By Various Authors
The challenge, posted on SpikesSalvation and Tabula Rasa, was to write a story (not a vignette) in 100 words or less. Stories are sorted by author's first name.
NC-17 (The rest are PG-13 or less)
"Give me poetry."
Hand touching thigh. Whispery whimper. Stretching fingers, arching back. Lips against her knee. Tropical zones, the smell of beaches and swollen sex. Undulating hips. Muffled cries. Too much, too little. Needs more. Needs everything.
Eyes fluttering, skin covered in sweat. Damp, moist, wet. Fingers in volcanoes. Strangled scream. Can't say a word; her muscles are an earthquake, his tongue on the epicenter. Faster, faster, God, yes, over, circling, taking, more, love him so much...
Gasping, twitching, spasms and shimmers. "You... You didn't... Say anything."
A chuckle, rolling slow, molasses and murder.
"Didn't have to."
Spike threw another "log" into the fire.
"Luv, we need another method of body disposal."
"I like the poetic justice, darling." Drusilla removed the deaths' head insignia from her new hat and pinned on a cameo of Queen Victoria.
Behind them, the earth erupted and a fledging arose. Spike and Drusilla turned expectantly to him.
"Sieg Heil" he shrieked, arm raised in salute.
Spike and Drusilla exchanged glances. "Kill him, my dark knight" Drusilla urged.
Spike twisted the fledging's head 180 degrees. And wiped his hands clean of dust.
The English couple laughed gleefully. "Problem solved" Spike smirked.
"Gomez! I adore your blond hair! It's so damaged! C'est etrange!"
"Tish, you spoke French!" Gomez/Spike seized Morticia/Buffy's hand, kissed her palm, lips traveling to her neck. Tango ensued.
"Dad are you macking on Mom again?" cried Pughsley/Xander.
"Wednesday! Come help me guillotine Ms. Edith!" shouted Grandmama/Drusilla.
"Get Out! Get out! GET OUT! It's Uncle Fester!" Wednesday/Dawn squealed.
"Fester!" Gomez/Spike exclaimed. "You have hair?"
"And it grows straight up!" Morticia/Buffy cooed.
Fester/Angel sulked, brooded, frowned.
"Let's play Stake the Undead!" Gomez/Spike gleefully suggested.
Fester/Angel's dust is pushing up lightbulbs. The Addams family lived happily ever after!
The man behind the desk waits in a bored slouch. A blonde girl and a white-haired man in a leather coat sit across from him in the windowless room.
"We need it, it's the only thing big enough for everyone"
"Fine, but I still say..."
"No", she breaks in and turns back to the waiting dealer, "The Desoto and the SUV for that RV"
He grunts, and pushes the keys across the desk. The girl sticks out a hand, but the man grabs it first.
"You know I'm driving" he says with a smile, "Lady can't handle a stick"
"I love you," she said as her head turned. Her thoughts racing to finish what she wanted to say.
"No you don't slayer. I'm no good. I don't belong. I shouldn't be here anymore. We can't be together luv. Nothing good can come out of something so evil."
"No, Spike, I love you."
"Slayer, say it again and I'll have to kill you."
She sat down on the step trying not to cry.
He walked over to her and lifted her chin and looked into her eyes.
"Do you really?" he said.
"I do," her words muffled by a kiss.
"We give you back your soul."
The demon touched his chest and the power ripped through him. Spike screamed.
In Sunnydale, the remnants of the Order of Aurelius, some unknowing members, started at the sudden surge that rippled through them.
Deep in Santa Monica Bay, Angel's eyes opened. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible.
In Brazil, Drusilla wept as she saw her brave, strong knight bound in golden light. He was glowing, glistening…effulgent. As she had once seen, he followed his heart and imagination to walk in worlds she could not understand.
The King of Cups would have his picnic.
"So, the whelp tried to get you back by buying you prezzies with the cash he got from his new gig," Spike said.
"Yes," Anya confirmed. "And even though I *love* money, I told him I was not gonna be bought, that I wanted a real love... then, he laughed. He said I was a heartless monster. What did I care about relationships?"
"Well," she said and raced in and back out of the shop. "I had Dawn's friend wish him into this." In her arms, Anya was holding a chimpanzee.
Spike laughed. "How fitting a punishment for Monkeyboy."
First, I was.
