All About Spike - Print Version
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About: 250 words; Rated R for sex and adult themes.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss
Whedon and assorted companies.
He backs her up against the table and raises her skirt. No
conversation, no seduction, not even a smile. Just the stiffly gelled
white hair, the abrupt angles of jaw and cheek, eyes as hard and
bright and blank as the tundra. Maybe this time it won't be enough.
"You want me. You're gagging for it."
"I do want you, but not like this. Kiss me, talk to me."
"Please, Spike. I want more than this."
"There's nothing more than this."
Maybe this time he'll get undressed, let her look at his body and
warm his skin, let her touch him. Or maybe this time he'll hurt her
and trigger her self-respect so she can fight him off and run away.
Maybe this time he won't keep his eyes closed.
Moving quickly inside her, fingering her to joyless release,
moving faster, shuddering, ending. Resting his head on her shoulder,
rubbing his face in her hair. A whisper, a sigh. "Buffy."
She goes limp beneath him. Always beneath him, his convenient
fucktoy, this lonely, abandoned, broken doll who isn't allowed to be
a human and can't be a proper vengeance demon and can't find anything
to hold onto except this other broken doll.
"No, you're not."
"No, but ... I want to be."
A sharp, startled look, but he has already turned away. A gust
from the closing door ruffles her blouse. Maybe next time he'll be
sorry. Maybe next time he'll take off his coat.