|Get Some, Don't Get Gone
Author: onyxwaterfall PM
Very short rambling. Faith and Buffy meet. BF Pairing, you know the score.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - Buffy S. & Faith L. - Words: 1,058 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 3 - Published: 04-13-05 - id: 2349694
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: Get Some, Don't Get Gone
Disclaimer: All in fun, no infringement intended
No specific time, just a minor rambling, had to get it out. Guess from who's POV. It's pretty straightforward.
I have this theory. The life of a Slayer is pretty simple. Want, take, have. So, naturally when I come up with the concept of 'get some, get gone,' it's an obvious extension of my aforementioned theory.
But there's so much in her eyes. And everything I see is far from simple. Much more on the topics I barely ever discuss with anyone. Despair, hope, fear…How can you be a Slayer and scared? Emotions have the power to internally beat a soul into a pulp, but me…I'm not just a soul. I'm a Slayer.
Her eyes are like the ocean, and I swear to god I've never had a thought like this before, if anyone's deep, it sure as hell ain't me. But there's so much. I look into her pretty green eyes and there are things I can't comprehend. I don't even know how I notice them. Normally I'm oblivious to things like that…like I said, the life of a Slayer is very simple. That comment goes for the mind, too.
I see her every night at the Bronze, with a couple of friends. They always enjoy themselves. She always pretends to enjoy herself. I can see straight through her, she's transparent to me. Her eyes are so empty; like there's no passion behind them. And perhaps they don't see it because it doesn't seem out of the ordinary. But I see her every day, and I know that isn't her. she's dying for some sort of release. And a large chunk of me wishes I could be that for her. That release. That moment of inebriation so easily built up and so graciously let down.
That's it. Let down. She looks let down. It's a guy. I just know it.
She doesn't dance. When she does, it's by herself, and she stays alone. And so much of me wants to join her, to match her every move, to be the one she leans in towards when the slow paced rhythms run through her veins and command her movement. I need to be that for her. The only way she dances is inside; but even so, that seems so distant, because otherwise, she'd glow.
I need to see her face light up; to willingly light into a smile, a momentary gaze, or even a trance. I want her to look at me as if I were her own, and I wasn't going anywhere, but home, with her. I want her to be happy.
But I don't force it. I buy her a drink; I take it to her, and she sees me, and it's all blank. Her expression is weak, if apparent, her eyes are secluded. She recoils from me, and for just a while, I feel as if I have failed.
Though I begin to turn from her, and leave, she reaches out to me, and I touch her. There are tingles. I glow. She touched me.
Walking home, we take the dark route, and even though we are in complete darkness, a pastel blue gleans upon our faces, barely granting luminosity. I can just about make out her features. I speak, and she is smiling.
She isn't nervous. Her empty expression is gone. Did I fill that for her?
I turn the key and the lights are on. The butterflies within me show no mercy and it is up to my senses to succeed. I don't know what she wants to do, but I'm willing. For three months, I've been willing. And there it is. That same image from before. She's sitting, her face is free of expression, and she is solitary. But I shatter that image as I sit by her side, on the comforter. The lousy comforter, that recoils to support my weight.
I can't describe it. Writing things down has never been my strong point. I can't describe the feeling that coursed my veins as a hand slipped around my waist, and willed me towards her. the sensation crippled me, but I liked it, and longed for more. Something told me it would never leave me, something else told me not to let it go. But as another hand perused my face, I shivered, plain and simple. It wasn't that she was cold, no, no, not in the slightest. It was just…intoxication. At it's finest. She had merely placed her hands on me. Nothing more, nothing less. Just her hands. And I had shivered; I had become aware of my blood pumping through my veins.
The words do not exist; I can't write them down. Because everything that happened was mere ecstasy; too vast to define. Impossible. Unmatchable. I feel tingles in that place, just thinking about it.
Her hands can do the most amazing things. And each move she made uttered a certain deliberation; there was grace, and magnificence. Unmatchable.
She removed my garments, and I didn't even know her name. One by one, I forgot about them, she handled them, then they were not a part of the equation. Even hers, entangled with mine, was irrelevant.
Relevancy was her lips against mine, so soft, yielding, irreplaceable. I had never known better. I did not want to. A certain solemnity fused us, not detached, just…quiescent.
Forever, I could do this. Here. With. Her eyes search mine, and for the first time I feel found. I've never felt this complete. I'm not saying this solidifies anything, but I like it. I want it. Forever.
She can hold me until hell freezes over, until my heart stops, until my eyes glaze over. Because now her arms embrace me and no others could render me contented. I kiss her. We climax simultaneously. And again. I got it all wrong. There's no 'simple' in this connection. Emotion never felt this good. Because this…
This is amazing.