PAIRING : Buffy/Spike

RATING : NC17, character death

SPOILERS : MAJOR season 6 'Villians'

IMPROV: #47 "You're doing it all wrong!"

DISCLAIMER : I do not own these characters.

"Buffy," he said as he walked in the door. "We have to talk."

"Talk about what? You fucking Anya in the Magic Box?" I asked. "There's nothing to say."

Even as I stood there, I knew it was a lie. I *knew* that I was lying and he knew it too. He always did and I think I hated that about him.

I hated the smug way he'd stand and look at me as I went down on him. I hated the attitude his hands had as they held my mouth at just the right angle for him to thrust down my throat.

I hated the fact that he knew me so well and that he could predict what I was going to do before I did it. I hated how my body responded to him and how jealous he made me.

I *especially* hated how jealous I was when I saw him with *her* on the computer. I hated how much it hurt, that I *let* it hurt. It hurt more than when I told it was over and walked away. And I hated that fact as well.

I hate what he was and that he couldn't have been born two hundred and twenty years later. I hate that Angel found him and I hate that he turned him. I hate that I hate him so much.

And when he was standing there, wanting to 'talk', all I could think was: I hate him.

He hurt me. He promised he wouldn't. And he did.

He *did* and *that* is unforgivable.

I don't care if he slept with Anya. That doesn't hurt as much as the fact that it *does* hurt- if that makes any sense at all.

Walking away from him hurt. And being jealous hurt. And knowing that he's gone hurts too. Knowing that I can't love him because of what he is hurts even more. I *want* to love him.

I told him I had feelings for him and that's not a lie. I care about him. I know it's wrong and depraved and when he was inside me, I could almost make myself believe that it wasn't. But when I woke up in the morning and walked out into the sunlight, I hated *myself*.

I hated myself because I swore I wouldn't be with anyone else. I can't hurt someone else like that again. Dying, killing, patrol, demons… it's a part of my life. And it will take my life again. Hopefully soon and I don't want someone to hurt- I don't want *him* to have that pain again.

Maybe it's stupid. Maybe I *am* cutting myself off from being able to feel and enjoy… maybe he really would rather have me for a week, a month, a day even… maybe I'm denying us both that chance to be happy, even for an hour.

But every time, afterwards, when I was sticky and sweaty and lying there- all I could think was: you just fucked Spike.

But it was never love.

I let him touch in ways no other had before. I let him hit me and I hit him back and I enjoyed it. I let him take me like an animal, grunting and moaning my name and I loved it. I loved feeling him inside me. I loved feeling him come and coming *with* him.

But it was never love. It was just physical.

I cared about him, but I didn't love him.

And yes, it hurt when he- pled his case and tried to rape me. It hurt me when he hurt me *again*. It stung and was painful.

And I hated myself the next day when I went to his crypt. I hated myself when I crawled on top of him and let him take me again. I loathed myself for needing to feel him inside one more time.

And I hated myself for shoving the stake through his heart as he was exploding inside me.

He exploded inside me and he never saw it coming because to him, I was love and joy and bliss. But to me, he was misery.

It was never love.

So why does it hurt so fucking much? I think, now, for as much as I hated him, I loved him more.

Sadly, it's too late.

~El Fin~