Never Forget
Feb. 18th, 2014 09:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptTitle: Never Forget
Author: Kat Lee
Characters/Pairing: Spuffy, of course!
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: SB-Fag-Ends: What if Buffy forgot Valentine's Day?
Word Count: 999
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, not the author.
"He went this way," she says, and he watches as she stands erect once more from checking the bloody stains on the walls of the sewer. Her weapons clang against each other as she stands; the metallic sound echoes in the tunnel. This isn't where he wanted to be tonight, not what he intended to do, but she's beautiful, regardless of rather she's in a dress or ready to fight with every conceivable weapon strapped to her person.
"It's after midnight," he remarks and grins as she looks puzzled.
"So?" she asks. "What's that got to do with anything? That Demon's not gonna care."
"No," he agrees but thinks to himself, But you should. A beautiful girl like you . . . You should be out dancing or being wined and dined or just having some guy who actually deserves you tell you how much he loves you and dote on you.
Was there such a man? he wondered. Angel and he could both keep up with her while she was slaying or riding them because of their Vampire abilities, but that didn't mean either of them deserved her. He deserved her more than the great Poof, he couldn't help thinking, because whereas Angel had had his soul forced upon him, he had fought to become the man he is now -- fought hard for her.
But that didn't mean he deserved her. There isn't a night that goes by that he doesn't remember a few million of the people he killed. He rarely dreams without recalling at least one scream, one face popping up in his dream with blood spilling from their eyes and mouth, blood he caused to run. He doesn't deserve Buffy. He's never met a chap who could.
But still, he loves her. Still, he needs her. Still, he craves her in this damp and stinking sewer. It's no place for a valentine, but even if she's forgotten that today's the day for lovers, he hasn't.
He steps up beside her; she presses back, unconsciously he knows, against the wall. "Spike, what are you -- ?" Her eyes are so wide and wondering but no longer frightened like the doe of which she'd once reminded him. "What do you -- ?"
"Same thing as always, Slayer," he speaks softly, his greedy, eager fingers grabbing at her exposed throat. "I want you."
"Spike, this isn't -- "
His smile grows as she flusters. It's nice to know he still has that affect on her after all this time. "Chocolates and wine are back in the crypt," he murmurs, and she tingles as his hot breath washes over her. He doesn't need to breathe, but still he does, just to feel her tremble in his breath. "Flowers, too."
His fingers slide up her neck until his thumbs meet just underneath her chin. He's got her head tipped up now. Her pulse beats against his palms. He could break her neck or turn her head and sink his teeth into her tender flesh. He could mark her easily now and forever as his, but he doesn't want her that way. He doesn't want to make this beautiful, bold, and daring woman into a slave. He wants her to love him and want him in return not because she has to but because she wants to, because she chooses him.
He doesn't know how long she will choose him. He knows it won't be forever, no matter how much he aches for it to be otherwise. He'd like to see the end of time with this woman, but that isn't going to happen. She'll want him only until she finds some one better, and he knows with time, she will. It's not hard to be better than a blood-thirsty savage, after all, and God how he wants her blood right now!
It roars in his ears, in his veins, inside of him, but he fights his every screaming impulse as he lowers his head down to hers. His lips touch hers as soft as a feather at first. He brushes his lips time and again slowly over hers, but he knows, as always with her, time is of the essence.
His fingertips massage the line of her jaw, his thumbs work just over that pulsating spot in her throat. His lips linger on hers for a long moment, and then gently, ever so gently, he slips his tongue pass her remaining guard and into her mouth. He knows she wants to protest, knows she can't stop thinking of the monster who's taken a local girl from the town, but he knows, too, the moment his tongue touches hers, that she can't. He feels her resolve melt and her body curve into his.
He steps closer, finds her hips eagerly cradling the bulge he always gets when he's close to her. Still, as their passion grows, he keeps their kiss which he controls as gentle as the first Spring rainfall. She moans against his mouth. God, how he wants to throw her down in this bloody sewer and have his way with her!
But he won't. Not now. Not today. Today is a day for lovers, and he's going to show her just how loving he can be, not wild or madly passionate as they usually are, not in the least demanding, but instead his every motion, his every thought, set to cherish her as she deserves. His tongue reaches deeper inside her mouth. He never wants to let go, but he knows he must. He can't stand in the way of her and her destiny, or she'll never forgive him if even so much as one innocent she could've saved dies while he's loving her.
So he lifts his head and breathes against her flushed face. "Happy Valentine's Day, Buffy." He flashes a grin, his fangs lighting up in the dark, and then he moves further down the sewer, taking the lead and protecting her where he can and knowing again, whereas she might forget, he never will. I love you, pet.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Characters/Pairing: Spuffy, of course!
