What's up ahead may not be suitable for all you youngsters---just a little
warning there
Chapter 10
The night's atmosphere was hushed. Through the gently ringing voices at the bar, long periods of stillness escaped. The same oily lighting, the same jazzy tune. A leggy woman was singing about lost love in the corner. This was the world both of them lived in. A generous helping of scotch, a blurred vision of reality, and the faint remembrance of what they had both had and lost.
As she leaned her elbows against the bar, Faye had almost forgotten Spike next to her. In her mind worked the machinations of a betrayed woman. She thought she loved James once, she thought he loved her. It never occurred to her that he would even think of using her, of placing her life into this sort of danger. Oh, but she could handle danger, it came with the territory to her. For three years she'd been dodging various men coming after her. Day by day, moment by moment. It wasn't her own life that she hated James for endangering, it was the life of another man that she deeply loved. The life of Jet Black, the beautiful heartbeat that would never he heard again.
She remembered their moments together, their laughter, their arguments. She remembered how he had comforted her on that day that Spike had descended into darkness. He did not need to say much; he only needed to give her that same, worried, warm, caring look. He was such a good person, such a good man. It broke her heart that his end had come so quickly. It should have been her, that day. But it was him. That was the way life worked, and Faye hated it. She suddenly understood how Spike must have felt the day that he had left everything to kill Vicious. Faye would desert everything herself, had she ever the chance to kill the dark figure lurking behind her.
But she was running from that figure, that in a simple, matter-of-fact way, declared to her while holding up a gun, "I'd just like to speak with you, Miss Valentine." Miss Valentine, it was the way he said her name that she despised the most, the way the tall silhouette, the nameless, faceless effigy, lightly put into the air something that she had been striving all this time to forget. She no longer knew who she was. To James she had been Rose Shields, to her pursuer she was Faye Valentine. But what was she to Spike?
She turned to Spike. He, himself had been deeply involved in thought. Faye watched his handsome features, stolid, unrecognizable to the outside world. Faye wished that she could understand him. He was like a mystery book she desperately wished to solve. He looked as if he needed comforting, as if he gravely desired some sort of company, some sort of consolation.
"Spike," she said softly. He turned to her and looked stolidly into her eyes.
Without thought she leaned in and kissed him. She only had the bravery to stay for a moment.
His facial expression did not change. He stared at her as he had only moments before, the same, lazy, aloof, drawn-out glance. She wanted to change that. Inwardly, Faye knew she wanted to see on his face what she had seen when he had heard the name Julia. This was impossible, she did not delude herself about that. Nonetheless, she had the right to dream of it.
She kissed him again, longer. He held his eyes open, it was as if nothing was going on. His soft, warm lips worked against her, he responded to her caress physically, yet it seemed that mentally he was somewhere else.
The bartender stared at them with a smile. The two lovebirds were going to have quite the night. The whole bar was looking at their empty caress, they worked against one another, but it was easy to see that true feelings were coming from only one side. The pretty woman's hands were tight around the man's neck, yet his rested thoughtlessly on the desk. His eyes were hopelessly open, and it seemed as if he was staring at something invisible in the middle of the room. It must have been something deeply desirable, since he did not take his eyes off of one spot. It was almost as if some beautiful, touching woman stood before him, watching as he fed on the mouth of another.
"I'm sorry, Spike," she whispered as she thrust away from him. But there was nothing to be sorry for. His face was still the same, and he was not looking at her. He was looking, staring, seeing, something else. She looked into the emptiness that he beheld but could not understand anything. She never could comprehend Spike in the past, how could she ever hope to penetrate him in this murky presence?
For another moment that seemed like an eternity, he stared into the blank space. Then, he turned his face to her, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and planting his lips against her once again. His tongue pushed itself into the inclinations of her lips and wrestled against hers. She did not know what to do with herself, she thighs quivered and she could not find a place for her arms. They swayed side to side and she lost herself inside of his essence.
He picked himself up and carelessly took her by the arm. She awkwardly strived to follow as he led her to the back of the bar, to where the bathroom had been. They slammed the door behind them, and in the darkness, flew at one another again, like mad beasts, meaninglessly mating. He pushed her against the wall, rolling up her shorts, roughly pulling down his pants. She unbuttoned her yellow vest and he buried his face in her chest, quickly tasting her smooth flesh. She dug her nails into the hardness of his back as he picked her up, pressing her against the wall, and pushing himself inside.
