Chapter 5
Scene 1
Spike’s apartment, sometime later. Open with relaxed moaning heard offscreen. Pan to the bed, where Spike is laying face down, his upper half naked and exposed, his lower half under the sheet; Deth is straddling him at the level of his bum. She’s wearing just a tank top and some knickers, which she’d negotiated to keep on due to her chill the night before—or was it two nights now? There’s an open bottle of scented massage oil on the bedside table.
She rubs her hands together, coating them evenly with a second batch of oil before pressing them against his impossibly white, flawless skin. After a quick once-over to coat the length and width of his back and shoulders, she sets to work on the muscles along his spine, working her thumbs upward and outward from the bone creating a set of little fans, or wings in the oil as she works from the base upwards towards his neck. When she reaches the top, she takes a quick moment to squeeze the muscles along his neck, smoothing the skin out towards his shoulders with her full hands. Though his skin feels oddly cool, she is amazed how similar the muscles feel under it to any other back she had massaged—amazed because the flesh is meant to be dead. It’s so easy to forget. She moves her hands down from his shoulders, now pushing the tips of all five fingers into his skin and the muscles underneath in a series claws down the far edge of his back; each time she pauses to work her fingers into tiny circles, he moans his approval. She can’t help but admire the flesh before her—a perfect triangular shape. Muscles for definition only, not bulk; much more rewarding to the hands and eyes than a back thick with flesh. She’d be happy burying her fingers in it all day, listening to his low moans and appreciative grunts. She sets to work with a bit more force, using a rolling fist to penetrate beneath the skin.
Spike: [his head to the side] “Hmmmph. God, that’s nice—what’re you doing again?”
Deth: “Dispersing the toxins. [beat] From your recent binge.”
This is the first they’ve referred to the events of the other night. As she continues with the massage…
Spike: “Not sure the same principles apply to dead flesh, but it feels all right.”
Deth: “Probably a load of bull anyway, to be honest. Claire—my foster mom—took a massage therapy course once. She used to set up a table at Grateful Dead shows to earn extra money. Took me along sometimes.”
Spike: [quick laugh] “How did you escape becoming a hippie with a mum like that?”
Deth: “I had a mum like that.”
Spike: “Fair enough.”
More silent massaging. A contemplative frown descends on Deth’s face.
Deth: [said, matter-of-factly] “I won’t put up with any more hoochies.”
Spike: “What hoochies?”
Deth: “Like the one from the bar, for example.”
Spike: [smiling coyly] “Don’t know what you’re on about.”
She shakes her head and whispers her fingertips to the far side of his back, causing him to squirm abruptly.
Spike: “That tickles….[she continues]…Stop it….[more squirming]…[laughing now] Oh, that hoochie. Barely remember—miss all the good bits when you’re that pissed. Was she cute?” [She swats the back of his head, playfully] Right. No more hoochies.”
Deth: “Good.”
Spike: [naughty smile] “Although….I seem to remember quite enjoying the way you tossed her aside—by the hair, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t mind seeing that again.”
Deth: [smirking with an eyebrow raise] “I wouldn’t mess with me. I’ve got friends in high places.”
Spike: “Perhaps not anymore.”
Deth: “You think he’ll fire me? I like working there. [beat] I like Wesley.”
Spike: [mock jealousy] “Really? [turning around underneath, so he’s now on his back, facing her] Didn’t think he was your type.”
Deth: “I like working with him. He knows a lot. Only pays just enough attention—it’s relaxing. Besides, I find him completely asexual.”
She’s now put a bit more oil on her hands and is massaging his chest.
Spike: “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to hear you say that.”
Deth: “Do you know why Illyria likes him? Seems odd.”
Spike: “Wasn’t aware she did.”
Deth: “It angers her. She can’t stop it. [beat] Must be the girl she was. Did he love her?”
Spike: “In a repressed, English school boy sort of way, I suppose.”
Deth: [changing the subject] “Illyria wants to watch us have sex.”
Spike: [brief pause] “Okay.”
Deth: [scrunching up her face] “Uh, not okay. I only mentioned it because I thought it was funny.”
Spike: “Guess it could be a bit dangerous. Especially if she decided to join in.”
Deth: “I’d rather not think about it.”
A few more minutes of silent massaging—he closes his eyes as she works her hands over his pecs, gently rubbing her thumbs into the relaxed muscles around his nipples. She suddenly has a desire to lean over and nibble on one, but before her thought translates to action, he says:
Spike: [eyes still closed] “What do you think of Angel?”
He tries hard not to let on just how important her response might be.
Deth: [without a beat; completely honestly] “I don’t.”
Spike: [opening his eyes, smiling] “That is such the right answer.”
She can’t help but smile back. She knows Spike and Angel don’t get along, but has never imagined that it goes so very much deeper than that.
She works her hands down to the muscles of his abdomen, thrilled to find that she can feel every one flex under her fingers when he lifts his head slightly. She criss-crosses her fingers over them; still slick with the oil, they slide across without resistance. She can feel him start to harden underneath her, but neither of them are in a rush to change the mood.
Deth: “What about a cave entrance?”
Spike: [confused frown] “Non sequitur alert. You really could work on your transitions, luv.”
Deth: “To the sea. A cave entrance, so you could go in during the day.”
Spike: “Maybe, yeah. But you seem to be doing alright on your own.”
Deth: “Hm.”
She frowns, not completely confident in her ability to overcome her fear so quickly. She’ll keep her eye out.
Spike: “So what do you want for your birthday?”
Deth: [a shocked expression sneaks across her face before she has the time to temper it] “How did...??”
Spike: “’Nicked a bit of cash from you the other day—saw your drivers license. By the way, I owe you a fiver.”
Deth: [grinning a bit] “It’s not really my birthday. Just what the Pastuyk picked.”
Spike: “Figured it was a bit too odd for you to have been born on Halloween.”
Deth: “Yeah. Guess they figured it was a festive time for humans and a safe time for me to go out if I wanted.”
Spike: “How old, then?”
Deth: “Twenty-seven. About.”
Spike: [teasing] “Getting up there. Shouldn’t you be thinking about squeezing out babies and the like—biological clock and all—instead of hanging about with the likes of me?”
Deth: “Don’t want babies. Never have. Too many other things to do.”
The minute these words leave her mouth, she is completely shocked by a wisp of a thought that flickers across her mind. As she glances up at him, his stunning blue eyes hold her gaze a moment—in that instant, her thoughts whisper that she might want his baby. She quickly shakes it away, mildly amused by her silliness. She wonders if she might not be so different from other girls after all—she had always snickered at friends who’d made comments like that, firm in her belief that she was of a completely different sort, immune to such feelings. She rolls her eyes at herself and shakes her head.
Spike: [noticing her bemused look] “What?”
Deth: “Nothing.”
Spike is also surprised by a twinge of pity he feels for her—a remnant from his genteel past, probably. Back when he was simply William, women got married and had babies—it was expected; family was everything. And that small, distant part of him can’t conceive of someone dismissing that life entirely. But then he returns to himself and smiles at the thought that assuming she’s telling the truth, he won’t have to worry about her running off with some human any time soon or feel guilt that he might be depriving her of something.
Spike: “So what’s it to be then? For your birthday.”
Deth: [contemplating] “I’d like to go out. Someplace nice. For dessert. Think I might like to wear a dress. Don’t get me anything—just spruce up a bit.”
Spike: “’Think I can manage that.”
After a pleasant pause.
Deth: [resigned frowning] “Guess I should turn my phone on—find out if I’m fired or not.”
**
Scene 2
Wolfram and Hart. A week or so later.
Deth wasn’t actually fired—thanks mostly to Wesley’s insistence and Angel’s listening to reason. Every now and again, Angel would have moments of his old self; not the grumpy, reluctant bureaucrat he’d become. They would explore other avenues with the Djandni; keep relations pleasant with the Llyoobov demon. Deth agrees to consider meeting with him again at the W&H offices. In the meantime, she goes back to helping Wesley out with research.
On this day, they’re in his office, looking over some files. They’re both working in silence, with only an occasional word between them.
Deth: [without looking up from the file she is hunched over] “What’s a slayer?”
Wesley looks up from the book he’s reading, a completely perplexed frown covering his face.
Wesley: “You honestly don’t know? [Deth looks up casually and shrugs] How can you not know? How can you know so much about demons and not know what a slayer is? How very odd.”
Deth: [slightly defensive] “A slayer’s not a demon. [beat] Right?”
Wesley: “Well, no, but she’s certainly something that demons are concerned about—vampires especially.”
Deth: “I’ve never mixed much with vampires, remember?”
Well, until recently, she thinks to herself.
Wesley: “Still, quite surprising. Is there a reference to the slayer there? [Indicating the file she is looking at] Is that why you ask?”
Deth: “No. Must’ve overheard something about it—her—at the bar. Just remembered to ask now.”
In truth, she doesn’t know when it popped into her head—maybe a dream? Suddenly, in her mind, there it was—Slayer—with no explanation. Wesley stammers a brief explanation and instead of elaborating, pulls a book off his shelf and hands it to her. She takes a moment to leaf through the first few pages, but then puts it aside. She finds herself experiencing a pang of fear/concern for Spike—she’d never imagined that a being existed whose sole purpose was to kill vampires.
They go back to the task at hand—conversing briefly about this and that. After going through a personnel file from an ex-Wolfram and Hart employee, Deth gets an idea.
Deth: “Does everyone have a file here?”
Wesley: “Yes, I imagine we all have files down in the file room, disconcerting as that is.”
Deth: “Only employees?”
Wesley: “Oh no. It’s quite extensive, actually. Anyone who has ever been of interest to Wolfram and Hart has a file—much like the FBI I imagine, only for all eternity. And openly evil, of course.” [He smirks slightly.]
Deth: “Maybe there’s a file on me. I mean, a human baby raised by demons might have raised a red flag or two.”
Wesley: “You’d think that would’ve gotten their attention, wouldn’t you? I did check the files initially and finding nothing here, I put in a request to the Chicago office to see if they had anything. I’m afraid I never got around to following up.”
In fact, he’d repeatedly forgotten to follow up on investigating Deth’s background. Too many things kept popping up—things more pressing and important that Angel has forced priority on. Not to mention that he has never quite regained his focus. Things pop in and pop out of his mind through the haze of his melancholy.
Deth: “There could be something in there to explain things—explain me.”
Wesley: “Yes, the Llyoobov demon’s behavior was quite peculiar, wasn’t it? On top of everything else.”
Deth: “And he hasn’t been the only demon sniffing around. My tips have tripled at the bar the past few weeks—demons have been disconcertingly chatty.”
Wesley: [lifting a curious eyebrow] “Any patterns in terms of which species are paying you the most attention?”
Deth: “Not that I can tell. Vamps are the least friendly, but that’s typical. [pause while she thinks about something] Could it be because of Spike? Maybe because they know I’m dating a demon, they think they have a chance?”
Wesley: “Possibly. But that doesn’t explain why demons who have never shown an interest in humans should suddenly start with you. [beat] Why don’t you go down to the file room and see if anything ever arrived from Chicago. I’ll have one of my people do a search on cross-species dating involving humans to see if anything like this has happened before.”
She nods and heads out the door. Wes picks up the phone, but then gets a call from Angel on another line. He takes it and then promptly forgets about the search he intended to request and goes back to browsing the book on his desk.
Deth enters the file room, which is attended by a woman dressed like a librarian. When she gets a bit closer, she notices that the woman has decidedly non-human eyes peeking behind her half-rimmed glasses and a bulge in the back of her shirt, indicating some sort of spiny projections. The name Kinegue surfaces in Deth’s mind.
Kinegue: “Can I help you find something?”
Deth: “Can I browse the files?”
Kinegue: [frowning] “I’m happy to bring you whatever files you need. We don’t permit browsing.”
Deth: “Can you check to see if any files have arrived from the Chicago office? The name would be Meredeth Nyssa.”
Kinegue: [Her eyes glaze over for just a second, as she is obviously retrieving this information from somewhere] “Nope. Sorry. Anything else?”
Deth: “I’d like to have a look around myself. [more emphatic] I want to browse.”
She stares at Deth blankly for a moment without speaking; her glowing green eyes blinking slowly behind her glasses.
Kinegue: “Alrighty, then. Here’s a map of the filing system. Let me know if you have any questions.”
Deth steps around the desk after taking the piece of paper with the rather complicated map on it. She navigates to the appropriate file cabinet and opens it. She looks at the tabs of the first few folders and then sees the one she’s looking for: Spike, AKA William the Bloody. Ok, so maybe there was a touch of a ruse here. But she couldn’t stop her curiosity when she remembered the existence of the file room. She simply needed an excuse to make the trip, both for the appearance of propriety and her own peace of mind—seems a touch less like snooping this way. She quickly discovers that Spike’s “file” is actually 3 folders, filled to capacity. She pulls them all out, sits on the floor and gets comfortable.
**
Hours later, she emerges from the file room, looking a bit pale. She returns to Wesley’s office. In his typical distracted state, he barely noticed she was gone. Upon seeing her, he remembers where she had been.
Wesley: “Any luck?”
Deth: [with a disconcerted tremble in her voice] “No.”
Wesley: “Remind me tomorrow to put another call in to Chicago. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were holding back—the other offices aren’t terribly cooperative with us.”
Deth: “Sure. Uh, so if you don’t need me, I think I’ll head out.”
Wesley: “Yes, certainly. It’s quite late, isn’t it? Do you need a car or is Spike taking you home?”
Deth: “I’m fine.”
He nods and gets up to pour himself a drink. She picks up her things and leaves. She stops in the snack room to pick up a bottle of water she’d left in the fridge. She’s so distracted by her thoughts that she actually walks by the entrance once before remembering where she was going and why. She stands at the fridge with the door open for quite a long time until someone else comes into the room, snapping her out of her daze. She takes the bottle of water and leans against the nearest wall while she takes a sip. Finally, she makes her way towards the elevators. She stands there a few minutes, without pushing the button, staring in to space. Just as she leans forward to summon the elevator, she hears her name. It’s Spike, just leaving Angel’s office. Her eyes widen slightly as he approaches. She doesn’t look at him directly, but instead shifts her eyes down and to the side, nervously. He strolls up casually. She doesn’t move towards him.
Spike: [a bit surprised by her stance] “Don’t I get a kiss?”
She nervously glances up at him and then awkwardly leans forward to give him a quick peck. He stands back to look at her a moment. Not only are her cheeks uncharacteristically flushed, but her heart is beating fast and furiously—certainly increasing at his approach. Very odd. Not that he isn’t flattered to produce such an effect on a pretty girl, but Deth isn’t really the sort for such things. He ignores it for the moment.
