smirking, displaying more confidence than he felt, "That it has, Slayer. But that's not the point is it?"
She shook her head, nervously, her hand tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "But it can't continue." She stopped and briefly looked at him before turning away, "We both knew this couldn't last forever, and it's time that we both moved on for our own good --"
He snorted, "Sing me another one, Slayer." He flung his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the rage he felt rising through him. The muscle in his jaw twitched uncontrollably when he looked back at her, his eyes smoldering with the weight of his pent up emotions, "Give me one good reason I should let you go."
"Riley," she answered without hesitation and instantly wished she could take it back as his face darkened with rage. Stiffening her spine she prepared to face him, "He doesn't deserve a girlfriend who cheats on him."
"So leave him," Spike snarled.
She shook her head, "It's not that simple."
He was across the crypt in two steps, his hands clutching hers, bruising the skin that he had so tenderly caressed only a few moments before, "It is that simple! You don't love him!"
Buffy's arms throbbed where his fingers dug into her skin and she could feel her own ire rising in response to him. Vehemently she spat out, "And who says I love you?"
'And I hope that since we're here anyway,
We can end it saying,
Things we've always needed to say,
So we can end up staying.'
He stopped shaking her and his face grew deadly calm. She stared back at him unflinchingly, too far gone in the disaster that was the end of the relationship to give up now. For her sake she couldn't.
He considered her slowly, before pulling her flush against him. She gasped at the sudden sensuality of the contact, his hardness throbbing against her soft stomach. "This," he said hoarsely, "This says that you love me." He covered her mouth brutally, plundered her, claimed her, left her breathless and pliant in his arms. She cling to him, her hands winding around his neck as he seduced her with his mouth, with his fingers which rubbed away the tension in her arms and neck while skillfully fondling one heavy breasts. She moaned against him, strained against the confines of her clothing as her world narrowed down to him and him alone.
He pulled away and she let out a small moan at the sudden loss, her breathing heavy as her eyes fluttered open to find staring down at her, "Tell me that you don't feel anything when we do that. Convince me that the whole world doesn't disappear and that it's as if your whole life, your very being, doesn't depend on that contact. Tell me that you don't care."
She couldn't. The realization brought her breath to a stop as she studied the face of the demon -- no, man -- before her. God help me, she thought, I love him. It was witch aching slowness that she slid out of his arms. He was vulnerable above her, his eyes pleading, desperate to convince her. She had to look away because she knew that if she continued the contact she would give in and throw everything away for him. And how she wanted too. She turned away slowly, ignoring the hand that reached out to grab her. For a split second she hesitated on the threshold as the full realization of what she was about to do, to lose, settled on her.
She didn't know how she managed to walk out of the crypt or how she got home and into her cold, empty bed. She was numb inside and she knew that she would never feel any other way ever again.
'Now the story's played out like this,
Just like a paperback novel,
Let's rewrite an ending that fits,
Instead of a Hollywood horror.
Nothing's wrong just as long as you know that someday I will --'