Lisa sat bent over an old volume, its parchment yellowed by age. The scrawly eccentric handwriting that filled an endless amount of pages, had an indefinable brownish red colour like dried blood. On a second thought – it probably was dried blood. Necromancer weren't known for being particularly squeamish, when it came to using blood as a substitute for ink. The brief thought inspired a momentary frown which quickly dissipated as she continued reading.
The letters were starting to swim in front of her eyes. It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate. It would probably be best, if she called it a day. Lisa shut the book with a decisive bang and stood up to stretch her legs. The quite solitude of the archive was beginning to depress her and yet again she felt safe here. The day of the ceremony was getting closer and she was slowly getting nervous.
The echo of her heels on the stone floor resounded in the vast room that was stuffed with endless rows of shelves holding the most dangerous lecture Wolfram & Hardt had to offer. Lisa finally stopped in front of a certain bookshelf to unlock the cage that covered its front side. When she its doors pulled open, a draft of cool air combined with the smell of old parchment swept over her. Her eyes narrowed in concentration when she gingerly reached out her hand to put the book back into place. It was like feeding raw meat to a hungry tiger. The books started hissing like snakes apparently stirred from their sleeps. Terror lurked between those age-worn pages – shapeless, greedy and dangerous. She quickly put the book back into place and closed the doors behind it with meticulous care.
Her thoughts drifted back to the last couple of days as she marched through the office building towards her apartment. Since their talk with Angel she had virtually locked herself up inside the basement, studying those books, she knew her life depended on. Lisa's concentration, however, was depleted whenever she allowed her mind to wander. Strangely she always ended up thinking about him…Spike.
Lisa couldn't quite figure him out, though in some ways they were very similar. The bad guy persona, that was his trademark, sometimes seemed to her like some sort of distraction, designed to mislead others about his true character. Like everything well hidden, it would sometimes resurface, but only very briefly. He was quick-tempered and freely displayed the emotions that were conducive to keeping up his charade, though she suspected he kept his more sensitive side to himself. The part of him that made him vulnerable. The part of him that she had been able to catch a fleeting glimpse of…
They had rarely seen each other in the last couple of days. It was not because he had been avoiding her, quite the contrary, but because she had always sent him away. Spike had obeyed begrudgingly, assuming that it was because she needed quiet in order to go through the huge pile of books, that lay waiting on her working desk.
He had been wrong. Thinking about him was completely unnerving to her and that's why she needed him to stay away right now….Thinking about him made her ask herself what was underneath the mask she wore everyday. Lisa often denied herself the luxury of letting her emotions show. This way all they were, was a shadowy echo suppressed by a much too rational mind that was constantly on guard. No disturbances, only predictable calmness that was unsoiled by any emotions upheavals.
It had not always been like this. Before "her gift" had turned her life into hell on earth, she had been a completely different person. As a child she had even had a certain propensity for being theatrical. Whenever she had fallen she had cried loudly and unashamedly, when she was happy her laughter had filled the room. Now those long lost emotions were resurfacing and it was all his fault. It was all his fault, because thinking about him made her realize that she was falling in love with him.
Lisa sighed loudly and as she looked around, she became aware of the fact that she had reached her destination. She was standing outside her apartment. Lisa started fumbling for the magnetic card inside her pockets and prepared herself for the ritual that would shortly ensue. She would slide the card through the reader repeatedly whose lights would, with a certain sadistic predictability, always flash red, until she was very close to loosing her mind. Only then the door would open. She was already grinding her teeth in frustration when she finally held the card in her hand.
The first try…red. The second try…red. The third try…and so on and so on. The movement of her hand had become almost mechanical by now. Red. Red. Red. How very charming!
"Let me," a distinctly familiar male voice suddenly volunteered from beside her. Shortly after an outstretched hand entered her range of vision that was limited obsessively to the area of the blinking light of the card reader. He rubbed the card against the fabric of his shirt before he slid it through the machine in one fluid motion.
This was treachery! The door had opened at his first try. Lisa didn't know whether she was angry, because he had succeeded so easily or because he was already starting to confuse her again. As she stormed past him without a word of thanks, the familiar scent of cigarettes, leather and cologne invaded her nostrils and threatened to make her think girlish thoughts…again.
