All About Spike - Print Version
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Yes, Iím still struggling with THAT scene.
She knew this place. An old, abandoned house, ready to crumble. She knew this dance. Trading blows with Spike. They'd been fighting for what seemed like hours.
She pushed him against a wall, kissing him. Swung him around and threw him across the room, pushing up against him. Reaching for his zipper. Shock blanketed his face. "No, Buffy. Not if you don't mean it." She ignored him.
She zipped it down, pulling him out of his pants. Grabbed his hard length. He was crying. Wimp. Always crying. She forced herself onto him, pushing him deep inside. It felt so good. She moved on him, not registering his protests. Why didn't he like it? She thought he would like it. Well, who cared? She had what she wanted.
She flipped them over and onto the floor. They fell through, falling, falling, him struggling against her, but she was stronger. They hit the cement of the basement, splintered wood everywhere. He exploded, in her and on her, and was gone.
Her eyes snapped open. Her room was dark and cold, her eyes moist with tears. It wasn't fair. She was the victim. Tonight, in her own bathroom, with him. It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair.