Title: Worth Dying For
She was the perfect combination of softness and
strength. She always smelled of ripe strawberries, except
for on Sundays when she used a special Lavender conditioner
that left her golden locks especially silky beneath his
hands. At least he imagined them that way, when really he'd
only gotten quick sniffs and an occasional brush against
his arm. But somehow even that was enough to leave him
breathless, had he needed air to breathe. She was his
beautiful Slayer. She ?
"Drat!" he exclaimed trying to lose the mental
images. He really had to stop going off on these mental
rants all the time.
Crawling from his bed Spike looked around at the
bleakness of his crypt. Immediately his mind drifted to
what it would be like to bring the Slayer here. She'd
come in after patrol complaining of her aching muscles
and he'd offer her a massage, using his well sculpted
hands to knead away the tension. He could almost feel the
softness of her skin beneath his hands ?
'I should have just tried to sleep,' Spike thought
in disdain as he paced around his crypt. 'At least I can
blame the dreams on hormones.' Distracted by his thoughts
Spike tripped over something and his normally graceful
form went flying face first into the floor.
"Bloody hell--" he groaned lifting a hand to his
head and growling in a very non-human way. He picked himself
off the ground, all the while muttering obscenities about
how the Slayer had not only taken his dignity she'd taken
his poise. Then he looked around for the cause of his
momentary pain in order to let out his frustrations at the
Slayer situation on it. Glancing down Spike saw a large
piece of wood, one of the remains of his shrine to the
very source of his frustration. He growled again, this time
because it brought to mind her most recent and painful
rejection.
Spike knew as well as anyone that his obsession
with the Slayer was unhealthy. It wasn't that he was so
much neurotically fixated on her, he had just grown very
restless. He admitted now that he'd had feelings for the
Slayer from the moment he laid eyes on her but in the past
he could always push them aside by killing everything in
sight or using his supposed desire to kill her as an excuse
for his thoughts. Now, the bloody chip had left him with
no choice but to face up to his feelings and once he had,
with nothing but demons to take out his aggressions on,
the obsession formed of it's own will. Drawing pictures of
her, sneaking into her house, spending hours outside her
window. It gave him something to focus on, it gave him a
purpose. It wasn't just an obsession to him. He really did
love the Slayer, as much as, if not more than, Druscilla.
He had been equally transfixed by his Black Beauty, it was
just his nature, both human and demon, to do so.
However, it was getting harder and harder for
Spike to keep living, or he supposed, unliving in Sunnyhell.
The Slayer was really the only thing keeping him alive. So
he was selfish. So he stayed here because he needed to know
that there really was a point to it all. That there was still something here
for him.
Even if it was just another version of hell.
Author: Jessa (jessa_88@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: The character's aren't mine. The story is.
Spoilers: up to 'The Body'
Distribution: my site, Trish's site, anyone else just email me and tell me
where it's going
Feedback: Yes yes yes! I thrive on it.
Acknowledgements: Dedicated to Trish for being such an awesome help in
beta-ing and just because she's awesome ;)
The man with soul of dead
who walks in darkness
shall risk all for love's sake
and be born again -
into light
Part 1
Spike had lain awake all night. The fact that he
usually slept during the day seemed irrelevant because he
didn't sleep then either. Whenever he closed his eyes the
Slayer plagued his dreams. Although he could never, even
in his deepest sleep, see her beautiful face as a plague.
It didn't matter anyway. She was with him when his eyes
were open too, but at least his daydreams were easier to
control. That's why he chose to lay awake tormented or
blessed, depending on his mood, by the face of the Slayer,
trying not to imagine how silky warm her skin would feel
contrasted to his.
Part Two
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