Spike: “Yeah, uh, I’ve got a bit of a thing to take care of—some nonsense errand that apparently I’m the only one suitable to do; or some such bollocks. Anyway, should only take an hour or so. I’ll pop by after. Or d’you want to wait at my place? [not waiting for her to answer] Think it might be time for another Mexican night—I was thinking ‘Once Upon a Time in Mexico’, tequila of course, and…[considering]…Mexican body sundaes. You get the ice cream and I’ll take care of everything else. Oh, but we’re running a bit low on chocolate sauce.”
Deth: “Think maybe I’ll just go home, get some sleep tonight. Feeling a bit funky. Not the best of days. Bit of a scratchy throat—maybe I’m getting a cold. So, uh, yeah, I should probably just take it easy. Drink some juice, take some vitamins. I hate colds. So if I can avoid getting one, I probably should. So, you know, just going to crash. If you don’t mind. Tonight.”
He stands there, squinting and looking perplexed. Her voice is even stranger—a waffly sort of higher pitch than normal. And the babbling—totally new and puzzling. He’s about to call her on it, when Wes pokes his head out of his office.
Wesley: “Deth, glad you’re still here. Would you mind having a quick look at something? I meant to ask you before, but it slipped my mind. It should only take a minute.”
Deth: [relieved by the distraction]“Sure, great. No problem.”
And she practically skips off toward Wesley’s office, leaving Spike standing at the elevator with a confused frown. He shakes it off and leaves, planning on catching up with her later anyway, despite her ramblings on about being sick.
**
A couple of hours later….
Spike appears in the doorway of the bar they sometimes attend—the one where they had the quick shag in the corner. He had stopped by her place, but got no answer and decided to try this place before heading off to Harvey’s. From across the room, he sees her playing pool—actually, he sees her finish a game of pool, easily sinking the eight ball to win the game. The bloke she was playing steps around the table, picks up his drink and appears to start chatting her up a bit. Seeing her usual aloof manner, Spike smiles to himself, knowing the bloke’s attempts at flirtation are useless. But just when it looks like he’s about to push off, she gives him one of her little half-smiles. Spike frowns, feeling a twinge of jealousy. Still, her demeanor is suitably cold, so he won’t let himself get too worked up. After a minute, the guy pulls out a pen from his pocket, grabs a napkin from a nearby table, jots his number down and hands it to her. She shrugs, but takes it. Satisfied, the guy gives her his best smile and then leaves heading toward the back door. She frowns as she examines the piece of paper; the frown is quickly replaced by a look of resignation as she stuffs it in her front pocket. She steps toward the bar, carrying her half empty glass. Spike strolls towards her. She doesn’t see him until he speaks.
Spike: [pleasant; definitely more curious than angry] “I hope that’s orange juice you’re drinking, what with you being ill and all.”
She turns towards him, practically knocking her glass off the bar. She catches it before it falls over and then lets out a nervous laugh as she glances at him and then quickly looks down to the floor and then off to the side with a coy smile. There goes her heart again, though this time she seems to be able to settle it after a few seconds. She looks back up at him, a pink flush in her still freckled cheek. He can’t help but laugh at her a bit—she’s acting like a nervous schoolgirl on a first date. He might even find it a bit sexy if it weren’t so very out-of-character.
Deth: “Sorry. I felt a bit better.”
It’s completely obvious to him that she’s lying. Huh. Before she can finish, he steps forward, thrusts his hand in her front pocket and pulls out the napkin with the number on it. Without saying anything, he balls it up and tosses it in a half-empty glass at the bar.
Spike: [a touch more serious] “What’s this about, then?”
Deth: “Nothing. I don’t know. I’m just…”
Spike: “Are you mad with me about something? Still worked up about the girl the other week—I was just scamming at the bar, honestly. Nothing more than a bit of a grope.”
Deth: [eyes widening] “No. I don’t care about that. I just wonder if maybe…maybe this isn’t right.”
Spike: [slightly worried now] “What isn’t right?”
Deth: [conflicted, frustrated] “I don’t know. [beat] I’m just a girl, remember?”
Spike: [confused] “What? Music’s a bit loud in here, let’s go outside.”
He heard what she said; felt the sting of his own words thrust back at him. But from her tone, he can tell this is not the conversation to have in a bar. She nods and they head outside into the alleyway. Once outside, she stands there, shifting nervously—he’s scanning her, getting lost in her dizzying body language.
Deth: [unsure] “I think maybe I need some of time.”
Spike: “Time for what, exactly?”
Deth: “Can we talk about this later? Tomorrow?”
Spike: “I’m still not clear on what we’re talking about. What’s happened?”
Deth: “I’d rather not say.”
Spike: “Sorry, luv, not an option—you’ve already started it.”
Deth: [slight panic] “But I haven’t figured it out yet.”
Spike: [dismissive] “Just tell me already—you know you will. You’re terrible at keeping secrets.”
Deth: “I did something I shouldn’t have and now I can’t take it back.”
Spike: “But you want to take it back?”
Deth: “Maybe. Probably. I’m not sure.”
Spike: [frustrated] “So tell me, then. You can bet I’ve done a lot worse.”
Deth: “You might be annoyed.”
Spike: “Unlikely” [Though he’s starting to have a twinge of worry.]
Deth: [still only glancing at him from time to time—never holding his gaze] “I…I looked at your file.”
Spike: “My file?”
Deth: [looking straight down at the ground now] “Your file at Wolfram and Hart. Everyone has a file. Well, everyone who’s important.”
Spike: [slowly processing what this means; a bit deflated] “And you saw mine.”
Deth: [resigned to confessing now] “Not so much saw as found. And not so much looked, but read cover to cover. Or should I say covers to covers—it was pretty long.”
He has to stop himself from saying something cocky like “I should hope so”; Once he’s able to squelch his initial feeling of pride, it slowly sinks into his brain what sorts of things would actually be in his file. And what sort of read that might be for a girl like Deth. In truth, he’d had a nagging fear this might happen. That she’d find out the details of his rather infamous past—his evil heyday. She might find the demon in him beautiful, but she’s not a killer, nor the sort to look too kindly on the acts of horror he used to routinely commit. It was nice to not have a past for a while—to have someone see him only as he is now. He feels a weight descend at the realization that she might never look at him quite the same way again.
Spike: [shaking his head, he mutters almost despondently] “What’d you go and do that for?”
Deth: “I wanted to know what makes you so sad.”
Spike: [Ok, time for damage control] “Listen, I’m not the same person as I was. Well, I am, but…I’m not. I mean…I don’t get off on that stuff like I used to. [It’ll be a cold day in hell before he’ll play the “soul card” like the Big Poof does on a daily basis.] I did terrible, horrific things and truth is, I loved it. But I’m done with that now. [Scanning her face, trying to read her reaction] You know I’d never raise a hand to you, right? You needn’t fear the monster I was—Everything is different.”
Deth has been standing, listening, shuffling her feat. But when he says this last thing, she looks up at him determinedly, with wide, frantic eyes.
