All About Spike

Desire or Disgust
By Rocky

She grabs it—good firm grip on it. I’m at her mercy. Anything, love. Anything you want.

Her face is tired and worn; sweaty and sticky from the life-sucking job she’s settled herself into. Pulls at her pride… spoils her strength. And she calls me the bloodsucker.

She’s moved her hand up now, and has started on the belt. I slide a hand underneath the flaring fabric and run it just along her ribcage… tucking it against her flaming skin, right where it belongs. God, it’s so right.

She looks up from my belt then. Her eyes have turned from chestnuts to cinders, and she burns through me with just the glance. Presently she slides against the wall, fist forcing my hand from its paradise. She then grabs the duster and yanks me her way.

And I place my hands against the wall as she tugs at the jeans. I wage war in my head for control of those hands. Touch her… just her hair. Just one touch. The fingers flicker towards her like a moth to the flame. No. Always how she wants. Always please her. She doesn’t need your monster touch. And I dig further into the brick wall, feeling the fingernails bleed away.

The pain disappears when she frees me. God, she can be gentle… she can be achingly gentle. Her soft hands caress, and my hands clench to fists against the wall. God, I have to touch her. So careful and sweet and soft, she is.

Her arms drop away then, hanging limply at her sides, succumbing to her exhaustion and disgust. And she is disgusted tonight. She doesn’t even blink as I trace a finger down her neck, down her breast and belly, to her center. She doesn’t flinch when I grip her there; try to soothe her in my hold. She isn’t soothed. She’s disgusted.

My poor, sick desire… I fumble with her clothes—anything to touch her longer. She ultimately assists me, pushing my desperate, clumsy fingers away to do it herself. And then she grips at me again, pulling me closer; guiding me inside.

I go slow, flexing soft into her snug warmth. One arm drifts under the duster and around my back, pulling me closer. My nose scrapes against a brick, so I pull back to look at her. To watch those eyes as they watch me loving her. But she’s staring past me… past us. She’s focused out into blackness.

I bring our faces together then, brushing my lips over her skin; tasting my girl—my real girl—underneath all the oil and salt. I meet her mouth, open and dangerous. Don’t force her. Do as she tells… I wait for her lips to taste mine.

But her head falls, and I struggle to stay hard. Her sadness is addictive, and God, is it contagious. I slide my head around, pressing my palms hard into the wall, trying to flex every muscle I’ve got.

“Harder,” her timid voice demands.

She wants me to punish her. Deep down she wishes I’d bite her… suck everything from her and let her go. Won’t be the villain tonight, love, don’t make me. Let me play the saint this once. I beg her in slower motion, lifting my eyes to hers in hopes that she’ll understand.

She just says it louder.

I thrust deep up into her then… hard and wicked, like she wants. So strong that it makes her whimper. So strong that hatred builds. That’s what she wants… she doesn’t want to make love. She makes hate now. Loves to make hate. She gasps, eyes squeezing shut, body squeezing me. However she wants. Pull out, shove in…. push and shove, strong and fast until she doesn’t want it anymore.

I’m shielding her now, burying her up against the wall where there’s no escape and no capture. Just the disgusted Slayer and her pathetic, soulless, slave. And it takes hold of me then… the sickness inside burrows through every vein, roaring for freedom.

She moans, and I grunt to hold him back. You’re not wanted… my girl doesn’t want you here. My hands are clutching the wall now, searching for some kind of release. Her hands lift to my shoulders, grasping and pulling me closer. God, so close. You don’t want him this close now, Buffy.

He fights to the surface, where I’m already taking deep breaths to fight him off. He smells her excitement… her heat radiates towards him, daring him to bite. Oh God. She places her head back against the wall, baring her neck to him.

He shoves teeth at her throat in a vicious attempt, and is silenced by her petal-soft skin. It kills him when I kiss her, and he disappears deep within. There she is… my splendid girl. My tongue dips along her collar. She finishes then, and unwinds as I nestle against her vulnerable skin.

Her palms force me back now—slide me out and away. She begins to adjust and I turn to finish off in the corner. She sighs.

“I didn’t want to…”

Gratification done—but nowhere near gratified—I button up and face her. She’s broken and disgusted. Of course, disgusted. Cleaning herself up as best she can.

“Needn’t worry about it if you never go back in there,” I say, and then brace myself for her inevitable violent defense.

But she just keeps tidying, scratching rough, DoubleMeat napkins against her deliciously smooth inner thighs.

“I can do better…” I offer, drawing near.

She tucks back, “Just go.”

The warmth from her body has completely left me now, and I stand before her as the cold, lifeless, monster that I am. “You won’t come?”

“You know I can’t.” Her eyes shift to the floor, and she turns her back, “I have work to do.”

I slink back, far back into the shadows as she tucks in her shirt and zips. She lifts the hideous hat from the ground and sets it atop her heavenly hair. Sin is what that is.

Not even a good-bye when she retreats through the door… not to be expected. I wander around to the front, where I can watch her through the shining windows… like watching a brilliant actress in a tragic movie. Watch her flash a smile to hide her sadness… her shame…

Her disgust.

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