Rating: NC-17 :)
Summary: This is my interpretation of the famous Bronze scene in DT
Disclaimer: Yep. I own it all, and if you believe that, then I have a bridge I can sell you.
Feedback: Please! email@example.com
A/N: Many effusive thanks to my betas: Chris, Ellen and p2. Their assistance was invaluable.
My room was once my refuge, but as I lie in my bed, I realize this room belongs to someone who has long since disappeared. With its candy colored pastels and photographs of happy times, it belongs to the girl who was buried last summer.
Or does it go farther back than that? I haven’t made any major changes since I first moved in when I was sixteen. Was this an unconscious decision on my part? Have I been trying to enshrine my innocence? Trying to remember what I had before I was chosen?
I press my fingers to my temples. My head hurts. I’m tired of thinking. I’ve always preferred action to philosophy.
I run the black scarf through my fingers. Spike must have slipped it in my pocket before I left. I almost hate him for sending me home with a reminder. Perhaps he knew I would try to discard the memories of what we had done when I got home. If I didn’t have the scarf with me, is that what I would have done?
Life used to be so simple. Before…before all the slayer stuff it was shop and look good. Then I was chosen and it became even simpler. I slay, and then I die. Now I don’t have even that.
I can still smell her. Her essence surrounds me. I wonder if her scent would linger on if she were to stop coming here? Or would it eventually fade to a memory? I hope I never have to find out, but I imagine I will. Too pessimistic? I doubt it. Can't imagine she'll stay much longer.
When I am in her, time stretches to infinity and there is no end or beginning to us. But at all other times, there is a feeling of futility. Like we are running out of time. Is it us as a couple or is it her as a mortal?
I pour myself another glass of whiskey. I know I shouldn’t be drinking. After one of our trysts, I become melancholy and philosophical. My inner poet emerges. Drinking doesn’t help, but I need something to focus on besides her. Anything, really, to help me through the long days.
My life officially sucks.
After a restless sleep, filled with images of Spike, I worked all day in Doublemeat Hell. I come home, thinking to indulge in some quiet time. Maybe do some sisterly bonding, but my sister can’t stand to be in my presence. It hurts. I sacrificed myself for her and she would prefer to spend her nights away, with another family. My friends, trying to help, unknowingly make things worse. What had Xander said? “Slinging the doublemeat and pounding the big evil.” If he only knew.
And if he only knew that his words inspired longing rather than shame. What does it say about me that I would rather be with an evil, soulless vampire?
So here we are at the Bronze, trying to recapture what we’ve lost. The indomitable Scooby gang is imploding. We’re all pretending that we’re happy, that we’re all having a good time. Willow is unnaturally bright, hiding behind a happy façade. The cheeriness of Xander and Anya seems off. Almost forced. I wonder if there is trouble brewing there? And me? I am hiding more than the others. We are fracturing, and at this point I really don’t care.
She’s here with her ‘friends’. They remind me of the mimes in New York. The ones who stand perfectly sill, only changing positions when someone puts money in their hats. When they think no one is looking at them, they turn to stone. Their faces only become animated when others are looking. It’s creepy. It’s also a sad state of affairs when I am more alive than them.
But Buffy can break through. I’ve seen her do it. When she is with me, life pulses through her. It rises and crests within her. She is gloriously alive in my arms.
It humbles and excites me that I am the only one who can bring her back to life. Me, a vampire. A man, a thing, who lives in the shadows and never in the sunshine. I bring the light out in her.
Thank god they’re all dancing. I thought I would scream if I had to hear Xander and Anya talk about the wedding one more time or hear Willow lay another subtle guilt trip on me. Why can’t she take care of herself? Why do I have to do it?
I can’t do this. I hate this life.
So many people. I can’t breathe. I have to get out of here. I need to escape. But to where? Is anywhere safe anymore? An unbidden image of Spike’s crypt comes to mind. I push it away. I could have chosen earlier tonight to demur, but I didn’t. I agreed to come to the Bronze, so here I will stay. But not here at the table. I don’t want them to come back. I don’t want to have to make more small talk. And I hate that I don’t want to be with my friends.
My poor little kitten is all alone at the table. Her friends have once again run off. I watch her from the shadows. I want to go to her. I want to erase that vacant look from her face.
Should I go to her? She probably wouldn’t appreciate being seen with me, but how can I leave her? I want to hold her. I want to make it all better. I want her to be alive again.
She’s up and moving now. Perhaps she’s heading out. I can meet her there. No, she’s on the way to the bar. And she walks away again which is good, as I really don’t want to deal with a drunken slayer tonight.