Deth: “I’m not afraid. It’s not that. I knew you were a vampire and I knew you didn’t always have a soul. [beat] But I didn’t know you were….you know, like, famous. [not quite the right word, but she can’t decide how to put it] I mean, before you were just this hot guy—this fun hot guy who was cool and smart and kinda sweet and really good in bed. But now you’re like this epic person with this big epic story. I mean, it’s like something out of a mythology text—no less fantastic than the ancient legends I used to study in school, only it’s all true. I…I can’t really relate to that. I feel like one of those women in the Greek myths who suddenly wake up one day to find the man they’ve been sleeping with is actually Zeus or Aries in disguise. I mean, it’s a lot to take in all at once.”
Spike tries to stop himself from letting out a small laugh, but can’t. Mostly it’s a kind of relief.
Spike: “That’s what you’re upset about? First, you read too many stories…or maybe not enough. Whatever, I think it might be time to cut back on the Greek stuff for a bit. Second, I may have done a couple of extraordinary things in my day, but I’ve mucked things up plenty of times—don’t know if they mentioned that in the file.”
Deth: “But it’s that, too. It’s everything.”
Spike: “Trust me, I’m the same idiot I was last week. You’re being silly.”
Deth stands there, her eyes full of emotion. She furrows her brow and says with determination:
Deth: “No. I’m not.”
Something in her tone cuts through the comedy and he feels her seriousness settle on him. He marvels at the admiration in her eyes—shouldn’t he be allowed to for just a moment? He also sees the pity illuminating the edges and knows she must have got the answer she was looking for after all in those pages of text. Not sure how he feels about that.
Spike: “This shouldn’t change anything.”
Deth: [unswayed, with an almost pleading tone] “I’m Twenty-six.”
She’s never felt so young, so new to the world.
Spike: [not knowing what else to say, he offers:] “Going on Twenty-seven.”
Deth: “It’s like you said—I’m just…”
Spike: “Forget what I said. You need to learn to ignore me sometimes—I’m a mess, remember? S’what epic adventures will do to a bloke. [beat] You’re not just a girl—not to me. Not anymore.”
She fights the urge to insist that she is. That maybe she’s in over her head and she’d be better off finding a plain, ordinary boy to go out with. Not that she could ever go back to that.
Funny, when her told her that in his miserable drunken state—told her she was nothing, it was all in comparison to Buffy. Not that that makes it any more acceptable, but he certainly wasn’t comparing her to himself—swagger aside, he’d never seen himself that way. No one else seemed to. Well, maybe Dru back in the day. But no one else. He’d always made his own way, his own fanfare. Ironic that now that he’s saddled with the guilt of his past—the curse of his returned soul—he can’t truly fathom being the object of anyone’s admiration or sympathy. Seeing both in Deth’s expression, he doesn’t know what to make of it. He feels a swirling mix of guilt, pride, comfort and grief. Something to be worked out later. For now, he’d just as soon heave it all to the back of his mind, watch a film and lick chocolate sauce off his impossibly cute girlfriend. Actually, she can lick the chocolate sauce off him—he’ll stick to the creams.
They stand in silence for a minute or two—both caught up in their own thoughts. Deth still feels somewhat overwhelmed, both by her new knowledge and by her realization that at this point, she couldn’t not see him, despite herself. Oh, this could be very bad….
Deth: “What about peanuts? [off his confused look, explaining] Mexican sundae’s have Spanish peanuts.”
Spike: [smiling now; he reckons a Spanish peanut would fit nicely in her belly button] “Guess maybe we’ll have to stop at the shops on the way. You ready to push off?”
Deth: [brief pause; wishing she had more time to process this, but resigned] “Yeah.”
End Scene.
**
Scene 3
Time passes leading up to Halloween and things go on pretty much as usual.
As expected, Deth just needed some time to process what she’d learned about Spike’s past and once she’d done so, was able to take it in stride. She can’t quite look at him like she used to—how can you let your eyes linger at the surface, knowing the depth that lies beneath? But she does her best to act like nothing is different. She tries not to contemplate the tragedy of it and is careful not to ask too many questions of recent events—words from this time are still ragged, sharp and bloody. She restricts her occasional inquiry to a detail here and there. She never asks about her. To Deth, the subject brims with anger, not jealousy. Strange. She’d always preferred tragedy to comedy, so why despise the character who’d turned events from one to the other? Because it’s his tragedy, his pain, his story to which there is no satisfactory end. Eh, better to focus on other things…
Wesley had little luck getting information about Deth from the Chicago office. They did have a file, with a brief report about her being found in the schoolyard, raised by demons, etc. But then it just appeared to stop. As if someone had deliberately made the file dormant at that point or soon after, pushing it back to the archives un-noticed. He decides to take a different approach and have a psych team interview a few of the demons Deth has specifically mentioned to see if they are consciously aware of her seemingly special status. Well, that was his plan; he’d only made it as far as putting in a call or two and they’d yet to actually bring anyone in for questioning. He’d get to it, once the whole Halloween business had blown over. There’d been a sharp spike in demon activity about town the past couple of weeks—lots of out-of-towners showing up. Not causing an excessive amount of trouble, but Angel had him investigating each and every species newly spotted in the city as a precaution and this was taking up most of his time. They were an odd mix—not particularly violent; some had barely a mention in his library of texts because they mostly stayed out of the human realm. Interesting. Lorne had been given the task of inviting as many of them as he could find to the dreadful office Halloween party as a means of getting a closer look. Oddly, most had responded in the affirmative. Wesley had hoped to avoid the party, the memories from last year still too fresh in his mind. Hopefully, he’ll be able to distract himself with the study of these rare species. And, of course, a bottle of single malt.
After getting the news that Darryl had officially transferred to a different office and would therefore not be attending the Halloween party, Deth tells Spike she wants to go—she’d always enjoyed them in the past and it seemed as good a way as any to start off her birthday celebration. Their plan is to meet at the party and go out afterwards.
Scene: The night of the grand Halloween party at Wolfram and Hart.
Lorne is flitting around, pleased as punch at the record turnout. Angel is as grumpy as ever at having to schmooze; he’s more relaxed this time though, and begrudgingly makes the rounds with Lorne with a typical put-upon frown. Nina makes an appearance and his mood moderately improves. Still, it seems a bit more rowdy than last year and with the new batch of demons attending, everyone is a bit on edge. Well, except for Spike, who is quite happily sipping a drink near the bar, leaning against a table waiting for Deth to arrive (so they can leave). Well, that’s his plan—to stay for the minimum possible amount of time. He’s quite pleased with himself—bought some new clothes, cut his hair—spruced up nicely just as she asked. In truth, he doesn’t mind much—he knows he looks good and likes the extra attention. He is looking forward to seeing Deth—she had been a bit coy the past few days and insisted she was too busy with things to see him—‘personal business’ she had said with that sideways smile of hers. Right. He hadn’t pegged her as someone to make such an event out of a birthday, but he’d been wrong before. Anyway, she should be there in a minute.
