Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong
to Joss Weldon and Mutant Enemy.
Rating: NC-17
Blurb: Buffy's recalls and reflects on her affair with Spike.
Lust, Shame and Madness. Season 6 through Dead Things. Reviews,
constructive criticism requested.
Distribution: Fine, just let me know where.
Feedback: Please. So I learn what works and what doesn't.
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I wonder if even Faith knows what it's like to be with someone
like Spike. She fucked so many guys, used them like tissue and
then threw them out. Human guys. Even Faith had to hold back or
she would have killed them.
With Spike, I don't have to hold back. I can let myself go and
not worry about crushing his ribs, breaking his bones, bruising
his flesh. I don't even worry about hurting his feelings. I can
do anything with Spike.
Even handcuffs. Chained to his bed. Spike on top of me, in me.
Me helpless to resist anything he wanted to do. I knew it was
pretend. Faith and I fought handcuffed together. She was able
to break the chain between the cuffs and free herself. If I wanted
I know I could do the same.
So I know the handcuffs were mostly pretend. If he had tried…what…to
kill me, feed on me, turn me, make me say "I love you," I probably
could have stopped him. Probably. But the idea that I was completely
in his power, it was an aphrodisiac. Not that Spike's flesh isn't
already.
The next day my wrists were sore and the marks hadn't completely
healed. I was ashamed thinking about it, ashamed I had let him
degrade me that way. I remember trying to hide the marks from
Tara when I talked to her. The marks from me fighting the cuffs,
writhing, not in pain, but in pleasure.
I hate this. Wanting him. Wanting him. Using him. Hurting him.
I've tried to stop that. The first night, in that house, we marked
each other up pretty badly. I'm tough. He's tough too but we both
looked like we had been beaten with more than flesh. Cut and bruised
and limping. It takes a lot to damage us but I could barely walk
from him pounding himself into my pelvis. Just thinking about
it now and I feel the tissues between my legs engorge.
He's never marked me again. But I have him. At least I leave
him less damaged these days. I try to take a little care. But
I still…hurt him. I like to hurt him. He lets me. All my slayer
powers are made to hurt and kill. I have to keep all that locked
up the rest of the time. Under control. But not with Spike. With
Spike…I can...lose control.
I'm wrong. Wrong. WRONG. WRONG! The things
I do to him. The things I let him do to me. Wwwwrong.
I let him take me upstairs at the Bronze. In the dark. Watching
Xander and Anya and Willow below dancing. He whispered in my ear,
his hands reached behind me, pulled up my skirt, his fingers slipping
under my panties, up into my flesh.
Stop.
But he knew that's not what I wanted. He spread my legs and pushed
me forward and pushed himself inside me.
Aaaaah.
I can't belong with him in the dark. I can't. I belong in the
light with my friends. But he's not there. He's in the dark pressing
his cock into me. God no. All this is wrong.
I had to stop. I had to get myself back. I would go patrolling
and end up at his door. Stand against it imagining what he would
do to me if I pushed it open. His fingers pushing the buttons
open, pushing inside my clothes, pushing my legs open, pushing
inside me, stroking my skin, in my hair, between my legs, rubbing,
knowing just where, just what to do to make me lose myself.
You don't know what it's like, being the Slayer. Having all that
strength and that power and having to control yourself, to never
let yourself be swept away with passion, to never really let yourself
go. With Spike I can let go.
All the guys I've been with. Angel. With Angel, it was sweet.
He was so easy with me. He was trying so hard not to hurt me,
to be tender. Looking back, it was pitiful. I didn't come. He
only came once. We barely wrinkled the sheets.
It must have seemed better than that to Angel because he lost
his soul over it. Maybe it was some kind of fetish he had, a taste
for innocence. Dru was an innocent when he took her.
I knew Angel wasn't as good as my dreams but I thought we would
be doing it again. A lot. And that it would get better. But I
woke up and he was gone. It was raining outside and lightening
flashes were making like a monster movie and thunder was shaking
the house. The sheets were cold.
When Angel made fun of that night, made fun of me, I was hurt
but I wasn't really surprised. Only later did I realize he wasn't
himself. That wasn't Angel. Angel would never have said those
things to me. Not even if they were true.
Spike now, Spike would. If he was trying to hurt me. If he was
angry. If we were fighting. But I wouldn't believe him. I'd think
of the look on his face when he touches me, when his dick touches
me, touches me outside, then inside, deeper, deeper, deeper, stroke,
in, out, my legs linked around his back or folded up along his
sides, or over his shoulders, while he drops himself into me,
pounds my cervix with the head of his cock, hard flesh over bone
rubbing my clitoris and his eyes watching my face to see how I'm
liking it. If Spike told me I wasn't good, it wasn't good for
him, I'd laugh. I might punch him but first I'd laugh and remember
his face.
I can't remember Angel's face as he came inside me. I just remember
waking up alone and cold and hearing the rain.
Then there was Parker. Parker hurt me. Made me feel worthless
and used. Now I do the using.