With a frustrated huff she let herself slump on the huge bed that was situated in the centre of her apartment which was something like a loft - slightly snobbish, light-flooded (of course, equipped with the kind of windows that were vampire friendly) and obtrusively Spartan.
Lisa could hear the door being closed and shortly after she felt Spike lay down besides her.
She looked over at him questioningly. Their eyes met briefly and as usual she felt the familiar tingle in the pit of her stomach – luckily, she somehow managed to ignore it.
"So…how's the mojo getting along?" Spike asked conversationally. He lay there with one arm under his head, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, while the other hand was dangling laxly from the edge of the bed. Lisa could have kissed him senseless right on the spot just for lying there like this. She unconsciously licked her lips, but then quickly averted her gaze, when she became aware of the fact that she was rapidly starting to lose her composure.
"Better. I've been making some progress," Lisa answered shortly. A rather lengthy pause ensued.
"Can I ask you a question?" she said after a while, her voice lacking its usual businesslike undertone.
"Sure, love. Go ahead!"
"What kind of person were you….back then…before you were turned a vampire?" she suddenly asked out of the blue, watching him expectantly.
Spike turned his head to look at her in surprise, his eyes fixing her intently. A pensive frown wrinkled his forehead. "A young, naïve sod."
"Very vague," Lisa replied ruefully, "Care to elaborate?"
"Why? Is it important to you, love?" he squinted his eyes at her.
"Yes," Lisa admitted softly
"Okay," Spike sighed, "Guess it's only fair……Welcome to 'A hundred ways of humiliating yourself in front of a girl you care for. How it's properly done' introductory course."
"Less sarcasm. More facts, " Lisa interjected, looking at him curiously, her head propped up on a hand.
"Alright then," Spike still didn't look too pleased by the prospect of spreading out the tale of his entire miserable mortal existence in front of her, but he begrudgingly obeyed.
"I won't bore you with a history lesson…Time? Late 19th century. I've was living in London with my Mum.…Dad was a bastard. Did his share of drinking and wasting our money, just as a well-respected gentleman was supposed to back in the day. Never was around much, so we didn't miss him, when he passed away in his early 40s and left us a pile of bills to pay. Me, I was about 10 around then. A sad little pale brat with curly brown hair.
Don't remember much about father, except he used to smoke those cigarettes that always made me cough," Spike paused, apparently organizing the unfiltered mass of memories that was resurfacing from his subconscious.
It was like talking about someone else's life. He had emotionally distanced himself a long time ago from most of the things that concerned his childhood or had something to do with his father.
"Anyways, " Spike finally continued, "they named me after my late grandfather…William….was a decent old fellow. Build up the fortune my Dad spent so shamelessly….
After my old man died, there was only me and mother…. I did my best to be a good lad, tried not to cause her any grief…Yep, you're looking at the posture boy for a good and proper Oedipal complex….," Spike shook his head as if to rid himself of some unwanted thoughts, that were threatening to rise from his memory.
"Well, were was I? Right…Mother wanted me to have a decent education, so she put what little money was left of our family fortune into books and schooling," his pronunciation started shifting involuntarily - the traces of Cockney briefly replaced by an upper class accent.
"She even worked as a needlewoman to make ends meet. After I had finished school, I felt obliged to make up for all those years of hardship. So, I went to work everyday like the good little trooper I was. Sure, it made her happy and I should have been, too…except I wasn't. I was bored by the everyday routine of my job.
I read the great poets – Blake, Swinburne, Wilde, Keats. Their words nourished me like honey the bee. I felt inspired to become a writer myself, to express what I slumbered inside of me and was to powerful to go by unheard. I was aspiring for something more, something bigger…"
"Don't we all?" Lisa said softly. Somehow she could relate all too well to his tale.
"Most people don't screw up as royally as I did...as I said I wanted to be a writer...a poet even. And, of course, like every poet I needed a muse. I fell in love with a snobbish dame who went by the name of Cecily."
"A terrible name," she interjected.
