TITLE: Lightning Striking Everywhere
AUTHOR: Anne Hedonia
CLASSIFICATION: Vignette, post-ep for "Smashed"
SPOILERS: Since I'm pretty new here, I don't know much to spoil, except for "Fool for Love" and, of course, "Smashed"
RATING: Hard R, for sex and language
ARCHIVING: Please ask.
DISCLAIMER: They belong to his royal Jossness
FEEDBACK: would be really useful. email@example.com
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Be gentle with my first Buffy foray, if you please, but a certain beloved song grabbed my muse by the lapels and demanded that I write according to its constructs. Yes, this is songfic, essentially, but gratefully, the song in question is done by a now-defunct local LA band, and is thus almost completely unknown, so you probably won't see the wires. However, the unknown-ness of the song should be remedied, IMO, so I've made the lyrics and MP3 available at http://people.we.mediaone.net/madmwazel/LightningStrikingEverywhere.htm. Do yourself a favor and listen.
Somehow, I'm sure she knew before I told her.
As the dust swirls in my nostrils and clings to the moist corners of our groping mouths, I'm suddenly positive that my revelation of her "wrongness" was not news, merely the confirmation of something else she wanted to ignore, but couldn't.
I want to be smug. I want to crow over getting my proper reward, as our bodies rock against the filthy basement floor and she pants her hot moist breath against my face. You once said I'm beneath you, love? Why, at the moment, yes I am. Just not in the way that you counted on when you said it, eh, pet?
She told me I was a pathetic git making moon eyes. She thought she could hurt me by telling me I was alone in the world. She might have, if she wasn't also describing herself, thus making two of us. She told me in no uncertain terms to get over it. I grimace and thrust viciously up into her. She muffles an impassioned scream, and a smile curls my sweaty lip. Get over *that*, love.
I should be insufferable at this moment. I mean, bloody hell, I'm running out of new ways to conquer slayers - I'm going to have to invent some. I want to sneer about my rocking her world, snatching all those smart-ass arguments out of her throat, bitch-slapping her with her own need for a man she said she hated.
I want to, but I can't.
Because she's done the same to me.
I'm too damn full of emotion, none of it bitter. Over the stupidest things. Her mouth. The touch of it is electric, pure voltage. I've never been able to kiss her as long as I've wanted to - she always runs away before I've had my fill. I've been dreaming of that mouth almost non-stop since the last time I had it. I shiver as she pulls it away, gasping for air, but she only waits a split second before she mashes her lips against mine again. She can't keep herself away from me now, not even long enough to breathe. I feel like crying.
Her mouth makes me want to start writing that bloody awful poetry again. It really, really, sincerely does. I whimper against it.
I feel like such a fucking poof.
Even though my current actions are proving me otherwise.
Why, why, why can't it always be like this, Slayer?
I amend that thought, suddenly recoiling at the smells of this place, the urine and the rat droppings, at the dust that makes her cough as she leans up. I am unaccountably ashamed, even though her writhing and the wild look in her eyes indicate no displeasure. Still, in my fantasies, it was nicer for you, love. I would have made it that way, if only you'd have let me. I feel a sudden flash of irritation and lust, grab her by the hips and rock her so hard her head snaps back. If only you weren't so fucking stubborn.
The leather we're both wearing squeaks with our frantic, animal movements, though it's mostly drowned out by our grunts. She leans back, propping herself up with her hands on my knees, thrusting her breasts against the satin and lace she's wearing. I take them in my shaking hands. A moment later my own head arches backward from the sweet shocks of endorphin rattling up my spine, straight from where her liquid hot flesh is squeezing me. I have never been so glad to have blown a secret in my entire miserable life.
I could have done something with that secret, with her unknown vulnerability. I could have waited until the perfect moment and gotten some real revenge for her cruel cock teasing. I could have killed her in the blink of an eye, taken her sodding head off. I could have bitten her and bled her and owned her. Hell, I still can.
But I didn't. I thrust it in her face and rubbed her nose in it. I shanghaied her with what I knew and demanded that she quit lying to herself and to me. I forced it. I broke her. I knew this revenge would hurt her more. I was a wanker.
And I have never ever been so achingly happy about it.
She's pressing her whole body against me, kissing me again. I jolt with the new shock of her molten mouth against my cold skin. We've caught lightning between us, condensed it to its essence between our bodies and our lips. Oh, Slayer...right now you are the only goddess I will acknowledge, the only holy thing I've ever known.