Riley. I really wanted it to work with Riley. I wanted to be
normal. I wanted a normal life, a normal guy, normal sex, a normal
relationship. He wasn't quite normal with that Initiative crap
in his chest and the drugs in his bloodstream. But he was normal
enough. Captain Cardboard Spike called him. Potato sex. I did
like it with Riley. I liked it some. I would close my eyes and…pretend
it was Angel.
I would listen to my body as hard as I could when Riley touched
me, trying to make it like it was in my dreams, trying to feel
what I thought I should feel. But I always had to hold back to
keep from hurting him. Even before the chip came out, before the
drugs stopped. I'm the Slayer. If I had wrapped my legs around
him and lost it during sex and squeezed, I would have broken his
back. I feel sorry about Riley. I wanted that to work. I wanted
to be happy. I wanted to be normal.
Normal. What is normal? It's not fucking in a crypt, fucking
under a rug, leaving your lover's body tatooed with marks of pain.
It's not wanting someone who's evil, who's everything the world
fears.
If they found out I'd be so ashamed. Xander would be the worst.
He would be sick. And without knowing…details. Willow is fighting
her addiction but I give into mine. She would be disgusted. Anya
would smirk and look pleased. Dawn would be angry, knowing I was
spending time with Spike instead of her.
Spending time with Spike. Him handcuffed while I pour hot wax
on his flesh and he winces in pain. Spike moaning as I take his
flesh in my teeth and bite down. Spike panting as I ride him like
he's my personal sex toy. Punching him. Kicking him in the head.
Refusing to …talk to him. He wants…what? Spike wants to love me.
He wants...hearts and flowers. He wants…possession. He wants me
to stand before my friends and say "Boyfriend" or he wants to
pull me into the dark and never let me leave, let me leave, never
leave, never stop, stop, never stop.
Then Katrina. I heard a scream and went running. I was so glad
I had someone to rescue, some reason to run away from Spike's
crypt, some fight to keep me from pressing myself into his flesh,
from surrendering to his perversions. And mine.
I went running.
I thought I would be able to let go, fight and win and feel good
about myself. But things went crazy weird, like a dream. Things
happening out of order, and again. Demons coming at me and then
disappearing. Spike finding me when I'd tried to escape him. Me
striking out and hitting him again and again. Fighting the demons
then striking someone I thought was Katrina and seeing her roll
down that hill. Then there she was. Dead and still and it was
my fault. Her death became part of everything I had been doing
that was wrong.
Spike got me home.
Home to my bed. Home to my dreams of Spike and Katrina. Dreams
where the things I did with Spike, to Spike became confused with
what I thought I had done to Katrina. Spike helpless as I staked
him in his sleep. Katrina with the stake in her chest, her eyes
open and accusing.
It was all my fault, all my fault because I'm wrong. The way
I hurt Spike. The way I hurt Katrina. I'm wrong. Wrong.
I needed to be punished. I needed someone to stop me from doing
those things with Spike, to stop me from doing those things to
Spike or someday he might be dead underneath me.
The police. The police would punish me. Punish me for killing
Katrina. Punish me for Spike. The police would stop me from fucking
Spike, from hurting Spike, from staking Spike. I was wrong. I
needed to be locked away the way they locked Faith away. The police
would help me. They would stop me from being wrong.
Spike tried to stop me. I needed to be punished but he wouldn't
let me. He pulled me back. He stood in my way. When I hit him
he said…"That's my girl." I'M NOT HIS GIRL. I'm Angel's
girl. None of the things I've done with Spike count. Only that
night with Angel counts. How dare he. CALL. ME. HIS. GIRL.
I AM NOT YOUR GIRL! (I am no one's girl). YOU DON'T HAVE
A SOUL (I don't have a soul). YOU ARE DEAD INSIDE (I
only feel alive with this dead thing inside me). YOU CAN'T
FEEL ANYTHING REAL (Please God, don't let any of this be real).
I COULD NEVER BE YOUR GIRL.
I hit him. Again and again. And he let me. As he always lets
me. I believe he would let me stake him if he thought it would
give me peace. I hit him until the shame at what I was doing hit
me. I hit him until there were tears running down my face and
blood running down his face and then I was running away and leaving
him.
The police were busy.
I stood in the middle of the floor waiting for them to be finished
with their business so they could start on the business of punishing
me. Then I heard Katrina's name and flashed back to Warren and
knew I hadn't killed her. I hadn't killed her. Whatever else I
had done I hadn't killed an innocent.
I pushed everything else out of my mind and fled. I went home.
Later at the Magic Box I told my friends what had happened (part
of what had happened). I forget what I did the rest of the day.
Maybe I went to work. Maybe I didn't.
That evening Tara came over to tell me what she found out about
my… about what went wrong when they brought me back. Tara says
I'm not wrong. Then it all came flooding back. Now I have no excuse
for…any of the things I did to Spike, for using him, for beating
him, for leaving him. I found myself crying and begging Tara NOT
to forgive me. I cried and begged Tara not to forgive me because
I knew Spike already had.