Where to go? It seems everywhere I turn, there are people. The bar is too crowded. The bathrooms are out. They’re cramped and after a busy night, they’re dirty. I look around. I smile. I know where to go.
She’s looking around as if she is lost. She’s so beautiful. My poor little lost kitten.
Her face haunts me even as she smiles. She’s moving again. This time with purpose.
I watch as she approaches the stairs that lead to the catwalk. Her movements are unconsciously sensual. The black lace skirt conforms itself to her every curve as her hips sway. The silky white sleeveless shirt hugs her body, emphasizing her breasts. There is something black around her neck. Is it the scarf? No, I don’t think so. But it’s close enough that it couldn’t have been a coincidence. Was she thinking about me when she dressed for tonight?
Anyone watching her would see a small, fragile woman. But they don't know her like I do. Beneath the vulnerability is strength. I watch the way her calves flex with every step. I can see the muscles beneath the smooth skin. She is dangerous. She is a hunter.
I look up at the catwalk. It’s virtually deserted tonight, which is odd. Perhaps the fates are on our side for once. She’s pulling herself away from the herd. Is she up there to lure unsuspecting vamps to her? Or is she waiting for me? Does she sense me the way I sense her? Does she know I am here? Does she know I am watching her?
Should I follow? Of course I will. I, too, am a predator.
Ah freedom. Breathing space. I lean over the railing. It all looks surreal up from up here. The bodies gyrating on the dance floor, the strobe lights. I feel like I am a solitary creature looking at it from a distance…but I am not alone.
“You see? You try to be with them. But you always end up in the dark. With me.”
“Spike.” The name leaves my lips on an exhalation of breath. He’s standing behind me. I sensed his presence here earlier. I could feel his eyes on me, following my every movement.
Did I want him to follow me? I don’t know. What I do know is that my body is clenching in anticipation, yet I feel the most relaxed I’ve been this evening.
He stands close, but he’s not touching me. He says my name. His breath tickles my ear and raises goose bumps on my arm. I want to step back into his embrace. I want this so badly it frightens me. So I don’t move, except to clutch at the railing.
He raises his arm to my shoulder, trailing his hands lightly down my arm—so lightly that I can barely feel it. I suck in a breath. I shouldn’t want him, but god help me, I do.
I stare at my friends on the dance floor. They are oblivious to what is happening up here. He notices where my gaze is.
“What would they think of you? If they found out all the things you've done.” His hand moves from my waist to the front of my thigh, fingers sweeping upwards. “If they knew who you really were...”
His fingers are a hairsbreadth from my center. They feel so good. I don’t want him to ever stop, but we’re at the Bronze. We’re on the catwalk in plain view. We can’t do this here. “Don’t.” The word comes out much less forcefully than I intended.
His fingers brush my mound and I gasp. He presses his body against mine and whispers, “Stop me.”
His hand slowly travels up my body, lightly skimming my torso, my breast, my collarbone. His hand comes to rest at my neck. He fingers the necklace. “I like this. It reminds me of the scarf I gave you. Did you wear this for me?”
His voice, his beautiful voice, a rough whisper, sends shivers throughout me. “Did you? Did you wear this for me, kitten?”
That one word, ‘kitten’, brings me back to last night in his crypt. The feel of his body as he surrounded me, caressed me, filled me. I want him. I want those feelings back. I press against him, feeling his erection at my back.
“Yes. I wore it for you.”
She wore this for me. This entire outfit, not just the necklace, is for me. Me! I have found my eden on the catwalk of the Bronze. I had thought to arouse her with some foreplay, entice her to come back to my crypt with me, but I don’t think I can wait that long.
“My lovely girl.” My hands are at her shoulders again. She likes it when I run my fingers along her arms. “You look so beautiful. I could just eat you up.” I can tell my words are having an effect on her as both her breath and her heartbeat quicken.
My lips move to the back of her neck. Another sensitive spot. “Do you like this? Do you like the way I make you feel?” My hands move from her shoulders to her breasts. Her breath catches as I lightly caress her nipples. I can feel them pressing against the fabric of her top. She’s not wearing a bra. My naughty Slayer. “Do you want me to stop?”
She pauses, and then thrusts herself forward into my hands. “Don’t stop.” She swallows a moan as I pinch her nipples and rub against her.
If anyone looks up, they will see my hands on her breasts. I almost wish someone would. I want them to see me possessing her. I want them to see the look of ecstasy that is on her face when I touch her.
My hands move lower, over her abdomen and to the apex of her thighs. I caress her through her skirt. Another soft moan. She’s moving, pressing into my hands and then back into me. I tighten my hands and pull her hips to me. She gasps my name.
“What do you want, love? Do you want me to continue? Do you want me to stop?”
