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katleeptTitle: The Key
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To: My beloved Drew
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike/Dawn, past Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: My baby turned in one of Christmas prompts for this one. "It's where my Demons hide." - Spike to Dawn
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,395
Date Written: 23 February, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
"Your chest sounds weird." He tenses at the softly spoken words. He'd thought she'd been asleep for hours. She'd certainly been still enough that she'd fooled him into thinking she'd finally fallen asleep. He'd refused to move an inch for the last three hours and sat through another stupid horror flick simply because he'd not wanted to disturb her. A human would have had their muscles cramping by now, but Vampires didn't have that concern. Just as they didn't have a heart to beat in their chests.
Spike's dark eyes flash at the reminder. He wasn't human. That was why her sister hadn't loved him and why he's still a monster. He's doing everything he can to take care of and protect her, and yet, he is still a monster. He'll never be human again. Soul or no soul, he'll never feel as they do, or, at least, that's what they all believe.
He squirms underneath her, but she doesn't move. He could force her up, but he doesn't want to hurt her. "It's where my Demons hide," he snarls, and the bloody girl smiles at the rise of his temper. "Now get off."
"No." She squirms against him, effectively snuggling deeper into him and the back of the couch. The only way he's getting her off of him now is to either use force or roll her to the floor. "I like it here."
"You don't like what you hear," he snaps.
She reaches out, takes the remote, and turns the telly down. "I never said that. I just said your chest sounds weird."
"Well . . . " He shakes his head. "What the Hell do you expect it to sound like, bit?"
She shrugs against him, her bare, lithe arms sliding against his chest. "I don't know," she admits. "I know you don't have a beating heart. I don't care about that."
He almost smiles. Almost. But if he had a beating heart, he'd be able to take so much better care of her, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have lost her sister. He would've been able to somehow stop her death. Funny, how a bloke can hurt so much, and yet not even have an actual, beating heart. And the sodding humans think that emotions all have to do with the heart. If they did, he wouldn't hurt near as much as he does every night now.
"It just sounds . . . empty. Hollow."
He closes his tearing, blue eyes. The Nibblet's right. She's always been smarter than her years, but then, she's not actually the girl he's holding. She a Key originally before the monks gave her this body. She was ageless. He smirks at the realization that, when it comes to true age, she might even have him beat.
She turns her face against his chest. He can feel her breath through the thin cotton of his black shirt. She rubs her face softly against him, and then she kisses him. He freezes in the moment. It's a chaste kiss, harmless, meant to help him, not to endanger any one, but suddenly, he's seeing himself throwing her down on the floor, kissing him ravenously, his tongue thrusting into her mouth --
He shuts his eyes tight again against the vision. He'll never take her the way he did her sister. He'll never hurt her like that, and if he was to get a second chance, not that life ever gives any, he wouldn't treat Buffy like that ever again, either. They both deserve better. They deserve so much better than he can ever give them.
He feels every trace of her lips as they curve back up into a smile. "There," she says satisfactorily. "That's better." She lays her cheek back on his chest, right over the spot where she kissed him, over the spot where his heart should be beating and would be if he wasn't dead, just like she hasn't done anything.
He presses his black lips together to silence the growl rising within him. The girl doesn't know with what she's playing. He doesn't deserve it, but she's come to trust him in the months after her sister's death. He's been here for her the whole time, never once straying to care for others matter. He told her sister he'd protect her. He promised the Slayer, the girl he'd thought he loved, and he won't break that promise.
Yet, it's time like these when he wants more, and it's not even the Slayer's return for which he's yearning. This soft slip of a girl around whom he's got an arm does strange things to him. She makes him smile when no other can, and yet she also makes him angry so easily. He wants to tear off the head of every bloke he sees looking at her when they're out on the town, and yet he'd gladly give her the world if he could. She doesn't want the world, though, and she doesn't want him, he knows. The only thing she really does want is her sister to return, and he can't give that to either of them.
Dawn's eyes are drifting shut, her breathing becoming shallow again. Maybe this time, she really is falling asleep, but he waits with the patience of one to whom time holds no meaning to make certain. She doesn't move again, and so finally, slowly, he curves his arm more closely around her. He drops his hand over her skin, careful not to touch her breasts or her face, just to keep to her midriff. He can feel her breathing against his pale hand.
