Anyway, some S6 angst for you! This is a companion piece of sorts to Moments, though it's actually completely unrelated in anything but format. It was supposed to be happier and highlight some of Buffy's inner conflict, why something that didn't have to be wrong felt so wrong to her...though in retrospect, I probably should have written it from Buffy's point of view then. Maybe another companion piece? Ah well. It's just a nice feeling to be writing again. :)
Title: More Moments (because I'm just so creative with these things)
Rating: PG-13, much talk of sex without anything explicit
Summary: Spike and Buffy, snapshots of a year gone wrong
There’s that moment when you’re first within her. Her eyes are on you as you rock together, falling forward in ways that you can’t describe as anything more than heaven, this is heaven, my whole life is nothing if not this instant- and you know that she can see the awe and incredulity in your gaze and she still doesn’t move away. You’re rough and you’re tender and you do things with her all night that you’ve only dreamed of before, and she never pulls away, not even when it’s over and she collapses onto your chest, fast asleep. You wrap her in your duster and she snuggles closer, and you think that you might turn to dust because there’s no way in this world that a demon damned could reach this level of bliss.
There’s that moment that marks the next time, when you’re beginning to understand that your joy is her horror, when she comes to you only once her skin has faded away. Fingers grasp blindly at your sides, scraping marks against your arms that are the only sign that she’s truly there. You find her- you could find her in the darkness, if both of you were blind- and you’re within her, and she won’t speak, won’t do more than pant and claw, an animal in heat vicious and unrestrained. It’s stupid- stupid, stupid! to send her away. But this is nothing but a dream, and even when she engulfs you, you can’t forget that.
There’s that moment when she’s limp in your arms, silent and dazed and so far gone that you can’t reach her, huddled behind her new workplace and drenched in the scent of foul burgers. She works on autopilot, rising and falling against you, and when she finally turns to press her forehead against yours, you can see the emptiness in her eyes. She’s so lost, and your heart aches for her even as your body aches beneath her, but there’s nothing you can do except pump into her and watch her face come to life as she convulses.
There’s that moment when you’re fighting a demon and she tackles you midway, stripping off your clothes as you stumble to your crypt, two arms full of passionate lover until you’re slipping backward down to the basement and dropping to the ground just past your bed. She’s crying out in ecstasy now, SpikeSpikeSpikeSpikeSpike a litany against your shoulder, and you exult in the passion and how it seems to free her, for just a few moments, from the tethers that hold her prisoner to this indifferent world.
There’s that moment when you screw up, because it’s been a while and you’ve been due for some idiocy. You seduce her with words designed to pull her to darkness, let your fingers control your lover in ways they haven’t since two creatures of the night painted the darkness blood red, and she reacts because she craves you more than you can ever comprehend. When it’s over, you feel wrong. You’ve tainted an angel and she knows it as well, and when you try to pull her into your arms in apology, she flinches back with much-deserved revulsion.
There’s that moment in her yard, when she’s half-amused, half-caustic, and she lets you bring her to rapture anyway, just outside her home. There’s an irrational part of you that’s pleased that you can make love to her under the tree that’s marked your obsession for so long, but there’s no love here, just a lost girl and the vampire who can reach her only body-to-body, rutting outside her home as the people she loves wait for her within. And you hate it and love her and need her to feel both, but you settle instead for the quick kiss she plants on your lips when you separate.
There’s that moment when she demands that you tell her you love her, when her eyes don’t leave yours as you move together and each time you choke out the caliber of your feelings toward her, she kisses you harder and pulls you closer. You can feel the neediness in the way she hangs on to you, the way she’s beginning to open up and the way that tears pool in the corners of her eyes as she presses her lips in a trail down your neck and lies limp beside you afterwards, her gaze still soft against yours as you watch her settle into your bed. You wonder…
There’s that moment when she says goodbye, and this time it feels real. You can see sorrowful affection in her eyes, regret that she’s fallen so low, and you don’t understand anything but It’s killing me. William. William, killing me, usingyoukillingmeWilliamWilliamWilliam. And you remember that once she cared about you beyond this disaster, that once you were friends, that now you have nothing. That anything real seems more distant now than it once did on her back porch, where there had been no expectations and no tension and no Buffy to bury yourself in to let her forget.
And you watch her walk away.