This Isn't Any Ending
Disclaimer: I like to play with these "barbies", and these "dream houes" . . . they've become a habit. They're so goddamn addictive . . .
Author's Note: It's just words.
Rating: Pg-13 or R . . . I dunno . . . me being me and all.
Summary: When the end is near, the begining is nearer. Buffy will make the end. Spike will make the begining. All because she is confused by what she wants . . . all because he only wants what is his. . .
"Do we have to do this, my love?"
"I can't live with you, but I can sure as hell live without you."
"So . . . this is how you want it to end . . .? I believe it's a pretty decent ending."
"In your sick mind, what do you suppose we are ending?"
"There was never an us, just a you, and our body parts."
"You were never there, but I foolishly held onto the bloody fucking hope that one day you would finally understand, see, love our twisted beauty!" His roar of old beliefs startles my determination, along with my stance.
"Spike," My voice wavers in authority, sending sparks of hope that just began to diminish flare, "it was . . . it was . . ."
"Beautiful." His clear as the swirling sky blue eyes capture my gaze in such emotion I am mystified that I haven't noticed the poetic quality of them before.
This can't be. This is Spike. I am The Slayer. Mortal enemies don't trip over a very big boulder and find love in each other. Hello, mortal enemies, mortal enemies, we're . . . mortal enemies. He was a killer, a murderer, a heartless being made for drinking blood, made to inflict pain, simply kill, and he, he, he still is. I protect all he destroys, but then again, lately, he hasn't destroyed anything but maybe a beer bottle or two in a fit of pure frustration . . . caused by me, of course.
"Murderer." I hiss with newfound somewhat stable conviction, eyes narrowing to attack.
"Savior." He purrs in that sexy accent that makes me wanna ride him into that black void where it's just me and him, him and me, "Killing me won't make it stop, " Like I know what "it" is, I softly gulp, "Do what you're born to do . . . save. Save me."
"You want me to save what I was born to kill?" My eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, "How off the books do you think I am?"
He throws up his hand in undiluted outrage, "You're gonna kill a bloke for doing what he had to do to survive!?" Dangerously he takes a well placed step forward, closer to me, inches closer, "I guess now you're gonna go out and kill a bloody lion for making a lunch out of the poor helpless Zebra chap."
Can't he see how hard this is for me? I haven't even begun to comprehend what we have, why the sparks fly when we're together, why I mentally bow to his mind as well as his body. Now he had to go and add lions and Zebra's to this murky mix. How his logic contradicts mine and points out all of my logic's over looked facts and mistakes! How, how, utterly true he sounds . . .
Does he expect me to now stop killing evil demon vampires because they can't help that they crave the source of a human life? Spike can not possibly believe that I'll let him go free, because, 'cause, he lost his chip, he's a danger to those I've vowed to protect. WRONG! This shit is all wrong.
"Lions? Zebras?" I fling him a look of complete bemusement, "You're bringing wild animals into this!"
He rolls those captivating eyes of his in disgust, "Don't play the dumb blonde routine on me, Buffy." Another step closer, "You soddin' get what I'm throwing your way. Be a good dog and pick up the bone . . . Buffy, love, this can't be all about your high and mighty being The Slayer side, the girl side in you is confused, scared, tired of fighting . . . tired of fighting everything." I open my mouth and flap it like a fish, a tender finger touches them in a shushing gesture ending my embarrassing moment, "Choose my love, kill me or kiss me. Choose now, and forever head the consequences."
With a slight tremor through my body, forehead gleaming with sweat, I back up into a cold crypt wall. I have to end this, end it all. If he dies, these feelings die right along with him, these doubts, these frightening realizations. They fucking better. The Slayer in me wants to stake the arrogant and love struck bastard, the girl wants to embrace what he has to offer, from his words, to other places . . . down south.
So seductively convincing he can be, so totally truth. Where does he learn my deep dark secrets, my forbidden desires, notions, feelings??!! And what the fuck is with the ultimatum? Kill me or kiss me? How over dramatic is that? I shakily inhale to get more oxygen to my brain, maybe that might help clear these exasperating thoughts. Maybe it will hand me my choice on a silver platter with some nachos on the side . . . or maybe not.