Just as he has this thought, Deth slides through the lobby and into the main party room. Spike glances toward the door and has to do a bit of a double take to be sure that it’s her. Before he has time to let his eyes settle on her, there’s a disruption near the bar—couple of demons shoving each other over their place in the line. He puffs a laugh at the chaos and then turns back to get a longer look at Deth as she walks slowly through the room towards him. She looks absolutely stunning. She’s wearing a deeply red dress—a sort of a brownish, burgundy red. It’s fitted silk, Dupioni or something similarly stiff through the body. It is sleeveless with a wide, square, deeply cut neck. There is a flair of softer silk lining the top, but not enough to obscure much of her considerable cleavage. The skirt is straight, with another flair up the slit at the back to break up the hem and make it look a touch less conservative. The back of the dress is open down to the small of her back, revealing a swirling pattern of henna tattoos in matching color coming down her neck and across her shoulder blades. The reddish hue of the henna and the dress compliment the red in her hair, which she has extended beyond the under-layer to highlights throughout the blonde. It’s up in a loose clip, allowing enough strands to fall to keep it a bit funky. She’s wearing a delicately sexy amount of make-up; just enough to make her features stand out. After drinking in the sight of his suddenly gorgeous girlfriend, Spike takes a quick scan of the room, enjoying how many eyes are following her walk towards him. What’s so very striking is that instantly, all the subtly that used to define her has vanished. That is the true difference—it’s why so many of the faces in the room appear to be seeing her for the very first time. It’s not the hair, or the dress or the make-up, its the lifting of a shade. Everything about her tonight screams “look at me” and oddly, seems perfectly natural.
A few more scuffles erupt around the room, but neither she nor Spike notice. She’s seen him now and is smiling warmly as she approaches. Until now, she wasn’t sure he’d taken her birthday request very seriously—she is pleased to find he has cleaned up far beyond her expectations. She notices his hair first—she’d often wondered about the hair; she’d thought about suggesting a cut, but wasn’t clear on whether or not it would grow back. Vampire physiology is still a mystery. Ooh, but she likes the shorter, textured hair with a hint of curl. He is dressed in black, as usual, but shockingly his pants aren’t denim but rather a clean, smooth sort of brushed cotton accompanied by a black leather belt defining his narrow waist. His shirt, only partly tucked in, is long sleeved with rather inconspicuously shear narrow stripes lined with a very faint silver glimmer. The top three buttons are undone, showing just enough of the pale white skin underneath and a silver chain around his neck.
She stops when she gets about a foot in front of him—he’s still leaning against a table attempting to feign a look of cocky indifference. They smile at each other a moment before he takes her hand and forces her into a little twirl so he can have a proper look at her.
Spike: “Don’t you look flash.”
Deth: [with a smirking grin] “I’m so much hotter than dog-girl.”
He laughs.
Spike: “I should think so. [beat] What’s with the tattoos?”
Deth: “Henna—there was a woman in the street doing them. Thought it would be fun. Got the dress to match.”
Spike: “Sexy. What do the markings mean?”
Deth: [It hadn’t even occurred to her that they might have meaning] “Oh, don’t know. ‘Just came to me.”
Spike: [trailing his fingers down one of the henna lines to the top of the fabric below] “Do they keep going?”
Deth: “You’ll find out later.”
He stands up properly and then turns her back around, pulling her towards him so that her back is pressed against him. He slips his arms around her waist and plants a kiss on the base of her neck.
Spike: [whispering in her ear] “Every bloke in here wants to fuck you. They all want to be with you.”
Deth: “Good thing you’re the only one to catch my eye. Seems right—we’re the best looking people here.”
Spike laughs.
Spike: “Listen to you. All cocky and boastful.”
Deth: “It’s my birthday—I’m ready to be the center of attention.”
She can’t explain it, but she is ready. For the first time, she doesn’t mind a bit that all eyes are on her. Just so long as two of those eyes are Spike’s.
Spike: “Oh, right. Happy Birthday.”
Deth: [with a little nod] “Thank you.”
Spike: “Let me know when you want to leave.”
She twirls a step away from him.
Deth: [ignoring him] “Think I’m ready for a drink.”
Just a she says this, three demons who had been standing nearby, thrust three glasses in front of her, each with a different sort of cocktail. She frowns slightly; Spike waves them off.
Spike: “What do you want?”
Deth: “Champagne.”
Spike turns to grab a glass of full champagne from a tray on the bar; when he turns back around, a different set of demons are all holding out their own champagne glasses. Deth ignores them and takes the one from Spike’s hand. After a sip.
Spike: “So…how much longer you figure we should stay?”
Deth: [smiling, shaking her head] “I want just two drinks and a dance. Then we go for dessert. [beat] And I mean actual dessert, not figurative dessert.”
Spike: [exaggerated sigh] “You’re really going to draw this out, aren’t you?”
Deth: “Haven’t you ever heard of delayed gratification?”
Spike: [scrunching up his face in mock confusion] “No, can’t say that I have. Though I’m sure Angel could give me a much informed definition.”
Deth just gives him an eyebrow raise.
Spike: “So what happens after dessert?”
Deth: “I assume that’s when I get my extra special birthday shag.”
Spike: “Oh right. ‘Suppose I’m responsible for organizing that one, aren’t I? I’ll see what I can whip together.”
Deth: [downing her glass of champagne] “I’m ready for my dance now.”
Spike: “A bit bossy tonight.”
He doesn’t mind. Without further protestation, he takes her to the dance floor and they have a nice, leisurely sway to whatever music is playing, their bodies pressed tightly together. Many eyes are on them, but they don’t notice. As the song ends, Deth whispers in Spike’s ear.
Deth: “I want to blow you.”
He can tell from her tone that she means now. Without a word, he takes her hand and leads her away from the crowded room. He has a quick look around the various hallways and decides to go to Angel’s office. He jimmies the lock. Once inside, he moves a chair to block the door and pull the shade down over the window. They move over towards Angel’s desk. Spike leans back against it and pulls Deth toward him for a kiss. She pulls away before their lips meet.
Deth: [quoting a line from a movie they had recently seen on cable] “I’d like to kiss you, but I just washed my hair.”
She runs her hands down his chest, then over the front of his pants then back up to start unfastening his belt. He watches her every move with growing hunger. Before she drops to her knees, she whispers:
Deth: “Tell me about my birthday shag.”
He stops her from dropping
Spike: “Maybe we should move the timing of that up a bit.”
Deth: [shaking her head] “They’ll be no mussing until after dessert. And you’re not going to rip this dress.”
She slides her hands down the sides of his body as she drops to her knees. She’s been thinking about this from moment she laid eyes on him tonight—envisioning what they’d look like—her dressed to the nines, picture perfect, queen of the ball—on her knees sucking him off in some dark corner. She pulls his pants down and a few inches, freeing his filling cock. She looks up at him, licking her lips seductively before she runs her warm, wet tongue over his tightening skin. She continues to tease him with only her tongue until he starts to groan his impatience, his knob know at full attention beckoning to be submerged in her lipstick lined mouth. She grabs the base rather roughly and he lets out a tantalizing grunt at the touch. She positions her mouth over the tip, but then stops and looks up at him coyly as if she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do next.
Spike: “If this is supposed to be some sort of lesson in delayed gratification, I get it.”
He looks practically frantic and she loves it.
Deth: “Oh, we haven’t even started yet. [beat] Tell me.”
Spike: “Right. Birthday shag…uh…”
Once he starts speaking, she nibbles the side of his cock, rubbing the inside of her lips along the edge, stopping just before the tip.
Spike: “mmmmm. I won’t wait for you later. I’ll plunge right in as soon as I want; I’ll just spread your legs and push into your little hole.”
See, that’s all she was waiting for—between the physical proximity to his body and his words, she feels herself start to swell and moisten. She greedily sucks in as much of his length as she can, pushing forward until she feels the tip touch the back of her throat. This elicits a more prolonged grunt as he feels the intense warmth of her mouth envelop him. She starts to thrust herself over him, alternately sucking him in and pulling him out, circling her hand around the base at the same time.
Spike: “aaawww yeah.”