"You hardly won't find anything that rhymes with it, too. Trust me. I should know, I wrote her thousands of godawful love poems, full of flattering words and exaggerated allegory."
"What was so special about her?"
"She was unattainable. Her, being an upper class lady and me, being a poor middle class sod – we had no future whatsoever. Of course, that didn't stop me…as usual," he let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head with the notion of someone who could now look at his past actions from a more mature and distanced perspective.
"Infatuation quickly turned into obsession. I thought if I wrote one perfect poem, one that would really touch her, she would reciprocate my feelings. I spent countless nights working on my masterpiece, searching for the right words incessantly. One evening it was finally done. I read it out to her…. bared my soul to her."
"What happened?" Lisa asked curiously.
"It was no use. Cecily didn't understand what I tried to tell her. All she did was wrinkle her nose at me, disgusted by the thought of how I, the bourgeois, could dare to woo her, the young beautiful socialite. So I stormed off ashamedly to hid in a dang back alley where I started crying like a little girl. That's how Dru found me.. That's it. That's about all there is to tell…," Spike abruptly concluded, seemingly embarrassed by what he had just told her. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, looking at her as if he wanted to say 'You've asked for it'.
A few seconds passed in awkward silence.
"I think I would have liked him," Lisa admitted softly after a while.
Her confession took him by surprise and for the first time since she knew him, Spike was at a loss of words. "Who?" he managed to get out in the end.
"William."
"Why?" he asked, suddenly very curious.
"Are you asking seriously?"
"Yes, I'd really like to know," Spike turned towards her, mirroring her posture from before, so that they were now directly facing each other.
Her heart started racing inside of her chest nervously, as she was searching for the right words to give a voice to her thoughts. "I think you can learn a lot just by reading them…just by reading those words of those famous writers…," she paused. The pensive frown on her forehead indicated that this was hard for her. He decided to listen patiently, though what she had said wasn't exactly an answer to his question.
"You can lose yourself in those thoughts, feelings and experiences that fill countless pages - entire books. And sometimes there is this one sentence that will strike you. And then you will read it over and over again until you have memorized every word, because it expresses so perfectly how you feel...every colour of this vast palette of emotions – love, pain, sadness, hate… That's the beauty of it… And that's why it's art, because it doesn't work like this in normal everyday life…"
"Just out of curiosity…How does it really work then?" he asked not without a certain hint of irony.
"Oh, come on! When you meet someone in the street and he asks you how you're feeling, do you seriously think he's interested in how you actually feel? It's just a flowery phrase without any meaning. When you're down and out, there will be no one there to help you. The big machinery has to run smoothly without a glitch. Either you adapt or you won't survive," Lisa frowned in discontent, this was not at all what she had wanted to say. Somehow the words had left her mouth almost without her doing.
"Love…no matter what you do, you will still be the same person. Take that from someone who learned to hard way. You might be able to better yourself, but the essence of your personality will always stay the same," Spike had the strange, but undeniable feeling that he was starting to actually figure her out.
Lisa, on the other hand, felt cornered. The situation had left her control. Her temper flared uncontrollably. "You don't know the least thing about me," she hissed at him.
"I like to think that I know you very well," he fixed her with his eyes severely as if to reprove her for her words.
"So go ahead Mr. Know-it-all tell me…"
"Fine," he paused shortly, "See, I figure it's like that…we're all born a little red faced, screaming worm – next stop childhood. Everything's fine, no need for pretence. We are who we are. All hugs and kisses till then. All those brats come in different varieties - the little angel, the sensitive mopy ones, the little bastards, the drama queen and so on and so on. Get my drift?"
"I do, but it would be nice if you could get to the point in the not so distance future…if there actually is any…," Lisa grumbled ill-humoredly.
Spike seemed unfazed by her comment. "I reckon you were the drama queen. Always good for an emotional outburst of some sort. One a good day you would laugh till your belly ached and on a bad day you would throw your dolls through your room because you were angry like hell. So does the shoe fit, Cinderella?" he grinned at her triumphantly.
Lisa gulped. His characterisation was indeed very accurate. "Yes….How did you know?" she asked hesitantly.
