E-mail: moonwitch@werewolf.co.uk
Pairing: what do you think?
Rating: U
Distribution: Redssoulmates, Breathe, Val, Live for me. Anyone else want, take, have.
Summary: Song fic about what you can’t have
Disclaimer: song belongs to Alanis Morrisette, Spike etc are Joss’ playthings.
Notes: I felt all angsty.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was night, but she wouldn’t be home. He’d seen her at the watchers house with the rest of the Scooby’s, researching the latest demon that crept out of the Hellmouth. She would likely be gone all night, staying until she had unravelled the mystery and saved them all again.
Spike rummaged in his pocket for the copy of the front door key. He had stolen her key from her purse, gotten it copied and returned it before she had even realised it missing. The handle turned under his callused palm.
*I went to your house
Walked up the stairs
Opened the door without ringing the bell
Walked down the hall
Into your room where I could smell you*
Willow’s bedroom. Mecca. It smelled like her, all innocence and vanilla. It was intoxicating and made him feel so dizzy. He took in deep, unneeded breaths to try imprint the smell into his memory. Like it wasn’t already.
*And I shouldn't be here
Without permission
Shouldn't be here...
Would you forgive me love if I danced in your
shower
Would you forgive me love if I lay in your
bed
Would you forgive me love if I stay all afternoon?*
Spike ran his hands across her pillow imagining where she slept. He lay down on the soft sheets and was surrounded by her scent. Drowning in it. Drowning in Willow. A willing victim who never wanted to be saved.
*I took off my clothes
Put on your robe
Went through your drawers
And I found your cologne
Went down to the den
Found your cd's
And I played your Joni*
He took off his prize duster and laid it on the bed hoping against hope that it would absorb some of her scent, so he would have something Willow to carry around with him when he was cold at night.
Spike opened her drawers and cupboards looking at the clothes she wore and able to recall the last time she’d worn each garment. That fuzzy jumper- at the factory, that blue shirt- two weeks ago when she’d dropped her soda on the floor, that purple skirt when they’d researched the Ebolo demon. He traced he contours of the solid wood chest and found her cosmetics on the desk. Not that she used them a lot.
But there was the vanilla spray she used. He pressed down on the nozzle and the spray filled the room. He slipped the bottle into his pocket. It wasn’t stealing- not really.
Spike wandered over the stereo next to her bed and pressed play without looking at what was in. he wanted to listen to whatever she had been listening to when she had gone to bed last night. The soft sounds of country filled the air, a male voice talking about longing. He knew all about longing. Desire. Love. Hope. Wanting. So desperately wanting.
*And I shouldn't stay long
You might be home soon
Shouldn't stay long
Would you forgive me love if I danced in your
shower
Would you forgive me love if I laid in your
bed
Would you forgive me love if I stay all afternoon?*
Would she forgive him if she found him here, if she came home early and saw him? Would she blush prettily amazed that a demon was in love with her or would she be gloriously angry? Fire burning at the thought of him in her home. Disbelieving, disgusted?
Spike reached her bathroom, where she showered and saw the candles around the bathtub. He let the water flow, imagining her in there. Relaxed and waiting for him. The candles burning low and the lights out as he kissed her slowly- oh so slowly savouring her skin. Sighing he turned off the taps and saved the fantasy for later as he went to get his duster.
*I burned your incense
I ran a bath
I noticed a letter that sat on your desk
It said:"Hello, love.
I love you so, love.
Meet me at midnight."
And no, it wasn't my writing
I'd better go soon
It wasn't my writing*
Spike stared at the paper in his hands, crushing it with his anger. How he hated that witch, stealing his Willow. She got to touch her and see her in daylight and say and do all the things he wished he could.
Tears of frustration gathered in his eyes and fell, unnoticed and unbidden to the floor in his anguish. He swiped at his face and picked up his duster leaving the room in a flurry of leather and pain.
*So forgive me love if I cry in your shower
So forgive me love for the salt in your bed
So forgive me love If I cry all afternoon*
The end.