He grabs hold of the edge of the desk, throwing his head back. After a moment, he looks down at her again, entranced by the site of her ruby-red lips moving up and down his aching shaft. He remembers he’s supposed to keep talking and tries to focus.
Spike: [between puffs of air] “Think I’ll take you on your…uhhahhhah…knees first. Give you rug burns, I’ll fuck you so…hmmhmmm…hard.”
She moans her encouragement, but keeps her mouth thrusting steadily; she’s starting to taste him now. God, her pussy is starting to ache. She positions the hand that is gripping and squeezing the base of his shaft so that her mouth slips over two of her fingers on the down-stroke. When she’s satisfied with their moistness, she shifts her hands and moves the moistened one downwards between his legs while the other takes its place gripping his boner. She starts to massage the skin behind his balls, working her moistened fingers back further towards his opening. He spreads his legs a bit to better accommodate her probing hand.
Spike: [working hard to continue to form words] “And when you’re nice and swollen and wet, I’ll flip you over and lap up all your…awfuck…juice. I won’t let you come, though. I’ll make you wait ‘till I’m ready. I’ll make you…ahhhhmmm…beg for it.”
Continuing to milk his now rock-hard shaft with her mouth, she slips her middle finger into him, pushing it as far as it’ll go. He gasps loudly and tenses.
Spike: “Aw, shit…such a bad girl. [pause] More.”
She slips in the second finger and starts moving them in and out. She can just reach the right spot with the very tip of her finger fully inserted and he completely loses his concentration at the added stimulation. This little unexpected surprise has brought him very close to the edge. He starts to augment her movements by gently thrusting into her mouth. After a minute of this, she pulls her hand out from between his legs in order to focus on sucking in more earnest, feeling that he’s close to coming. Suddenly, there’s a noise by the door—someone trying to push it open. A hand reaches around to pull up the blind to see what’s going on inside. Deth ignores it and keeps pumping away, not letting it disrupt her rhythm. Spike turns his head to find Angel glaring at them through the now uncovered window in the door, looking very angry. He unwittingly lets his stare linger on a bit too long at the sight of Deth’s mouth moving up and down Spike’s impressive boner. Noticing the direction of his stare, Spike flips him the bird and turns back to enjoy the rest of his blow job, assuming Angel is now embarrassed enough to leave them too it. He is and does. Spike figures it’s time to get out of there and relaxes just enough to leave his body free to come—in a few seconds, he moans loudly as he shoots into Deth’s still perfectly lip-sticked mouth. She smiles, proud of herself as she gets up off the floor. He fastens his trousers and belt and they’re about to head out the door when Spike gets an idea. He drops to his knees, reaches up under Deth’s skirt and emerges with her soaked thong. He smirks and stuffs it in his pocket.
Spike: “I want everyone to smell you—smell that we’ve been fucking.”
She suddenly questions her decision to postpone the birthday shag, but shakes it off and follows Spike back into the party. As promised, they stay for one more drink. Things start getting a bit rowdy, demons shoving each other, fights breaking out, various yelling/roaring matches. Angel and the rest do their best to keep things as calm as possible, but there’s a feeling that the party is getting out of control. Spike and Deth decide to leave, as it’s getting more and more difficult to avoid the chaos.
They go to a nice restaurant for dessert—one Deth had picked out. Despite their mutual arousal, she is determined to take her time—draw out the night. After a while, it becomes a sort of game—who can think of another excuse to delay the birthday shagging just a bit longer—who will be the first to crack? On their way out of the restaurant…
Deth: “What now?”
Spike: “I quite fancy a quick game of snooker.”
Deth: “I’ve never played.”
Spike: “Then it’s quite likely to take hours.”
Deth: “Doubt we could find a table anywhere at this hour.”
Spike: [smiling] “True. [beat] There’s always bowling.”
Deth: [happy to give in] “Perhaps it’s time to head back to your place.”
Spike: “’Need to stop at your flat first.”
Deth: [frowning] “Why? Single bed doesn’t exactly scream ‘birthday shag’ to me.”
Spike: “My present is at your flat.”
Deth: [confused] “Can’t my “present” [she makes the quotes with her hands] be at your apartment, too?”
Spike: “Oh, right. When I say present, I mean actual present, not figurative present as in sex and/or multiple orgasms.”
Deth: “You weren’t supposed to get me a present.”
He muses to himself: God, she looks happy. Wonderfully relaxed and happy. Makes him want to see her this way all the time—didn’t seem to take all that much effort, honestly. He wonders how long he could keep her in this state—it’s infectious.
Overwhelmed with curiosity, they head off toward her apartment. She’s giddy and bouncy the whole way. At the door.
Deth: “Now remember, you’re not going to rip my dress. Promise?”
She knows all too well that being in close proximity to a bed is going to make it very difficult to delay gratification any further. She is actually light headed from desire at this point—all the blood rushing to her parts over the past four hours or so. And she can tell by the way he’s been shifting all night that he’s been fighting a boner since they left the party.
Spike: “Don’t know what you’re on about—I’m just giving you your bloody birthday present is all.”
He explains that he’d had someone deliver it once she left earlier for the party. He makes her close her eyes and leads her inside. Once she’s positioned appropriately, he tells her to open them. In front of her is an aquarium—mid-sized, fully fitted with accessories. Inside there are no fish, but instead a few bits of coral, an anemone and laying right there in the middle of the tank, a starfish. She’s completely speechless.
Spike: “I was going to get you a tub—much more potential for mutual enjoyment—but your bathroom’s too small and there’d be plumbing involved and such. Seemed too much a bother.”
Deth: “How…where…?”
Spike: “Was a bit of a trick—had to break into three different pet shops to find all the right bits and bobs. Filled aquariums not the easiest things to steal, so I had to be creative. I nicked a book on what you’re supposed to do to keep it up, too. Bloody expensive these things are, you know, if you were to actually pay for it all.”
All she can think is that this is the best present she’s ever gotten. Ever. From anyone. Darryl always got her jewelry or lingerie and flowers for her birthday—nice, but very generic.
She just stands there, blinking, not knowing what to say or do. She pulls her gaze away from the aquarium and looks over at Spike. She stares at him a moment, an odd smile on her lips. Yeah, there’ll be no more waiting. Her cheeks flush at the look he’s giving her now; he must know what she’s thinking. They lunge at each other, smashing their mouths together.
Spike: [breaking free for a second] “You get that I’m going to rip your dress, right?”
Deth: [breathless] “But there’s a zipper.”
Spike: “Opens at the wrong end.”
And with that, he practically tosses her on the carpeted floor, flips her onto her knees and rips the dress straight up from the slit in the back, exposing her naked ass. Within seconds, he’s freed his erection from his pants and grabbing her hips, slams into her; they both groan loudly. So many hours of waiting. Though he’d had the quick release at the party, he’d spent the next three hours smelling her sweet scent, seeing the desire lurking behind her eyes, lusting at her newly decorated body. Being so close to her in such a state and not having her was the most intense exercise in self-control he can remember. So the relief of being inside her is overwhelming. She’s so slippery and swollen—he’d never felt her so wet, her pussy so welcoming. And because of the swelling, he knows he’s free to plunge into her as fast and as hard as he wants without hurting her. Such freedom. He grasps her hips hard enough to bruise them and starts pumping in a rough frenzy. She’s squealing with delight, but he hardly hears, he’s so focused on his goal.
Spike: “I have to come….can’t wait.”
