InsaneJournal

FIc: THE PROPER SLAYER (pt 9 of ?)


Previously ...

He did understand her, but she had to make him see that he didn't completely understand this. "It doesn't matter. It's not something that's going to—"

"Say it."

She wanted to. It was, amidst all her resistence, a relief. She pressed her lips against his breastbone and whispered. "You know I do. I love you, Spike."

She looked up into his face. His eyes were sharp, observing her, knowing her, full of tenderness but not, she saw with a pang, of kindness or mercy.

"Does matter, then."

"It can't. Can we not talk now?"

"Guess I have to remind you yours isn't the only life's been messed about. Didn't ask for this to happen myself. Wasn't what I'd have preferred."

"Then why won't you go away and leave me alone!"

"Why did you turn up here? Could've chucked my lovely present an' stayed away."

She drove a fist into his belly, but, as if he knew her intentions a split-second before she did, he turned, and the blow lost most of its impact.

"Well, well. You won't come away with me. An' you won't quit me—affectionate girl that you are. So what are we to do, then?"

He sprawled on the bed, his patient, unflinching gaze fixed on her. Slowly she took off her clothes, jeans and top and plain cotton bra and another pair of the nylon panties that were all she had. She was throbbing for him, and once more she felt like crying.

"How beautiful you are."

"I said, don't talk."

"No, need you to hear it. You are beautiful, an' powerful, an' all that. An' then you're just little Miss Anne, and it's that I love best. Come here an' let me worship you."

She sidled closer to the bed. "What are you going to do?"

"Whatever you like best."

She knew what she would've liked best at that moment. If he'd just gathered her into his arms, held her in his lap, rocked her a little, hummed against her neck. Kept that up until she was calm and quiet and comforted, and then just quietly drained her.

That still seemed like the only way out of this mess. But he'd already said that wasn't on the cards, and talking about it any more would make the desire too real. She was ashamed of it, it felt cowardly and weak. He'd think so too.

And she couldn't understand why she could yearn to die at his hands, but couldn't bring herself to get into the car with him again, and just go.

She climbed up on the bed, let him lay her out, let him kiss every bit of her, murmur his profane praises, let him tease gasps and groans out of her, and later harsh sharp cries. Then she couldn't bear any more, and pushed him away, her breath ragged, drenched in sweat. He knelt beside her, still cool and dry, his cock standing in his lap, still watching her, always watching her.

When she could breathe without gulping, she said, "Tell me the truth."

"I do, always."

"You really haven't killed anyone, since—?"

"That's true."

"But you've hurt people. And you've robbed. You're really no better than—"

"Than I ever was? I'd say I'm a little better."

"Don't joke."

"I didn't want to give it up! You've done this to me. When I want to hunt, to kill, when the urge is all hot in me, I see you, and I can't do it."

"That's nothing to be proud of either."

"S'a bloody curse. Love's a curse. Best thing there is on Earth, but filthy too."

This struck her as being both poetic and true. She nodded. Spike smiled suddenly.

"Why are you smiling? Don't you get it! You're the one who drummed it into me after I lost my way. That I couldn't run from it. I'm the slayer. And you're a vampire. And just because we ... because we have the hots for each other ... it doesn't mean anything! Loving me doesn't make you a real man, and loving you doesn't help me with anything I have to do! Anything I have to be."

She wished he'd come up with something to tell her that would be a way out, because the sight of him made her ache with longing, and she was already lonely for him even though he was right there with her. It defied understanding, this love. She hadn't understood it when she'd felt it for Angel, all that need and anguish, and it was no clearer now. Except that Spike had no soul anymore, and therefore wasn't worthy of being loved by her or anybody, which just made it all worse, because her heart wouldn't listen to such clean logic.

He went grave, sitting back on his heels as she spoke as if her words were a strong pummeling wind. When she fell silent, he rocked back and sprang to his feet. "It's not ... not just the hots."

Is that all you can say?

"If that's all it was—could take you an' turn you! Have you forever! But that's not it. It's ... it's ..." He clenched and unclenched his fists, as if the answer would be there. "Can't find words for what it is."

"Yeah, well, I've got to go. I have to patrol before I do my homework."

"Come with you. Watch your back."

"Want to do my French verbs too?"

"Will if you like. M'fluent in French."

"You are?"

"An' plenty more besides. Will do your bloody homework if you'd like."

A laugh burst out of her. "I think you mean it!"

He flared, his eyes flashing. "I do! Nothin' to laugh at!"

But she couldn't help it. She laughed, and after a few seconds he did too, and she was able to go to him and kiss him and stand in his arms for a few more moments of postponing the parting she dreaded so much. "After all that, you didn't come."

"Did once, but you didn't see. Your thrashings an' your spunk brought me off."

"You ..." She didn't know how to tell him how he satisfied her, all the phrases that came into her mind seemed to be plucked from pop songs she'd heard on the radio, and she couldn't speak them. "I'll suck you off before I go."

"Before we go. You're not rid of me so quick. An' never mind, keep it for later. After I've learned you your French verbs."

"How do you say 'I want your cock in my mouth' in French?"

Next>>>>