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Tell Me Something





His pale skin gave her pause. When it was just them in the shadows, he seemed to glow under her fingertips. When all his dark clothing was cast aside and it was just him stretched out beneath her in all his glory, he could almost look like a shining beacon of light, an angel of sorts instead of the cold, dark creature she knew he was.

Buffy slumped down on top of him, breathing heavily, trembling from the orgasm that had just ripped through her body. She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against Spike’s shoulder. His mock-breaths and the trembling of his body could almost make him pass for human, if it weren’t for the stillness beneath her hand where a beating heart should be.

She knew already that after their third round, her legs would refuse to work. She rolled off of him, dislodging their bodies before resting beside him. It surprised Buffy that the vampire beside her hadn’t said anything to ruin her good mood yet. She also surprised herself when she found herself cuddling into Spike’s side, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He raised his hand and slowly let his fingertips move down her arm. The gentle touch sent a shiver down her body.

This was the time when she usually made an excuse and ran out the door. There was barely ever a time that she allowed Spike so close after their violent sexual escapades. Then again, it was also rare that they made it to the bed, like they had this time.

Buffy knew she should leave. This was the part where she threw insults and fists, to let him know it wouldn’t happen again, even though they both knew she would be coming back for more. Then again, this was also the part where he usually said something stupid or offensive to deserve said fists.

He was keeping quiet. This was a night for rare occasions. For a moment, Buffy allowed herself a small bit of pride. Just think: she was actually good enough to shut Spike up.

Smiling, she chanced a glance up at her lover. She was surprised to find him staring up at the ceiling, a thoughtful expression on his face. His fingers were tracing small patterns on the soft skin between her shoulder blades, but his mind seemed miles away.

Usually, after their wild sexcapades he would be staring at her with adoration he couldn’t possibly mask, or a wicked leer while he gloated about his ability to make her scream.

Should she be jealous of a ceiling?

Watching his expression, she was again struck by his beauty, and more…the humanity he would sometimes seem to possess, especially in moments like these. There were moments when it seemed impossible that he could be just some vampire. He always seemed to have more to him. Buffy realized in that moment that she really knew nothing about him. She knew him intimately, the sounds he made in passion and anger, every expression on his face, knew of some of his greatest battles with other slayers and that he used to consider a ho-bag nut case to be the love of his life.

But what else? There was 120 years of history in him, not even counting the years he had as a human. What made him what he is today? The former slayer of slayers? The passionate lover? The evil soulless vampire that somehow seemed to have more life and energy in him than most of the living people she knew? Despite how much the slayer side of her mind told her she didn’t and shouldn’t care, Buffy was suddenly very curious.

***********************************************************************

This was nice.

Spike hated feeling like such a damned poof for thinking it, but just being able to hold her was almost as good as the sex. With that in mind he sure as bloody hell wasn’t going to open his trap and ruin it. At times like this he found himself comparing the powerful woman next to him to a timid bunny rabbit. If he made one wrong move she would flee back into the light.

All of this was the reason he was surprised that the slayer in his arms spoke up first, and not in a harsh or sarcastic tone of voice.

“Tell me something about your life…” She said softly. “Your human life.”

Spike raised a scared eyebrow, baffled by her words.

“What?”

The slayer beside him shifted, resting her head against his shoulder and drawing small patterns on his chest with her fingertips, purposely avoiding his eyes.

“Tell me something about when you were human.” She said again. “Something…something that doesn’t involve you killing or maiming anyone.”

Spike had had to resist a giving a rude snort. The thought of his human self killing or maiming anyone…the only weapon he ever wielded was his pen, terrifying the world with his bloody awful poetry. But Spike had no intentions of mentioning THAT to Buffy.


Frowning for a moment, he tried to think of something to tell her. What does one say about their lives when their lives had held nothing to speak of? His life as a human had been bland, boring, and completely plain. There was no adventure tails to speak of. What should he say? Something about his schooling? His family’s backround? His family?