But it doesn’t happen quite as quickly as he thought it might—he’d been holding back so long that his body will not let him release just yet. So he keeps plunging and plunging, literally sliding her across the carpet a few centimeters with every thrust—rug burns on the knees just like he promised. At one point he lets go of her hips and continues to thrust with equal fervor, his cock hard enough to not need any support or guidance. They’re both producing a chorus of grunts and moans and gasps. She can’t believe she’s going to come from just this—the swelling connecting every millimeter of skin along her cunt, so any movement anywhere sends shivers of firing nerves straight to her clit. His frantic pumping, pulls and tugs, sending her into a frenzy of stimulation. And she’s swollen on the inside, too—her G-spot raised enough to be brushed by his pole even in this position. God, she’d do anything—agree to anything right now to make sure he keeps fucking her until she comes. Her mind swirls, unable to focus on anything but the exquisite feeling between her legs. He reaches forward to pull the clip from her hair, tousling it briefly before grabbing hold of her shoulders and pounding even more vigorously into her—she must be bleeding a bit, but she doesn’t care. He starts to grunt more loudly, forcing air through clenched teeth. Finally, she feels the friction increase as his cock reaches maximum thickness—he whines and gasps at the same time, making more noise than she’d ever heard from him, ending with a wail as she feels the spasms of his desperate knob begin. His convulsions quickly mix with her own and she hears herself scream at the intensity of her release. She’s covered in sweat. As his orgasm settles, he slides his hand over her slippery back, tracing the lines of her new tattoos which trickle down only enough to tease the top of each round cheek, his hard cock still firmly inside her. After a moment, he pulls himself out and they both collapse onto the rug. He’s still fully clothed; her dress, though open in the back, still covers her front. They lay there a moment, letting out an occasional laugh, smiles now creeping across their satisfied faces.
Deth: “Thanks for the tank.”
Spike: “You’re quite welcome.”
Deth: [Looking down at their still fully clothed bodies] “Maybe we should make this a game.”
Spike: “A game?”
Deth: “I don’t know. But the goal has to be to make it to the bed.”
Spike: [laughing] “Strip fucking. We each take off an item of clothing for every orgasm.”
Deth: “…as we make our way toward the bed. So by the time we get there…”
Spike: “We’ll be naked.”
Deth: “It’s always about the nudity rule for you, isn’t it?”
Spike rolls onto his side and kisses her, softly, leisurely. But soon they’re back at it…
**
Hours later. On the bed.
Deth: “We made it.”
Spike: “And…[grabbing hold of Deth’s swaying breasts]….we’re naked. Does that mean I win?”
Deth: “Not sure. Don’t think we got that far when we were making up the rules.”
Spike: “Were there any rules at all?”
Deth: [considering] “No. But now that we’re here…”
She starts kissing down his chest.
Spike: “…it’s time for sleeping. Sorry, pet, but I’m done. There it is—you win.”
Deth: “No sleeping.”
She continues her downward progression.
Spike: “Don’t know what’s got into you tonight—you’re bloody insatiable.”
Deth: [Diving under the sheet] “mmmmmm”
Spike: [shaking his head] “Doesn’t matter how much you suck on it, pet, it’s still down for the night.”
Not giving up, she wiggles his foreskin down to expose the sensitive pink softness beneath, gently sliding her tongue across the top. He usually keeps it covered, but desperate times…
Spike: [in response, laughing sleepily] “That tickles—stop it.”
She emerges from the sheet, pouting.
Deth: “But it’s not light yet—‘still my birthday.”
Spike: [his eyes fluttering closed] “A bit too much champagne and too little blood, I’m afraid. Just need a bit of a rest, is all.”
Deth gets an odd look on her face. She slips out of bed and goes into the kitchen. She pours herself a drink of water. She grabs an apple from a basket and a paring knife from a drawer. She steps back into the main room, cutting off a slice of apple and then eating it. She picks up a bag from the couch and moves back toward the bed. She sets it on the bedside table and then crawls back into bed, straddling Spike’s sheet covered hips. His eyes flutter open and he sleepily puts his hand on her thigh. She offers him a slice of apple, which he declines. She takes one more slice from it and then places the core on the bedside table next to the bag. Next she pulls out a roll of gauze and some first-aid tape from the bag and sets them both on the table. Spike is half watching her, half sleeping. When he sees the gauze and the tape, he frowns.
Spike: “What that for?”
Deth: [matter-of-factly] “For my cut.”
Spike: [confused] “What cu…”
But before he can finish, Deth takes the knife and plunges the tip into the vein of her left arm, puncturing it just where it reaches the surface at the crux of her elbow. She winces slightly. As she removes the knife, a small stream of blood shoots up and she quickly leans forward to thrust it towards Spike’s mouth; eyes wide with surprise, he instinctually fits his mouth firmly over the wound, unable to resist the stream of fresh blood. Dizzy at the taste of it, his features change quickly, his yellow eyes half close with pleasure. She’s leaning to the side, propping herself up on her other arm near his head, her wounded arm wrapped around his face snugly. He fights the instinct to open the gash further with his now readied teeth or to drink deeper than a mild suck; he focuses on letting it trickle in slowly. She holds her arm there until she feels herself start to weaken a bit—a familiar feeling from when she’d donated blood; she figures she can lose a pint or so without a problem. She reaches for the gauze with her other arm and then starts to gently pull her arm away. Spike grabs it, greedily, pulling it back to his mouth. He lifts his lips away enough to murmur:
Spike: “Just a bit more.”
She tenses a bit at the firmness of his grip; her heart beginning to race knowing that she is completely at his mercy. Oddly, she’s not afraid, but excited by this freedom of helplessness. She feels a sleepy calm taking hold and she melts into it. Feeling her relax, Spike instantly releases her arm, pressing his fingers into the wound to quickly slow the bleeding. Now very alert, he takes the gauze from her loose hand and quickly wraps it around, sealing it with tape once it’s reached the necessary thickness. She rolls over onto her back, keeping her arm bent as he left it, staring at his vampire features with longing eyes. He returns her gaze from above, still amazed by her brazen act. Amazed and aroused, the taste of her better than he’d remembered. He’d nipped at her since then—grazed the skin for a drop here and there. But this was so much more intense, so much more fulfilling—the hot stream of blood trickling down his throat sent chills of ecstasy to his dead body.
He’d give her what she was after. Holding her gaze, he positions himself between her already spread legs and pushes insider her again.
Spike: [deepest, darkest voice] “Naughty, naughty girl.”
Her blood calmed by the physical connection, she lifts herself up to kiss him. She lovingly touches the ridges of his face as he rhythmically pumps in and out of her. It hurts—almost enough to take her breath away. She’s intensely sore, but still somehow desperate for him. He breaks the kiss to lift himself up a bit, his head still dizzy from the thick smell of her spilt blood in the air. His thrusts are instinctive, animalistic—his goal only to fill her up again. He drops back down so that his face is just above hers, but he doesn’t reach for her lips. She doesn’t take her eyes off his face; she wants to see him come. His thrusts become deeper and his mouth drops slightly open to allow the passage of unnecessary puffs of air. Soon he lets out a rather muted grunt and ups the pace for a few quick, shallow thrusts. She had no expectation of another orgasm—she had so many. She’d lost count somewhere between her left shoe and her right earring; her body was worn out. But when she sees, feels him come again, she is overwhelmed by the sudden contractions of her inner walls around his emptying organ—an orgasm building from within, as if responding to the flow of his juices. In a mad burst of energy, she flips them both over so she can grind against him to release the bursts of ecstasy to the rest of her exhausted body. She closes her eyes, scrunches up her face and whimpers as the tingles travel outward from her center, reaching down her legs and up her pelvis. She opens them to find Spike’s still yellow eyes drinking in her pained, explosive expression. Breathing heavily, overcome, she’s startled to hear herself gasp as she looks into his eyes:
Deth: “I love you. Spike, I…love you.”