"Have been no different myself. Except I obviously didn't play with dolls. I wasn't that much of a cissy," he let out a humourless snort.
"Oh," was all she managed to get out.
"Being like that, you have but two choices when you grow up and things don't run smoothly. After being hurt once too often you might ask yourself: 'Why the bleeding hell am I torturing myself? Why don't I put an end to this?' So you decide to not feel anything anymore. Clever, but won't make you happy.
Another person on the other hand might say 'Bugger you lot! I am what I am and if you don't like it, screw you !' Not too clever…but effective. Will this make you happy? Guess not. Either way intensity is not something everyone gets along with."
"I think there's nothing wrong with the way you are," Lisa admitted timidly.
"Why's that so?"
"Why?" she looked pensive. "I guess because it helps me come out of my shell. I do need a little nudge in the right direction from time to time"
"The right direction…kind of vague."
Lisa sighed. "I've come to realize something in the last days. I've been meaning to tell you about it for a while, but I don't know how to say it…. I'm afraid it might sound ridiculous."
"You're afraid it might sound ridiculous?" Spike smirked. "I've just bloody told you how I sat in a back alley sobbing my heart out, because some bint didn't like my poetry…"
"But what if you don't like what you'll hear…"
"What if I really do like what I'll hear?"
"Alright….," It was kind of funny how the act of uttering a few words could sometimes become so hard. She summoned all her courage. "I've been thinking a lot about you in the last couple of days. I realize I'm not the easiest person…not even remotely close to easy. It maybe hard to put up with me sometimes and I don't know if you want to on a regular basis. Plus there is my not so glamorous past and… well… the thing with Baku...A death threat probably puts a huge damper to my attractiveness, I guess, " she sighed. Her own stammering was driving her insane. It would be better if you laid the cards on the table now. She took one deep breath. It felt like plunging into cold water. "Well, what I'm trying to say is…..I love you."
Lisa observed his facial expression curiously, waiting for the sentence to be spoken. He smiled at her. She could help but feel relieved. It meant she hadn't screwed up completely. She was still worriedly contemplating all the different possible versions of his answer, when he gently but determinedly drew her close to kiss her.
"I love you," he whispered to her, after their lips had finally separated. "And I thought the bit with the stuttering was very cute," Spike added with a chuckle.
"The demon that possessed you must have been the devil himself," she answered laughingly, pinching his arm.
"Can you show him at least a little sympathy?" he asked teasingly, tilting his head in the familiar fashion, which simply made him irresistible.
"Maybe," she answered enigmatically and kissed him again.
His lips on hers were almost driving her insane. She couldn't remember ever having been kissed like this. It made any Hollywood kissing scene at the end of a romance movie pale in comparison. She wanted more of him and he obviously felt the same, as he drew her closer hungrily. Lisa could feel his body pressing against hers and all sorts of nasty thoughts invaded her head. She fully enjoyed the pleasurable sensations that washed over her uncontrollably. Then it suddenly stopped…Lisa blinkingly looked at him in disorientation.
"Am I moving too fast?" Spike asked concernedly and at first she didn't comprehend what he was saying.
"No, not at all," her voice sounded husky, when she finally answered. A wicked smile flitted over her face, when a rather appealing and equally naughty idea crossed her mind. Lisa felt Spike's curious eyes on her, as she settled on his lap and let her hand glide up his arms to peel him out of his duster. "Let's get rid off this."
"You're not as innocent as you seem to be," he noticed with a dangerous sparkle in his eye.
"Whoever said something about innocent?" Lisa raised a delicate eyebrow at him, "I was just a little bit…reserved…which I'm not any more…at least not around you," she kissed his neck teasingly, softly grazing it with her teeth. Her lips wandered over his skin alternated by her tongue. He smelled so delicious, that all she wanted to do right now was eat him alive. Lisa wondered how far she could go until he would lose control. The smug smile that spread on her face, quickly turned into an expression of surprise, when he flipped her on her back and effectively pinned her down with his weight.
Her breathing accelerated. The feeling of him lying atop of her was very stimulating, to say the least. His fingers were tracing seductive little patterns on the thin lacy fabric of her blouse, as they slowly, but determinedly, wandered into the direction of its top button. He covered every inch of creamy white skin that was revealed with tiny kisses and progressed downwards until finally the blouse was gone and she lay there with just her bra on.