The new position hits a spot for her, and I watch her head pull up in surprise, her body jerking and her mouth falling open. She grinds herself against me fiercely, spasming with the oncoming storm inside her. I can't tear my eyes away from the beauty of her agony. I mean, good God, I am fucking *making the Slayer come*...
...that is until her walls drag hard and tight against my length and I snarl sharply, my face changing and my teeth sinking into her neck and my hips pounding her body and then my own storm starts and it's good, it's so good, oh fucking hell it is so...SO...FUCK...ING...GOOD.
I hear her gasping, catching her breath. I purr and lick the sweet nectar of her life from her neck, dreamily coming back to earth. She clutches at my arms, shivering, and I wonder if she's cold. Suddenly, I'm afraid, because realize how much I want to be tender with her, how much I want to cradle her and kiss her flushed face and see her eyes glowing with love for me. I want to like I can't ever remember wanting anything else, but absurdly, I'm not sure she'll let me, even after this.
Shit. I'm a poof again.
She pulls back to sit up atop me, pushing away the strands of hair that have fallen from her hair clip, and neither of us look at each other. We're still competing, she and I, determined not to show weakness. We never give up.
At this moment, Slayer, I would swear I have a soul again. And believe me, I don't bloody want it. It's just one more thing you can use to kill me, one more thing to break. Except that now it's completely filled, not an empty spot left in it. It's singing with sadness, weeping with all the things I want to say to you but never will.
I feel her fingers on my chin, moving my face to look at her. I draw in a sharp breath when I see her eyes, teary and happy and embarrassed and overwhelmed, so many things I never thought I'd see her feeling with me around. I gape at her, tingling with what her eyes tell me: they brim with affection and turmoil; they want me, still; they ache with more emotion for me than her heart can hold - more than it wants to, surely. Bloody hell. I swallow back a lump in my throat, afraid to believe what I'm seeing.
Above all else, her eyes are afraid. Bugger, she is so afraid. My concern for her grows frantic. My hand caresses her cheek as her tears well.
"You realize," she whispers, "that the easy part is now over."
I nod slowly, stupidly. I know she's right. I don't want her to be.
She leans forward onto me and begins to cry softly, barely audible. I hold her, first gently, and then as tightly as I can. I stroke her hair, rocking back and forth. Oh god, oh bloody sodding fucking hell. I'll make it better, pet. I swear I'll make it okay. I know I can't, I know I'm bloody useless, but I swear anyway.
She settles her head into the crook of my neck, nuzzles me like a child. I feel her sigh. I don't know why, but my fear subsides a bit. In fact, my confidence surges. Cor, but I'm a moody sod. But who cares? With the touch of her skin and the Slayer accepting my comfort, I'm having some interesting ideas.
Then her hand slips into the neck of my shirt, against my skin, and I know I deserve to be the cocky bastard I suddenly feel like.
Without warning I roll us over, sit up and plant my hands just beneath her tits, tearing open the delicate blouse she's wearing with a satisfying rip. She gasps loudly. I grab her bare breasts with both hands and squeeze, finally feeling cool, naked flesh. I hiss in satisfaction. In that first moment she's caught completely off-guard, and I almost laugh at her. Very importantly, in that second moment, she doesn't knock my block off.
I quickly rip off my own duster and shirt, and then lean down to brush our bodies together. I am fiercely rewarded with her moan. I whisper in her ear, like the demon I am: "Who says we can't repeat the easy part?"
She lunges to kiss me and I let her, feeling the current of it all the way down to my toes. I thrust an arm under her back and jostle her up with me as I sit back on my heels. I reach back and grab my duster, tossing it behind her and laying her slowly back down on it. I leave her body to stand and strip the rest of the way, ecstatically drinking in the dark look in her eyes as she watches me. I kneel back down and undress her lower half, then proceed to drink in something more.
I feel like a god.
She doesn't speak, can't speak again until I'm on top of her, about to repeat the best and worst mistake I've ever made. She breathes her words against my cheek. "Spike, don't you..." She doesn't finish. I pull back to watch her struggle to make sense after all I've done to her. Her tears are back again.
"Don't you wish..."
I hush her with a gentle finger against her wet lips. My heart breaks as my former poof-ness reasserts itself. "Yes, pet, I do." My voice cracks just a little, and I let her see my tears this time. "I do *so* wish."
I wish it could always be like this.
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