She watches as he lifts the lighter. The waiting cigarette dangles from his lips.
Sooo sexy.
No, wrong all wrong! Cigarette smoking vampire. Evil. nasty.
Orally fixated.
His luscious lower lip softly caresses the tip, vibrating with the slight intake of breath as the flame sparks the tobacco into life.
What would it take to bring her back to life?
She inhales. The smell of leather and beer mingled with cigarette sends a flush to her cheeks. She knows the answer.
“Up for a little grunt work?”
The Darkness calls from his wicked mouth. Forbidden fruit she longs to taste.
_________________________________________________________________________
2. Hearts and Flowers
He looked down at his handiwork and smirked, pleased with the potential consequences of his newly-discovered freedom from the restraints of the chip. The pattern on the crisp white linen pleased him - red droplets circling a heart-shaped centre-piece.
Now for some music to go with the mood. Spike rifled through his albums long-depleted of his favourite tracks sniffing with disgust.
Nothing suitable. Thanks Harmony!
“Have to go bigger with the decoratin’ then,” he muttered softly tossing more rose petals on the bed. “Can’t expect a girl like Buffy to fall for the ol’ seduction routine without the proper preparation.”
----------------------------------------------------------------
Nothing wrong with Spike, something wrong with me. I've been Spuffyfied
______________________________________________________________________________
3. The Warrior
The crater was still smoking months after the Hellmouth had been destroyed, taking with it all that once was Sunnydale. Tara's grave, Joyce's, even her own, the one from which she'd clawed her way out a lifetime ago; the inscriptions on their headstones obliterated in the white heat that swept everything away in a fiery storm of annihilation.
Buffy searched the darkness of the depths, looking for a glimmer, a sign that something remained. Finally she sighed, dropping a single red flower into the hole.
For remembrance. For a fallen warrior of the light. The only memorial he'd ever have.
____________________________________________________________________________
The First Step.
She was all business, every move a study in grace and practised art, the classic sword stroke conferring the mark, the first step in my transformation. Cool intensity amid the noise and heat, she matched me blow for blow, ever mindful that the loss of her weapon would bring death at the hands of one who never needed to reach for his. There I became the Slayer of Slayers.
Second Skin.
Nikki had some of your style. Never knew what she'd do next. She was inventive, so full of passion and fire. Almost sent me down a few times; leading me, teasing, dancing me right to the edge, finally pitching over into the abyss. She was full of something I couldn’t touch, so I took something of hers as a reminder; a second skin for William the Bloody Awful Poet.
Third Time Unlucky?
Your death was different. In the first place, I didn’t seek this one. In the second, it wasn’t anything I did, but rather what I didn’t that was its cause. I’d give anything to change what took place that night, to save you a thousand different ways, protect her, go out fighting instead of you. Foolish dreams? Wishful thinking? Your gift, you said. I call it 'third time unlucky'.
__________________________________________________________________________
Impossible Dreams
He'd dreamed of killing her - the ever-present fantasy of his waking hours. Lots of different ways danced in his mind.
Dancing. It's all they'd ever done. That was before the Soul of course, or so he told himself. Perhaps Angelus had it right after all. "To kill this girl you have to love her."
God help him, he did.
Spike felt her fingers entwine with his, gazed at the fiery light engulfing them.
Pure love.
But whose?
Both?
That would surely be the end of her.
Hers?
Best deny the truth in her words and set her free.
______________________________________________________________________________
What is Love?
"My eyes are clear." Had he really said that? Stupid pratt! Just because he'd got a soul, didn't mean he wasn't jealous. Something had changed though, and he knew whatever he wanted it wasn't all about Eros any more, despite the passion. Love came in all forms. Like little chubby cherubs with a poncy bow and arrow adorning the gaudy cards on display at this time of the year. What idiot chose that? Anyway, Valentine wasn't just about Eros, either. Maybe the Greeks had it right all along? Pity that. Agapé Day just didn't have the same ring to it..
_________________________________________________________________________
Set in early AtS Season 5. Written for Buffyx and stemming from an on-line discussion about what Buffy might be doing in Europe.
Why Europe?
"I will never, ever touch you again."
"Ever!"
"I should leave."
"I'm not ready for you not to be here."
"Just hold me."
"It was the best night of my life . . all I did was hold you and watch you sleep . . and, yeah, . . . I'm terrified."
"I love you."
"No you don't . . . . but thanks for saying it."
"He's gone . . . he's really really gone. I left it too late . . . to tell him, . . . and it didn't make any difference, he wouldn't stay with me."
Buffy gazed into the crater as the Sunnydale sign slowly toppled over the edge and into its depths. All of Sunnydale gone. Spike had destroyed the whole of Sunnydale, and in doing so, he'd saved the world.
"You have to go on living, so one of us is living."
More than that, he'd set her free. Free to live.
"What does that mean?"
"To live?"
"To bake? To love?"
"What do I love?"
"To shop. I love to shop."
"I'm drowning in footwear."
"Shoes!
"Italy."
"To Italy then."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Spike Dreams
Every night he saves her.
He dreams about her every time he sleeps. Just as he had done after she'd jumped from that tower. Just as he had done when The First held him captive. He knows they are dreams, knows he can’t stop dreaming, knows he doesn’t want to. The dreams are the only thing stopping him from rushing off to find her.
Even if the Big Ponce won’t tell him where she is, he’d find her. Stupid Git thinks he has a monopoly on her love, thinks he knows what’s best for her. Since when did loving someone mean making their decisions for them? 'Course that's what Angel does best, make decisions for others.
"I love you."
"No you don’t but thanks for saying it."
That wasn’t making a decision for her, was it? It was making sure she didn’t make the wrong one.
He says it again in his dreams. Knows it's a lie.
"No you don’t but thanks for saying it."
He changes nothing.
Does nothing differently.
Every night he saves her.