One of her hands reaches between us and grasps my erection through my jeans. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I groan. I can’t help it. The feel of her hand on me is driving me crazy. I can’t wait any longer.
I move my hands around to her back and reach under her skirt. Even in the dim lighting, I can see the blush that rises to the surface when I discover she’s not wearing any underwear. “My wicked Slayer,” I whisper as with one hand, I caress her ass, and with the other I reach between her legs. She is so wet for me. Soft mewling noises emerge from the back of her throat as I run my fingers along her. She’s moving against my hand. I am so hard at this point that I *really* can’t wait any longer.
“Undo my pants.” My voice comes out as a harsh whisper, an echo of how it usually sounds. The hand that had been clutching the railing reaches behind her to join her other hand. She quickly unbuttons my pants. She pushes them down a bit so that I spring free. I growl as she takes me in her hands.
“Now. It has to be now.” She nods in mute assent. “Lean forward, love, and tilt your hips back.” I hate the absence of her hands on me as she reaches for the railing again, but I am assuaged by the fact that I will be in her any second now.
With one hand, I hold her hip, while with the other I guide myself into her. I lose any semblance of control as soon as I feel my tip entering her wetness. I thrust all the way into her in one hard stroke. We both pause. The pleasure is so intense that I’m afraid that I am going to come right then and there if I move.
Oh god. He feels so good. But he’s not moving. I need him to move. A whimper escapes me as I press back onto him. He groans and flexes.
“Please Spike. Don’t stop.”
“No, love. I won’t ever stop.”
He begins thrusting in shallow movements. I arch back against him. His hands reach forward and caress my breasts.
My head falls forward. My eyes, which have been closed, open. They slowly focus on the crowd below us. Oh god! I’m at the Bronze. My friends are still dancing and I’m up here, with Spike inside me. I stiffen. I can’t believe I’m doing this. This isn’t me, is it?
“Stay with me love.” Spike of course notices my reaction.
“Yes,” he whispers in my ear. “We’re up here. We’re away from them all. We’re above them.” His mouth nibbles on the skin on my neck. “We are the strong ones. Day after day you work to save them all. Isn’t it time you were rewarded?”
“Yes,” I whisper helplessly.
“And I’m your reward, right?”
Is he? Is he my reward? I give them my all. I work tirelessly to save them. I’ve sacrificed myself for them. Isn’t it time I got something back? He thrusts harder into me. The pleasure is intense. “Yes, Spike.”
“Yes what love?”
“Yes, you’re my reward.”
He groans and pinches my nipples. I want to scream, but I can’t. People would notice, my friends would notice. I swallow the scream and close my eyes.
“No. Don't close your eyes.” His voice is seductive, his breath cool against my neck. “Look at them. That's not your world. You belong in the shadows... with me. Look at your friends... and tell me you don't love getting away with this right under their noses.”
I watch my friends. They are oblivious. Not only tonight, but for several weeks now. They have no idea that I find pleasure -- screaming, mind- blowing -- pleasure with a vampire.
“Yes, oh yes,” I hiss. And I realize I do.
One of his hands moves from my breast and slips beneath the front of my skirt. His finger rubs against me in time with his thrusts and I forget all about my friends.
“Come for me baby. I want to feel you come for me.” His thrusts grow harder, shorter. I am so close. I want this so badly. I press against him and I explode.
I feel her muscles clench around me as she reaches her peak. Her orgasm sets off my own, and suddenly I’m falling. I can feel it clear through to my bones. It seems that every time I’m with her I come harder and longer than ever before. Tonight is no exception.
We both shudder and gasp as we come to rest. I’m leaning heavily on her, and I don’t want to move. Her breathing and heartbeat slow, and I relax with her. Slowly and gently I pull. I right myself and smooth her skirt back in place. She is still leaning heavily on the rail, and her body shudders as I run my hands over her.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly. She shivers in my embrace, but she doesn’t push me away. I don’t want this night to end. And perhaps neither does she.
“Come home with me.”
“Come home with me.”
The words are enticing. They lull me. I want to go with him, but I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be doing any of this. It’s all wrong. What has happened to my life? Why is it that the rough whisper of a vampire makes the most sense to me?
I watch my friends as they dance frenetically on the floor below. They haven’t noticed I’ve been gone. The lyrics of a song came to mind. ‘Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.’ All of them were dancing to forget. What gives them the right to seek solace when I can’t?
I want to forget too. I’ve had enough of pain. I want it gone, if only for a while. If they can forget for a while, why can’t I? Does it really matter what form my dance takes?
I’ve made my decision. I look up at Spike and whisper, “Yes.”
Continued in Chapter 4, Part 1 - Chocolate