He smirks at his own delusions, his eyes open again. The Nibblet doesn't know what she has. He does have Demons. He'll always have Demons, and he doesn't always successfully hide them. He does keep her safe from them, though, and he always will. He'll never let them out again where she's concerned unless it's to protect her.
He doesn't deserve to hold her. He doesn't deserve to care for her as he does, and yet, he does. Most days, he likes to think that he's what's keeping her going, but in the still of the night, when she's fast asleep and he's watching over her calm, reassuring beauty, he can admit the truth, even if only to himself. He would have gone stark raving mad again after losing Buffy if it wasn't for the kid. He's not what keeps her going; she is what keeps him going, keeps him sane, keeps him protecting her and keeping his monsters at bay.
A funny thought occurs to him, and Spike has to smile. She is real. She's more real than most people he's met throughout his long, long life, and yet, she's still a key. She's the key that keeps him locked and keeps the world safe from him. Slowly, careful not to wake her, he threads his long, pale fingers through her soft, brown hair. She is the key, he acknowledges in silence, that keeps him always.
Dawn's eyes open as Spike's fingers run through her hair. She's careful not to move a muscle and to keep her breathing shallow. He's got one hand on her skin and the other in her hair. His left arm's wrapped around her protectively. No monster or monk will ever be able to get her with him around to protect her. No pain can reach her in the safe haven he provides. Not even Buffy's death still has the same power to hurt her as once it did, because now, she's got Spike. They never would have had this time together, never would have grown so close, if they hadn't lost her sister. She'll always miss Buffy, and always love her, too, but she's thankful to have Spike.
Her ear's still over his heart. She knows there's no heartbeat inside of him, but it isn't needed. His heart is still there. She can feel it. She knows it's full, even if he doesn't realize that yet. She feels it in every one of his gentle touches, as light as a feather and so caring. She feels it every time they touch, and she knows. They've got each other. Their hearts are full, the breaks well on their way to being mended. She'll always love Buffy, but now, she loves Spike, too.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To: My beloved Drew
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike/Dawn, past Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge/Prompt: My baby turned in one of Christmas prompts for this one. "It's where my Demons hide." - Spike to Dawn
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,395
Date Written: 23 February, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
"Your chest sounds weird." He tenses at the softly spoken words. He'd thought she'd been asleep for hours. She'd certainly been still enough that she'd fooled him into thinking she'd finally fallen asleep. He'd refused to move an inch for the last three hours and sat through another stupid horror flick simply because he'd not wanted to disturb her. A human would have had their muscles cramping by now, but Vampires didn't have that concern. Just as they didn't have a heart to beat in their chests.
Spike's dark eyes flash at the reminder. He wasn't human. That was why her sister hadn't loved him and why he's still a monster. He's doing everything he can to take care of and protect her, and yet, he is still a monster. He'll never be human again. Soul or no soul, he'll never feel as they do, or, at least, that's what they all believe.
He squirms underneath her, but she doesn't move. He could force her up, but he doesn't want to hurt her. "It's where my Demons hide," he snarls, and the bloody girl smiles at the rise of his temper. "Now get off."
"No." She squirms against him, effectively snuggling deeper into him and the back of the couch. The only way he's getting her off of him now is to either use force or roll her to the floor. "I like it here."
"You don't like what you hear," he snaps.
She reaches out, takes the remote, and turns the telly down. "I never said that. I just said your chest sounds weird."
"Well . . . " He shakes his head. "What the Hell do you expect it to sound like, bit?"
She shrugs against him, her bare, lithe arms sliding against his chest. "I don't know," she admits. "I know you don't have a beating heart. I don't care about that."
He almost smiles. Almost. But if he had a beating heart, he'd be able to take so much better care of her, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have lost her sister. He would've been able to somehow stop her death. Funny, how a bloke can hurt so much, and yet not even have an actual, beating heart. And the sodding humans think that emotions all have to do with the heart. If they did, he wouldn't hurt near as much as he does every night now.
"It just sounds . . . empty. Hollow."