Cool lips kissed the sensitive area around her bellybutton. She moaned softly as his tongue playfully touched her skin. It only served him as an encouragement to continue his caress. It felt marvellous, breath-taking and most importantly it left her with a strong and undeniable craving for more. She drew him closer, greedy for a kiss. Her lips welcomed his with insatiable fever.
Finally her hands impatiently tugged at the hem of his shirt. He wordlessly smiled at her and pulled it over his head with one swift motion, his lean muscular body flexing in the progress. His skin was very pale, but miraculously unmarred by any battle scars. Lisa sat up and let her hands glide over his chest in a featherlike, tender caress. He closed his eyes, enjoying the pleasant feeling of her touch; the look on his face, calm and relaxed.
She was so close he could feel the warmth radiate from her body, hear the fast beating of her heart and inhale the intoxicating smell of her arousal like that of a deep red flower in bloom. Her hot, wet lips made contact with the sensitive skin over his collar bone, unaware of the fact that he was dangerously close to losing control.
He fervently requited the favour by softly kissing her shoulders, aptly moving the straps of her bra out of the way in the process. Then, with an expert movement of his fingers, he opened its clasp and quickly discarded of the redundant piece of garment.
The feeling of his skin against her was simply superb, but only a little foretaste of what was still to come. A pleasant shiver ran through Lisa's body.
"Lean back," he whispered in her ear, his voice heavy with longing.
She readily agreed, all the while holding eye contact with him. She didn't feel ashamed – it felt right, natural.
His fingers fluttered over her skin in a featherlike touch, teasingly tracing a line from her chin all the way down to her bellybutton. Then - suddenly his lips on her breasts, softly kissing and caressing them. Lisa let out a loud moan, as his tongue played around her nipple. She wanted him so badly. This was torture, disguised in the clothes of a breathtaking caress. Her fingers searched for something to hold on to and started kneading through his hair. When she was almost overwhelmed by passion, a suddenly loss of contact caught her by surprise, which was shortly after followed the reconciliatory feeling of his lips on hers.
"Too much clothes," she whispered breathlessly in between kisses.
"I thought so, too," he said, already bussing himself with getting rid off her pants, while she was fumbling with his belt. They finally succeeded and continued kissing again. She felt his hardness provocatively press against her, only too aware of the fact that they were both only clothed in their underwear. Her instincts took over. All she wanted was to feel him, have all of him – finally. Her hips slowly grinded against his, eagerly anticipating what was to follow, while her hands slide down his back. They hesitantly stopped at the waistband of his boxers, before she slowly started pulling it down.
Spike had gotten her hint and stood up to quickly undress, his back turned to her. Her heart started racing a little bit faster. He turned around, now completely naked, his body bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon sun. He was a beautiful side to behold like one of those Grecian statues – slender and well-proportioned, in every aspect.
He climbed on the bed, slowly advancing on her on all fours. A shiver ran through her body. The closer he got the more her heart started racing inside her chest in pleasant anticipation. He placed a kiss on her belly, then wandered a little lower – between his lips and her skin only the thin fabric of the panties. She could exactly feel his caress and it drove her crazy. Finally he slowly stripped her of her panties, his fingers gliding along her legs in a soft caress.
As he bent down to kiss her, his body covered hers entirely. The passionate mating dance of their tongues paralleled the merging of their bodies. When he slowly slid into her, she lost all ability to think straight. What was left was a potent mixture of sensory perceptions and emotions: love, pure lust, feeling, seeing, tasting…They started moving in unison. At first slowly, then more ardently. There was this warm, incredible pleasant feeling – at first miniscule like being tickled on the toe by a feather, then it's intensity rapidly increased. It washed over her in several mighty waves of pure unfiltered ecstasy. Her fingernails dug into his back. Uncountable different sensations flooded her consciousness at once: the quickened pace of his trusts, the pleasant spasm of her muscles, his moan against her ear, the steady rhythm of her breathing, their fingers entwining tightly…