Hope, crucified on the edge of conceit.
The pain of life, the helplessness of entrapment in my rapture. Burning embarassment in my mouth. Shoulders shaking in mirth. Glittering mockery in their eyes. The shock of stolen life leaving my veins.
Then, I became.
Hope, resurrected on the thrill of the chase.
The beauty of death, the power of utter uncaring in my descent. Bleeding souls on my tongue. Bodies pulsing under my fist. Glittering fear in their eyes. Stolen life entering my veins.
Now, I am.
The crypt door swung open, startling Clem. Junk food flew everywhere.
"Spike! You're back!" Clem stood up, turned off Andy Griffith, and brushed himself off.
"Ohh, I made you spill your snacks." Spike burst into tears.
Clem made his way over and rested his hand on Spike's shoulder. "What's wrong buddy?"
"I'm evil! I killed thousands of people, enjoyed it even. I attacked the woman I love, and scared my best friend. Look at the mess I've made!" He cried even harder, sobs wracking his body.
Clem patted his shoulder. "I see the soul thing worked out for you."
Willow lay on the floor at the coven, weeping. It had taken weeks, but they had finally gotten out all the black magic. As sobs wracked her body, she noticed a glow coming towards here. It smelled like Tara.
"Tara, I miss you so much."
"Sweetie, I've been here the whole time. You've just been too full of rage to notice."
"Please don't leave me again."
"I'll be here as long as you need me. Until you are whole again."
Willow felt something gently brush her hair. Love filled her and she knew she would be fine.
Christy's Site, also called All About Spike
Whispers on the Wind
Early fall. A time for new beginnings.
The Santa Ana winds whipped at her hair, teasing it out of its ponytail and blowing it around her face. Hot and dry, they seemed to contain voices, whispers she could not quite hear.
She felt his presence then. She turned slowly in a circle, seeking out her protector.
"Where are you?" she whispered.
The wind carried her words to him from his watch. Unready to reveal himself, he blew a kiss and the wind carried it back to her, caressing her face.
He saw her smile before she walked away.
“Dawn’s away. Giles’ at a meeting. Just us.”
“Sneaky, aren’t we?” Spike asked.
“Keeping you to myself tonight,” she answered. “We’ll tell people tomorrow.”
“So, how long’s the Watcher staying?”
“Few days. Willow check. And we had a spare room.”
Barely undressed in her room, they heard a shriek. They ran to investigate. Buffy flipped open the master bedroom door and on the lights.
Anya and Giles dove under the sheets. Buffy ran back to her room to grab a robe.
Spike leaned against the bedroom door. “So, Rupes,” he asked, “been working out?”
Surrounded by devastation, Buffy lies immobile, under a huge slab of concrete. Her head in Spike's lap. The sun is rising. Buffy stirs.
"Did we win?"
"The Hellmouth is closed forever"
"I'm finished, save yourself."
"Too late, love: wherever you're going, I'm going too."
Fade to a crowded Victorian drawing room. A distressed young man is about to fling open the door to the night when a blonde girl grasps his arm.
"Forget Cecily's foolish words; you said you would stay at the party for me."
Turning, he replied, "I never break a promise to a lady."
She knew why he'd gone to the magic shop -- he'd told her.
"I wanted something to dull the pain."
And now, five months later, the pain was still there, she only had to look at him to know it.
And she knew the pain as well, it lived inside her.
"I want to help you," she said.
"Go away," he moaned.
"No. I won't."
"You can't help me." "I can. I've learned a little bit of magic. I have something that will take away the pain -- both our pain."
He looked up at her in confusion.
"I love you," she said.
He's my pig, mom gave me that pig. I love Spike and he can have Mr. Gordo near when in my bed, but you'd think he'd never had a friend before. Oh, that's kinda true, isn't it? It matters now, so it's okay. He steals it from me every night - for his soul, a security blanket.
Although sometimes he uses it for a kinky game of looking for truffles. It's time to make the bed and he won't budge, he squeezes the pig, eyes shut tight.
"Come on, get up."
"No. Gordo warm, Buffy smell."
I want my pig back.
Season 7: Salient Points
"I don't want to see you around here."
* * *
"You look so – "
"Don't worry, Slayer; I'm gone."
* * *
"Spike - "
"Look, Slayer, I'm just going."
"I need to – to thank you."