She moaned, throwing her legs up and wrapping them around him. He pressed his palms against the wall as she leaned her head backwards. He watched her face, empty, motionless, and then quickly transgressing into sensation. She raised her neck and he caressed it. Her eyes were nailed shut as she bit the corner of her lower lip. He placed his finger on the platform of her mouth, sliding it farther inside against her tongue. She sucked on it, staring at him with desire. He took it out of her mouth and placed it inside of his own, tasting her saliva. Then, he pressed his lips against her again. His spasmodic movements inside caused her to throw her head up, and he followed, kissing her chin, her hair that got in the way of him. Her hair smelled like her, she had that personalized smell, of flowers and musky perfume, all intermixed with the natural aphrodisiac scent of her body. He throbbed inside her, deeper and deeper, faster and faster, harder and harder. They rocked together against the wall as if it was an earthquake, a gigantic explosion, a calamity, catastrophe, end of the world! And with her loud scream, with his subsiding motion, they climaxed simultaneously.
Spike removed himself from her and walked to the opposite side of the bathroom, not once turning. She watched as he pulled his pants up and stared into the mirror, brushing his hands through his hair. She slowly buttoned her shirt and uncrumpled her shorts. He looked at her to see that she was decent, and then walked out of the bathroom. She quickly followed him, while trying to comb down her disheveled hair with her fingernails.
As the two strode out, the customers in the bar watched them without hesitation. They had heard the banging, they had heard the moans. Yet somehow, they did not expect to see what had come out of it. Two indifferent people, two people who barely knew one another, who barely cared for one another. The man looked for a moment at the empty space he studied earlier, but apparently its charm had disappeared because he quickly turned away.
The bartender was the most struck as they walked out. He had even forgotten that they had forgotten to pay the bill.
Once inside the ship, Spike and Faye did not speak. They looked ahead silently as they passed through the moon gate, and into outer space. Faye could only guess what went on inside of Spike's head---no, she couldn't even guess. She looked into her lap somberly before redirecting her attention at the stars. It was such a strange night, such a beautiful night. There was no need to ruin the quiet peace of what she saw before her. She was resolute that they would discuss what had happened in the morning.
They never did.
Chapter 10
The night's atmosphere was hushed. Through the gently ringing voices at the bar, long periods of stillness escaped. The same oily lighting, the same jazzy tune. A leggy woman was singing about lost love in the corner. This was the world both of them lived in. A generous helping of scotch, a blurred vision of reality, and the faint remembrance of what they had both had and lost.
As she leaned her elbows against the bar, Faye had almost forgotten Spike next to her. In her mind worked the machinations of a betrayed woman. She thought she loved James once, she thought he loved her. It never occurred to her that he would even think of using her, of placing her life into this sort of danger. Oh, but she could handle danger, it came with the territory to her. For three years she'd been dodging various men coming after her. Day by day, moment by moment. It wasn't her own life that she hated James for endangering, it was the life of another man that she deeply loved. The life of Jet Black, the beautiful heartbeat that would never he heard again.
She remembered their moments together, their laughter, their arguments. She remembered how he had comforted her on that day that Spike had descended into darkness. He did not need to say much; he only needed to give her that same, worried, warm, caring look. He was such a good person, such a good man. It broke her heart that his end had come so quickly. It should have been her, that day. But it was him. That was the way life worked, and Faye hated it. She suddenly understood how Spike must have felt the day that he had left everything to kill Vicious. Faye would desert everything herself, had she ever the chance to kill the dark figure lurking behind her.
But she was running from that figure, that in a simple, matter-of-fact way, declared to her while holding up a gun, "I'd just like to speak with you, Miss Valentine." Miss Valentine, it was the way he said her name that she despised the most, the way the tall silhouette, the nameless, faceless effigy, lightly put into the air something that she had been striving all this time to forget. She no longer knew who she was. To James she had been Rose Shields, to her pursuer she was Faye Valentine. But what was she to Spike?
She turned to Spike. He, himself had been deeply involved in thought. Faye watched his handsome features, stolid, unrecognizable to the outside world. Faye wished that she could understand him. He was like a mystery book she desperately wished to solve. He looked as if he needed comforting, as if he gravely desired some sort of company, some sort of consolation.
"Spike," she said softly. He turned to her and looked stolidly into her eyes.