He briefly considered speaking about his mother, but his mind automatically pushed the thought away. He wasn’t going to tread in those dark waters. So how about his father? That was just about the only violence he had ever known in his lifetime…

Realizing he should say something before the temperamental slayer beside him began to think he was ignoring her, he settled on the topic.

“I barely knew my father…”

He spoke softly at first, so that Buffy had to listen very carefully to catch each word.

“He died when I was about…eight…seven…” He gave a casual shrug, keeping his tone light.

Somehow Buffy got the feeling she was going to regret this question… “How did he die?”

Spike hesitated for a moment before diving into his memories, trying to scrape up every detail. “My mum and I came home from the market one afternoon…I remember bugger all about the day before we got home. Just doesn’t seem important…all I remember is wanting to tell my father something I had seen earlier that day. I knew where he was, in the library, like always. I ran past my mother and stopped just when I heard the pistol go off. When I went into the library I first saw someone climbing out the window. Then I saw my father.

Buffy grew tense as she listened to more and more of the story. There was a feeling of dread in her. But it wasn’t dread of the story; it was dread of another piece of the puzzle that was the vampire next to her. Even though he spoke in an emotionless, almost casual voice, she could feel him just as tense next to her.

“Most of his forehead was gone, but that didn’t quite compare to the back. Pieces of the back of his skull were on the floor near him. The blood spatter was all over his desk and the bookshelves. Then there was the pool of it on the floor…stepped in some of that.”

“I ran after that. I’m not quite sure how far or for how long…I remember my mother crying for me to stop, to come back, but I couldn’t stop.” His voice tensed just enough to betray a bit of emotion, and a chill went up Buffy’s spine. “I stopped in some grungy ally. I didn’t know where I was, I just knew my father’s blood was on my shoe. I took both of them off and wandered around barefoot, probably confused for a beggar’s child once or twice.”

“Took them hours to find me. The servants of the house had been sent searching. They scooped me up and scolded me the whole way back, saying what a selfish boy I was for running off from my mother like that. Told me again and again how I had to be the man now and not leave her to her misery.

“But…you were only eight years old…they couldn’t expect you to…”

“It was a different time, luv. Understanding for children wasn’t quite popular yet, especially not among servants who had just lost their benefactor and was chasing his brat all over London.”

Silence fell over them. Spike wasn’t going to tell her the rest of the story…how he had clutched his mother’s skirt when he was brought home and begged her forgiveness for leaving her alone. He wasn’t going to tell her how he took care of her for the rest of her days.

Buffy was suddenly uncomfortable. More than that, she was afraid of that meaningful silence. It wasn’t just the silence…it was the emotion behind it. Buffy had a feeling that the bleached blonde beside her didn’t share this story with just anyone…and imagining the vampire as a little boy trying to run away from his crumbling world suddenly made him far too…human. She couldn’t think about him like that. She couldn’t stand it. She had to remember what he was…a demon, a killer. There was no arguing the point, no matter what Spike’s own memories might tell him.

Sliding away from her vampire lover, Buffy rose from the bed and started gathering her clothes. Spike didn’t even bother questioning her, where she was going or what the hurry was…he had an idea already. Sighing, he kept his eyes on the ceiling. He wasn’t going to let her know how much her pulling away hurt him. Now the pain was more than usual. He had just shared a part of himself…in fact, he just told a story he had never told anyone, in all his unlife. And just as he imagined she would, she had discarded it and the feeling within it.

As he listened to the slayer’s mumbled excuse and her departing steps, he came to a conclusion that he didn’t trust her any more than she trusted him. Hell, at least he had tried to earn her trust. The truth was, he decided, you could trust Buffy Summers with your life…but never your heart.

Unfortunately that didn’t change that fact that his heart belonged to her. He sighed in frustration as he continued to gaze at the ceiling. “Bugger.”




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