"Don't mention it. It was nothing. Really."
* * *
"Spike – "
"I'm just away, Slayer."
"Look, you don't have to go."
"Thought that's what you wanted."
"But – you're different now."
* * *
"Spike – "
"Spike, I know what you did. I know it was for us."
"Buffy – Buffy, love, don't cry…"
He's getting impatient now, strong hands skimming soft breasts, tweaking at pert nipples roughly. His hands go lower, sliding and groping, and, on cue, her moans increase in volume. They madden him and he runs questing hands through her long hair, fingers splayed out.
He hisses with frustration and slides one finger between those perfect lips, growling angrily as she automatically starts to suck, to lick. His finger explores the warm dampness and withdraws.
Giving in, he throws himself into a chair and stares moodily at his annoying new toy.
"Wanker must have put an off switch _somewhere_," he mutters.
Old Dog, New Tricks
Set during 'Potential' Season 7
She wants me to help train these children. Teach them which end bites. It's killing me not to drain them, and to remember when I did, without thinking, without remorse.
It's torture to hunt them and pause, fangs inches from their neck, the smell of their fear coating my mouth like honey.
And it's scaring me. She knows how fast I can do it. She'd never reach me.
But she just stands and watches, smiling.
She trusts me, and it's like a muzzle and a leash all in one.
And a lifeline.
Am I being trained too?
Did I pass?
He senses her approach with time to spare. This is his territory after all and when it's invaded by the only creature who preys on his kind, he knows.
He flings a cloth over the jigsaw, careful not to disturb that tricky bit of sky he's been working on all morning. All his jigsaws have blue sky in them, somewhere. The crosswords and the solitaire go into a chest and he throws some T shirts on top.
When the Slayer's foot kicks in the door, the Big Bad's sitting on his coffin lid, black nail varnish brush poised, image intact.
"Dawn, arms higher, feet apart." Buffy said.
"Shut up." Dawn brought the ax down.
"If you got blood on my boots..."
"Buffy! Behind you." Like tag team wrestling, get one down there's another.
"Ok. watch and learn." Buffy sent the demon crashing to the ground. First shock, than peace on it's dying face.
Buffy saw tears glistening in Dawn's eyes. "Dawn, are you hurt?"
"Buffy, they're dead."
"Dawn..." Maybe it was too soon for Dawn after all, "Dawn, this is what I...we do, kill demons, and vampires."
Sometimes the hardest lesson isn't how to kill them, but when.
Another Saturday Night
Buffy whirled through the graveyard, kicking, staking. Dawn shadowed her, picking off the stragglers. Buffy's glance flicked the long-empty crypt as they passed.
"Saw you look", Dawn sneered behind her. "Can't get over the rapist?"
Dawn felt betrayed. She was 16. She needed gentleness and understanding and nurturing and slack-cutting and suddenly Buffy had had enough.
"Dawn. It's none of your damn business. How I feel is my own concern. If you can't shut up, go home."
Dawn stared, astonished, silent. At last. Buffy, satisfied, turned away. A familiar voice drawled,
"Why, Slayer. I never knew you cared."
"You're still beneath me, Spike."
"Buff - "
That little trollop. I can't believe I got a soul for her. For that cheap, illiterate, smug, dim, skinny, pathetic little bottle-blonde, can't get a real job, can't even get a real date, so let's shag a vampire - I wish I didn't care. I wish it didn't hurt. I wish - I wish that just for once that sorry excuse for a frat boy's wet dream knew how it feels to be treated like this ...
... "Cecily? What ..."
::six months later::
"Xander? Why don't you want to tell anyone?"
"Shut up, Buffy ..."
"Spike!" said Buffy. "You came back!"
Spike looked at her intently. "Not gonna stake me then?"
"No," she replied. "Over the summer, I realised that I treated you dreadfully. All you wanted was to be loved. I'm ready to do that now, Spike. I --"
He interrupted, "That's great, pet. I've got a plane to catch, though. Heading back to England; Giles got me a place to live. Just wanted to catch up on unfinished business."
Buffy blushed. "That would be me."
He frowned in puzzlement. "You? Nah - I just came for the coat."
"Sod off, tosser. You won the last five games."
"I did, didn't I? Boo-hoo."
"Rupert, no need to be nasty."
"Well, as they say, lucky in love, unlucky at cards."
