Word Count: 300
Characters/Pairing: Spike, Spike/Buffy
Summary: Spike can't get rid of The Slayer.
Notes: Written for drabblemuch's Blood, Sex, Booze challenge.
He couldn't get her out of his blood, out of his head. She had soaked into every single pore that made up this poet. She sunk into his heart, under his nails, twisting and swirling into every fiber.
He tried to get her out.
First it was the booze. Long pulls from bottles bought at the local bodega. Sometimes he would go out. Someplace to pass out that wasn't his underground apartment. He would drink until his vision was blurry and every bird in the bar looked like her. It never worked. The booze didn't burn the way it used to, didn't the numb the pain. It only filled his head with more thoughts of her.
Then he tried the blood. He plied his victims with alcohol, leaving them with two holes in their neck and a bloody awful hangover the next day. The blood tasted like sawdust in his mouth, filling his cheeks until he had no choice but to swallow it. It felt like ice as it hit the pit of his stomach and rushed through his veins. Her memory was in her blood and no matter how many pints he drank; it couldn't overcome the taste of her skin, the feel of the softness between his fangs, the moan in his ear.
Lastly was the sex. Nights spent writhing on top of some willing partner. He would cover himself in their scent, letting it work into the pads of his fingers, their warmth soaking into his cold chest. She was still covering him. Her scent was a blanket that wrapped around him, stinking up his nostrils, making him wish that the body thrashing and climaxing under him would be hers once more.
No matter what he tried, Spike could not erase the memory of her, The Slayer.