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: SB-Fag-Ends: What if Buffy forgot Valentine's Day?
Word Count: 999
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners, not the author.
"He went this way," she says, and he watches as she stands erect once more from checking the bloody stains on the walls of the sewer. Her weapons clang against each other as she stands; the metallic sound echoes in the tunnel. This isn't where he wanted to be tonight, not what he intended to do, but she's beautiful, regardless of rather she's in a dress or ready to fight with every conceivable weapon strapped to her person.
"It's after midnight," he remarks and grins as she looks puzzled.
"So?" she asks. "What's that got to do with anything? That Demon's not gonna care."
"No," he agrees but thinks to himself, But you should. A beautiful girl like you . . . You should be out dancing or being wined and dined or just having some guy who actually deserves you tell you how much he loves you and dote on you.
Was there such a man? he wondered. Angel and he could both keep up with her while she was slaying or riding them because of their Vampire abilities, but that didn't mean either of them deserved her. He deserved her more than the great Poof, he couldn't help thinking, because whereas Angel had had his soul forced upon him, he had fought to become the man he is now -- fought hard for her.
But that didn't mean he deserved her. There isn't a night that goes by that he doesn't remember a few million of the people he killed. He rarely dreams without recalling at least one scream, one face popping up in his dream with blood spilling from their eyes and mouth, blood he caused to run. He doesn't deserve Buffy. He's never met a chap who could.
But still, he loves her. Still, he needs her. Still, he craves her in this damp and stinking sewer. It's no place for a valentine, but even if she's forgotten that today's the day for lovers, he hasn't.
He steps up beside her; she presses back, unconsciously he knows, against the wall. "Spike, what are you -- ?" Her eyes are so wide and wondering but no longer frightened like the doe of which she'd once reminded him. "What do you -- ?"
"Same thing as always, Slayer," he speaks softly, his greedy, eager fingers grabbing at her exposed throat. "I want you."
"Spike, this isn't -- "
His smile grows as she flusters. It's nice to know he still has that affect on her after all this time. "Chocolates and wine are back in the crypt," he murmurs, and she tingles as his hot breath washes over her. He doesn't need to breathe, but still he does, just to feel her tremble in his breath. "Flowers, too."
His fingers slide up her neck until his thumbs meet just underneath her chin. He's got her head tipped up now. Her pulse beats against his palms. He could break her neck or turn her head and sink his teeth into her tender flesh. He could mark her easily now and forever as his, but he doesn't want her that way. He doesn't want to make this beautiful, bold, and daring woman into a slave. He wants her to love him and want him in return not because she has to but because she wants to, because she chooses him.
He doesn't know how long she will choose him. He knows it won't be forever, no matter how much he aches for it to be otherwise. He'd like to see the end of time with this woman, but that isn't going to happen. She'll want him only until she finds some one better, and he knows with time, she will. It's not hard to be better than a blood-thirsty savage, after all, and God how he wants her blood right now!
It roars in his ears, in his veins, inside of him, but he fights his every screaming impulse as he lowers his head down to hers. His lips touch hers as soft as a feather at first. He brushes his lips time and again slowly over hers, but he knows, as always with her, time is of the essence.
His fingertips massage the line of her jaw, his thumbs work just over that pulsating spot in her throat. His lips linger on hers for a long moment, and then gently, ever so gently, he slips his tongue pass her remaining guard and into her mouth. He knows she wants to protest, knows she can't stop thinking of the monster who's taken a local girl from the town, but he knows, too, the moment his tongue touches hers, that she can't. He feels her resolve melt and her body curve into his.
He steps closer, finds her hips eagerly cradling the bulge he always gets when he's close to her. Still, as their passion grows, he keeps their kiss which he controls as gentle as the first Spring rainfall. She moans against his mouth. God, how he wants to throw her down in this bloody sewer and have his way with her!
But he won't. Not now. Not today. Today is a day for lovers, and he's going to show her just how loving he can be, not wild or madly passionate as they usually are, not in the least demanding, but instead his every motion, his every thought, set to cherish her as she deserves. His tongue reaches deeper inside her mouth. He never wants to let go, but he knows he must. He can't stand in the way of her and her destiny, or she'll never forgive him if even so much as one innocent she could've saved dies while he's loving her.
So he lifts his head and breathes against her flushed face. "Happy Valentine's Day, Buffy." He flashes a grin, his fangs lighting up in the dark, and then he moves further down the sewer, taking the lead and protecting her where he can and knowing again, whereas she might forget, he never will. I love you, pet.
The End