"Wanker. Gloating's bad form. And not any more, not the other. Right, love?"
"Is there a problem, Spike?"
"Your ex-Watcher's being an arse, love. Tell him to stop."
"Like I have any power over Giles. But I do know who does."
"Now, Buffy- "
"Anyanka! Your man requires punishment!"
"Rupert, have you been bad?"
"Perhaps. Depends on how you want to punish me, darling."
"Come with me and find out."
He's void, like blank spaces in time or mystery in pages you stuck together as children. Tightly pressed with Elmer's Glue. You rip them apart, destroy and create. That was he, underneath long black. Up from hell or down from everywhere. Voice accenting from a place you have never been. Through him all the things someday you will do, live through, hurt, or part with. Still sit bent on the curb, wind rustling by. Flesh peaking out from clothing tears, showing bones, muscles creased under folds of skin, through purity is damage and meat does not fit through a straw.....
Dimmed lights. Flashing colors. Pulse pounding music. Bodies gyrating.
Senses are alive. A buzz, a tingling, enveloping her, until there is nothing else. Feelings abound: joy, desire, anticipation, love. So long without.
A brush against her hair, the lightest of touches. Pivoting swiftly, finding nothing. Scanning the shadows, searching where the light won't reach.
Moving with measured grace towards the stairs. Climbing slowly, each step deliberate.
Standing on the balcony, staring at the crowd below, but seeing nothing. All senses attuned to just one thing, one person.
The air changes, solidifies. Butterfly kisses caress her neck. She smiles.
"Welcome home, Spike."
"You go in the back," she said, then waited before kicking in the front door.
Vampires jumped, caught in the act of draining willing humans. Those who remembered her past raid fled in terror, only to be stopped by one of their own. Soon all were dust.
"Riley." She stated. "Where is Sam?"
"Gone. She wasn't real. It was a trick."
"To make you break it off with him." He approached. "You belong with me, Buffy."
She coldly assessed the blood running down his arm. "You're beneath me."
She left, taking the arm of the one who was worthy.
If Wishes Were Horses
"Sure you don't wanna just kick the crap out of me?" Anya asked. "I'd let you, y'know."
"No, you really need to train," Buffy replied, ducking a weakly thrown one-two combination. "No, like *this* -" Her punch-kick sent Anya reeling.
"OWW! JEEZ!" She doubled over. "I SLEPT with SPIKE, Buffy. GET OVER IT!"
"I CAN'T! Knowing you've seen him like I have - knowing you'll never see him again without remembering - God, I WISH you'd just FORGET how sexual he is -"
Anya's face morphed. "DONE."
"W-what?" Buffy stammered.
"What what?" Anya blinked rapidly.
"Oh, nothing…" Sly smile. "Lunch?"
Rebirth in Dust
The abomination croaked and rasped, clawing hands into dusty rock. It let itself drown in the persistence of memory, wallow in the consequence of a will that was bound now by three, yet through its prison’s creation, liberated from the chains of all.
That which had been taken from it, that which it itself had destroyed.
A cave’s darkness smiled upon it, and on tattered strength it rose. A demon’s whisper surrounded the soul, the first words it was to hear.
"It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything."
The Finch Feeder
Moonlight layered the carved figurine in her hand. She'd found it inside the crevice just below the birdfeeder's branch. Another *gift* she'd not shared with anyone.
A breeze carried scent she'd never forget; dropping a familiar silhouette.
Caressing the wood; she's afraid to glance upward.
An uneasy sigh. "I'm no mockingbird, pet."
"Yeah..well, you're no Bob Ewell, either."
She held the statuette at eyelevel. "The not so perfect little us?"
He sat upon the far end of the same step; elbows on knees, head hunched.
"Thanks for coming back."
Buffy skipped though the front door, bursting with delight.
God, she wished Spike had been there to hear the news, but the only available appointment was at noon.
They'd dreamt of this for years. A whole new world for them was just beginning.
Butterflies danced inside her as she glanced into the other bedroom, already imagining how they'd redecorate.
Spike appeared, lighting up at the sight of her glowing face. "You mean--?"
She gave her lover a grin.
"The bank approved Dawn's student loan. Soon we'll have this place all to ourselves!"
Their chick would *finally* leave the nest.
The End. :)
Click here to submit a story. Make sure it's 100 words or less.