He face instantly morphs back to human form. He brushes the hair back from her face while his expression changes quickly from pleased surprise to an apologetic frown.
Spike: [desperate to say something, but knowing he can’t respond in kind] “Deth, I…”
The words pierce her and she instantly feels his turmoil, his pain and disappointment—it flows outward like a tidal wave.
Deth: [collapsing onto his chest, burying her face in his shoulder] “It’s Ok. I don’t care. I don’t. I…I just want things to stay the same.”
He strokes her hair gently. For the first time in her adult life, she feels tears burn in her eyes. Soon she finds herself gently sobbing; the physicality of it is so foreign to her that she has no idea how to make it stop and the tears flow and flow.
Spike: [wrapping his arms around her, he whispers] “I’m sorry.”
Deth: “But these are your tears, not mine.”
In the moments before he drifts off to sleep, he wonders if this could be true. If his sadness could flow through her like that and if so, how bitterly unfair that was. He’d wanted to feel different—feel more. But to hear those words—words he’d been desperate for, for so long; said by someone who clearly meant them, the truth completely transparent in that beautifully vulnerable moment—and to feel only numbness, emptiness in himself. It was unbearable. It’s not that he felt nothing, but that it was so much less. Cavernously less.
**
Sometime just after dawn, Deth wakes up. She unwraps herself from Spike’s arms and staggers to the bathroom. She takes a sip from the tap and splashes some water on her face. Feeling the burn in her eyes, she stops to scan her face in the mirror. Gently touching the foreign puffiness, the memory of her outburst sinks like a stone to the pit of her stomach. Why did she have to say it? She feels foolish for blurting it out, knowing full well it was too soon for him—knowing he couldn’t answer in kind. (Too bad knowing doesn’t temper hope) She hadn’t considered that it might cause him pain. Now it seems so clear.
She meant it when she said she didn’t care. She was patient—she would wait. She scolds herself for letting her mind settle on such melodrama, but she at this moment, she is sure she would wait forever. Her feelings for him had begun to swallow her. She had fought it, instinctively, until last night. Everything was too perfect. She had never felt desire like that—so frantic and desperate, her body driven to absorb him.
She shakes her head to brush off her thoughts. It will be okay. On her way back to the bed, she notices something on the floor on the other side of the room. She walks over to investigate. It’s an envelope, obviously pushed under the door. She carries it to the bed, opens it and frowns at the familiar etchings of the text. After scanning it, she folds it and tosses it on the couch. She pulls herself under the sheet, re-wraps herself in Spike’s arms and drifts back to sleep for a few hours.
The next morning, she is up making tea and coffee when Spike first opens his eyes. She is already dressed and upon seeing he is awake, brings over a mug of tea. After handing it to him, she sits down on the edge of the bed. He takes a heavy sip, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes.
Deth: “I had a wonderful birthday. It was perfect.”
Spike: [sheepish/guilty] “Almost perfect.”
Deth: [ignoring his comment] “Thanks.”
Spike: [serious] “About what you said…”
Deth: [uncomfortable, not wanting to talk about it] “Can we forget about that?”
Spike: [tentatively touching her arm] “No, I…[pause while he thinks of how to phrase it; he understands too well what it’s like to have thrown something like that out there, only to have it fall flat. Or worse.] It means something to me. [beat] It’s important.” [not quite the right word, but it’s the best he can do for now.]
She glances over at him and nods.
Deth: “I have to go out of town for a few days, maybe a week. I need to leave today.”
Spike: “What? Where are you going?”
Deth: “Chicago.”
Spike: “Why?”
Deth: “family business.”
Spike: [skeptical] “When did you decide this?”
Deth: “Last night. I got a message when you were asleep.”
Spike: [suspicious] “Don’t run away on me now.”
Deth: “Oh. I’m not. I just have to take care of some things.”
Spike: “What things exactly?”
She takes a deep breath. She wants to tell him, but wonders if she should.
Deth: [relenting] “Do you promise not to tell anyone at work?”
For some reason, her instincts tell her to keep W&H out of it.
Spike: “Sure.”
Deth: “There was a note under the door.”
She leans over and picks up the piece of paper and shows it to him.
Spike: [Eyeing the markings through squinted eyes.] Uh—you’ll have to translate.”
Deth: “It’s from the Pastuyk. My mother died. They need me to participate in some ritual. [explaining] I’m the eldest daughter.”
Spike: [concerned] “I’m right that this is the first time you’ve heard from these folks since you were eight.”
She nods.
Deth: “It’s a burial ritual. I have to kill a pig.”
Spike: “Sounds like a barrel of laughs”
Deth: “I should go. They want me there. [pause] I want to see them.”
Spike nods his understanding.
Spike: “Do you want me to go with you? S’been a while since I’ve sacrificed a pig, but I hear it’s like riding a bike.”
Deth: “Nah. I’ll be fine. They’re a bit secretive.”
Spike: “Guess I’ll be taking care of the fish while you’re gone.”
Deth: “Thanks.”
*
Later that morning, Deth heads to Chicago. Spike is a bit concerned for her—she was obviously nervous and a bit conflicted about the trip. She had confessed her trepidation about the whole pig-killing aspect. Still, she was committed to going; felt it was her obligation—perhaps a way of paying them back in some small way for raising her. And she’s curious. She agrees to check in every night she is away, though she’s not much of a phone person. She calls the night of the ritual to tell him that things went surprisingly smoothly—she got to see her “father” and “sister” and some others she remembered. The pig slaughtering wasn’t quite as awful as she had feared, though she still can’t get the sound of the squealing out of her head. He hangs up feeling relieved.
About eight hours later, his phone rings again. It’s Deth. She’s upset, her voice frozen in her throat. Her breathing betrays the state of her hysteria, as only a word or two escapes her lips. He can hear her heart pounding, blood rushing too quickly through the veins. Spike tries to calm her down enough to form the minimum number of words he needs to figure out what’s upsetting her. It’s so hard not being able to see her. He tells her to have a drink of something—something strong.
Deth: [choking out the words] “Afraid. Can’t go out.”
Spike: [for the tenth time] “Relax, love. Tell me what happened.”
Deth: [breathing deeply just like he told her] “I…I think I might have done something awful. I had a dream. He was on the television.”
Spike: “Who was on the television?”
Deth: “A boy. The boy from my dream. In the news.”
Spike: “And why was he on the news?”
Deth: “He’s so young. So small. [losing her brief calm] How could I have not known? How could I not see?”
Spike: “Try to relax. Breathe. Why was the boy on the news?”
Deth: “Missing. Gone. Taken from a playground.”
Spike: “Okay. So maybe you saw him on the news before you went to sleep and that’s why you had a dream about him.”
Deth: “No no no no. My fault. The dream…wasn’t. [pause] I think…I think I killed him.”
Tbc…
CHAPTER 6 BACK TO DEMON DREAMS MAIN