"You feel something for me." His shiver of a whisper sends me in a frenzy of emotions as deep as his own, pushing and shoving in that toned body of his, "Don't deny it anymore, accept me, accept us." His voice drops so low I fear he may be on the edge of tears, "If you don't, just forget my demand and kill me now, kill me, save me from your final rejections, your final bloody decision."
Such raw emotion in a few words from his lips get me spiraling down another path of thought. I feel . . . something for him . . . I do. But to tell him so, to fuel that burning desire of hope and love, I'd hate to watch it flicker and die. For that's what I always do. For that's what always happens, it sparks, it flames, it collapses in on itself. He's heartless, well not technically, but it has stopped beating so long ago, can it really love? Is it just infatuation? Can it, would it, work? Not, in my mind, not in my mind. I kill his kind . . . I kill them . . . not fuck or love.
I croak out a single word that holds more meaning to the both of us than any person could fully grasp, "Yes."
"I'm never bloody wrong, you do feel it." He lightly jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.
"But I cannot act any further on it, I can't, I can't, I won't."
"Be mine?" The question packs a sucker punch.
I hesitantly laugh a bitter laugh filled with hatred of my own words, "If only I could."
Tears shine in his watery eyes, beckoning me to mend his open emotional wound, ". . . I'm yours . . ."
"I know, I know, I know." I quickly mumble, fading in and out of coherency, "Mine, mine, mine . . ."
His eyes glisten with something more than unshed tears as I gaze once again into their blue depths. Predatorial. Primal. Vampiric. Three words describe the change that commences, the gleam in his eyes. He wouldn't . . . Would he? I can't let this happen.
I'm The Slayer. The responsible one. I'm in charge of playing mother to the world and protecting it, human drives be damned, human feelings be damned. What have I wormed my way into? If only Spike hasn't fell so hard. It's so palpable since I've just accepted the truth, as well, truth that his love is real. Waves. Waves. In waves it crashes onto my shore, bearing down on me, drowning me in it's comforting expanse and undertow.
Spike is a vampire. My enemy. My . . . love? Well, he would be if we had more time for my butterfly feelings to develop. Funny, I really don't have the time. Got to work, not play. Got to do what I am made to do, what I am here to do. Save. But I cannot save him, my dark beauty of an enemy, my "Lestat" of the new age, this vampire that has been through hell and back. And I simply can't let him-
"I will make, you mine." His voice is set in his course of action that has me ready to raise my stake to pound into his soft heart, at the slightest sign of the non-good.
"Spike?" I squeak as a mouse I am not, eyes showing my small trust and insecurity at his possessive words.
My question is answered with an intense kiss of un-measureable passion. Tongues slipping and gliding across each others. Hands groping for something solid to clutch and make react. Groans wafting through the air, of feeling the closet thing to heaven on earth. Eyes clenching shut to ward off any intruding anything that might ruin our special and revolutionary moment in space and time.
Our moment reluctantly ends as the dead slowly pulls away from the living. I stare straight on, eyes wide with lust and something fairly close to love, but right behind it all, despair like no other at the only solution to our problem. Death.
One of us must die.
"Say good-bye to sun tans, baby." Spike's sparkling blue eyes suddenly covert to his golden vampiric ones.
The words don't hit me until his mouth begins suckling the thin and sensitive skin that is stretched over my jugular. My low moan vibrates through the cemetery, pleasure already built by our make-out session, and now steadily rising.
He wouldn't . . .
"Ooh!" I spontaniously moan, muffling the protest that was building within.
He would . . .
"Love you, love you, love you so bloody much . . ." He softly reaffirms, going from high to low, so low that it gets lost with the slightest breeze.
"Don't . . ." My protest is weak to even my own ears, drowning down within my contradicting moans.
A feral animalistic growl that disturbs and arouses me, slithers past his barely parted lips, "Mine."
Before I can form a reply of some sort . . . his fangs tear through . . . my scream echos . . . It begins.