He closes his tearing, blue eyes. The Nibblet's right. She's always been smarter than her years, but then, she's not actually the girl he's holding. She a Key originally before the monks gave her this body. She was ageless. He smirks at the realization that, when it comes to true age, she might even have him beat.
She turns her face against his chest. He can feel her breath through the thin cotton of his black shirt. She rubs her face softly against him, and then she kisses him. He freezes in the moment. It's a chaste kiss, harmless, meant to help him, not to endanger any one, but suddenly, he's seeing himself throwing her down on the floor, kissing him ravenously, his tongue thrusting into her mouth --
He shuts his eyes tight again against the vision. He'll never take her the way he did her sister. He'll never hurt her like that, and if he was to get a second chance, not that life ever gives any, he wouldn't treat Buffy like that ever again, either. They both deserve better. They deserve so much better than he can ever give them.
He feels every trace of her lips as they curve back up into a smile. "There," she says satisfactorily. "That's better." She lays her cheek back on his chest, right over the spot where she kissed him, over the spot where his heart should be beating and would be if he wasn't dead, just like she hasn't done anything.
He presses his black lips together to silence the growl rising within him. The girl doesn't know with what she's playing. He doesn't deserve it, but she's come to trust him in the months after her sister's death. He's been here for her the whole time, never once straying to care for others matter. He told her sister he'd protect her. He promised the Slayer, the girl he'd thought he loved, and he won't break that promise.
Yet, it's time like these when he wants more, and it's not even the Slayer's return for which he's yearning. This soft slip of a girl around whom he's got an arm does strange things to him. She makes him smile when no other can, and yet she also makes him angry so easily. He wants to tear off the head of every bloke he sees looking at her when they're out on the town, and yet he'd gladly give her the world if he could. She doesn't want the world, though, and she doesn't want him, he knows. The only thing she really does want is her sister to return, and he can't give that to either of them.
Dawn's eyes are drifting shut, her breathing becoming shallow again. Maybe this time, she really is falling asleep, but he waits with the patience of one to whom time holds no meaning to make certain. She doesn't move again, and so finally, slowly, he curves his arm more closely around her. He drops his hand over her skin, careful not to touch her breasts or her face, just to keep to her midriff. He can feel her breathing against his pale hand.
He smirks at his own delusions, his eyes open again. The Nibblet doesn't know what she has. He does have Demons. He'll always have Demons, and he doesn't always successfully hide them. He does keep her safe from them, though, and he always will. He'll never let them out again where she's concerned unless it's to protect her.
He doesn't deserve to hold her. He doesn't deserve to care for her as he does, and yet, he does. Most days, he likes to think that he's what's keeping her going, but in the still of the night, when she's fast asleep and he's watching over her calm, reassuring beauty, he can admit the truth, even if only to himself. He would have gone stark raving mad again after losing Buffy if it wasn't for the kid. He's not what keeps her going; she is what keeps him going, keeps him sane, keeps him protecting her and keeping his monsters at bay.
A funny thought occurs to him, and Spike has to smile. She is real. She's more real than most people he's met throughout his long, long life, and yet, she's still a key. She's the key that keeps him locked and keeps the world safe from him. Slowly, careful not to wake her, he threads his long, pale fingers through her soft, brown hair. She is the key, he acknowledges in silence, that keeps him always.
Dawn's eyes open as Spike's fingers run through her hair. She's careful not to move a muscle and to keep her breathing shallow. He's got one hand on her skin and the other in her hair. His left arm's wrapped around her protectively. No monster or monk will ever be able to get her with him around to protect her. No pain can reach her in the safe haven he provides. Not even Buffy's death still has the same power to hurt her as once it did, because now, she's got Spike. They never would have had this time together, never would have grown so close, if they hadn't lost her sister. She'll always miss Buffy, and always love her, too, but she's thankful to have Spike.
Her ear's still over his heart. She knows there's no heartbeat inside of him, but it isn't needed. His heart is still there. She can feel it. She knows it's full, even if he doesn't realize that yet. She feels it in every one of his gentle touches, as light as a feather and so caring. She feels it every time they touch, and she knows. They've got each other. Their hearts are full, the breaks well on their way to being mended. She'll always love Buffy, but now, she loves Spike, too.
The End
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The Key
Date: 2016-02-24 08:45 pm (UTC)