Without thought she leaned in and kissed him. She only had the bravery to stay for a moment.
His facial expression did not change. He stared at her as he had only moments before, the same, lazy, aloof, drawn-out glance. She wanted to change that. Inwardly, Faye knew she wanted to see on his face what she had seen when he had heard the name Julia. This was impossible, she did not delude herself about that. Nonetheless, she had the right to dream of it.
She kissed him again, longer. He held his eyes open, it was as if nothing was going on. His soft, warm lips worked against her, he responded to her caress physically, yet it seemed that mentally he was somewhere else.
The bartender stared at them with a smile. The two lovebirds were going to have quite the night. The whole bar was looking at their empty caress, they worked against one another, but it was easy to see that true feelings were coming from only one side. The pretty woman's hands were tight around the man's neck, yet his rested thoughtlessly on the desk. His eyes were hopelessly open, and it seemed as if he was staring at something invisible in the middle of the room. It must have been something deeply desirable, since he did not take his eyes off of one spot. It was almost as if some beautiful, touching woman stood before him, watching as he fed on the mouth of another.
"I'm sorry, Spike," she whispered as she thrust away from him. But there was nothing to be sorry for. His face was still the same, and he was not looking at her. He was looking, staring, seeing, something else. She looked into the emptiness that he beheld but could not understand anything. She never could comprehend Spike in the past, how could she ever hope to penetrate him in this murky presence?
For another moment that seemed like an eternity, he stared into the blank space. Then, he turned his face to her, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and planting his lips against her once again. His tongue pushed itself into the inclinations of her lips and wrestled against hers. She did not know what to do with herself, she thighs quivered and she could not find a place for her arms. They swayed side to side and she lost herself inside of his essence.
He picked himself up and carelessly took her by the arm. She awkwardly strived to follow as he led her to the back of the bar, to where the bathroom had been. They slammed the door behind them, and in the darkness, flew at one another again, like mad beasts, meaninglessly mating. He pushed her against the wall, rolling up her shorts, roughly pulling down his pants. She unbuttoned her yellow vest and he buried his face in her chest, quickly tasting her smooth flesh. She dug her nails into the hardness of his back as he picked her up, pressing her against the wall, and pushing himself inside.
She moaned, throwing her legs up and wrapping them around him. He pressed his palms against the wall as she leaned her head backwards. He watched her face, empty, motionless, and then quickly transgressing into sensation. She raised her neck and he caressed it. Her eyes were nailed shut as she bit the corner of her lower lip. He placed his finger on the platform of her mouth, sliding it farther inside against her tongue. She sucked on it, staring at him with desire. He took it out of her mouth and placed it inside of his own, tasting her saliva. Then, he pressed his lips against her again. His spasmodic movements inside caused her to throw her head up, and he followed, kissing her chin, her hair that got in the way of him. Her hair smelled like her, she had that personalized smell, of flowers and musky perfume, all intermixed with the natural aphrodisiac scent of her body. He throbbed inside her, deeper and deeper, faster and faster, harder and harder. They rocked together against the wall as if it was an earthquake, a gigantic explosion, a calamity, catastrophe, end of the world! And with her loud scream, with his subsiding motion, they climaxed simultaneously.
Spike removed himself from her and walked to the opposite side of the bathroom, not once turning. She watched as he pulled his pants up and stared into the mirror, brushing his hands through his hair. She slowly buttoned her shirt and uncrumpled her shorts. He looked at her to see that she was decent, and then walked out of the bathroom. She quickly followed him, while trying to comb down her disheveled hair with her fingernails.
As the two strode out, the customers in the bar watched them without hesitation. They had heard the banging, they had heard the moans. Yet somehow, they did not expect to see what had come out of it. Two indifferent people, two people who barely knew one another, who barely cared for one another. The man looked for a moment at the empty space he studied earlier, but apparently its charm had disappeared because he quickly turned away.
The bartender was the most struck as they walked out. He had even forgotten that they had forgotten to pay the bill.
Once inside the ship, Spike and Faye did not speak. They looked ahead silently as they passed through the moon gate, and into outer space. Faye could only guess what went on inside of Spike's head---no, she couldn't even guess. She looked into her lap somberly before redirecting her attention at the stars. It was such a strange night, such a beautiful night. There was no need to ruin the quiet peace of what she saw before her. She was resolute that they would discuss what had happened in the morning.
They never did.