ONE NORMAL LIFE / TWO EXTRAORDINARY LIVES
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,358
Reviews:
182
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,358
Reviews:
182
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
THEY DANCE THE DANCE OF THE DESPERATE
CHAPTER 71 – THEY DANCE THE DANCE OF THE DESPERATE
Buffy took the walkie-talkie, as Williamk thk the flashlight.
William put his arm around her, as he shone the light on the driveway back to the RV. They walked in, and she found the switch, except that it didn’t work.
“Crap!” she said. “It’s not plugged into anything!”
“Do they have some candles?”
“I don’t think so, but we have this.”
“Okay. We won’t need any light for long any” he” he said, coming up and nuzzling her neck.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Why?” he asked, continuing to kiss her.
“I just thought you were upset back there, you know, after Angela’s grandma’s outburst,” she said, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.
“I was for a while, but Angela explained something to me,” he said, as he deftly guided her toward the bedroom.
“What’s that?”
“Not important, tell you later,” he said, as he pushed her down on the bed, and then lay down next to her.
“Just one question, though,” he said, kissing her, distracting her.
“Why did you tell Xander and I suppose Dawn and Willow, too, about my false memories?” he asked, his voice a bit strained.
“What?” she asked, shocked.
He got up on one elbow and looked at her, “Angela told me that Xander had told her that I don’t remember the present, and that the only memories I did seem to have were of the 1800’s. Why did you tell them?”
Buffy turned on her side to face him, too, “Are you angry with me?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. Should I be?”
She shook her head.
“Just wanna know why, Elizabeth,” he said, looking into her eyes.
“William,” Buffy sighed, “I told them because, it explained why you don’t remember anything ‘modern,’ if you know what I mean. Isn’t it better that Xander just show you the things he’s showed you; about cars, motors, fishing, etc., rather than ask you each time, why you don’t remember anything?”
“S’ppose. Guess I never gave it much thought as to why he was being so kind in explaining it all to me. Guess if I was another guy, he’d probably think I was some kind of ‘slow minded bloke,’ eh?”
“Xander’s a good guy, anyway,” Buffy said, tentatively reaching out to stroke his cheek. “As for Dawn and Willow, well, they were with me, as you know, when we all got you out of the hospital. Willow’s my best friend and Dawn’s my sister, and you…you were lost and then you were found. They helped me find you, William, and so I told them.”
“So, that’s why they explain things to me, too? Why they sometimes let me prattle on about things that are so old? Things they’d have no ‘real’ memory of, not like I do. Like I seem to, anyway.”
“It will work itself out, one day. Please don’t do this to yourself,” she said to him, trying to push the ever present, although mostly ignored elnt int in the middle of the room, back into a corner, out of the way.
“How?” he asked, after a long pause, in whie jue just played with hair and studied the contours of her face.
“How what, William?”
“How did…how did they help you find me?”
She inhaled, “Well, Willow, she…she saw an article in the paper about a man found at the museum, and it fit your description. She called me and let me know,” Buffy answered, trying to make some of the truth, fit this partial lie.
William involuntarily shuddered at the memory of waking up alone, naked, terrified at The Field Museum, and everything that followed.
“What made her think it was me after all that time? Had you…been looking for me all those years?” he asked looking at her with something like sorrow etched on his face. “Had you tracked me to Chicago? Where was I before that?”
“I never forgot you! Not for a minute, William, not for a second,” she said, kissing him softly, hoping that would be enough of an answer to his question. “I don’t know where you were before Chicago. Honestly, it was pure luck that I found you.”
She looked at him, with his blue eyes begging her for answers, his love for her the only thing holding him in check, for she knew he feared what she might tell him, at least as much as he wanted the truth.
“No, I take that back!” she blurted out, “It wasn’t luck that led me to find you.”
He looked at her, afraid, suddenly. He knew that he was something of a burden to her. Helpless. No memory. Not the kind of man he was raised to be, in any case. Almost kept, even if it is with his own money, so she tells him. Fed, clothed, loved. Why’s it feel so…shameful, then somehow? The not knowing? Luck? More than that. It was his salvation to be found, be saved, feel loved by her, Good luck for him, but for her, it was probably…
“It was…grace,” she says softly to him in the dark, across mere inches, but across a chasm, whose edge he’d just stood on.
“Grace?” he repeats, thols ols of his dark blue eyes widen in wonder at her words. He drinks in her words and smiles at her in the dark, “I think maybe I like that word. Grace.”
“Dawn,” she continued, “she came with me, when I found out. We went all around Chicago, looking for you, before we knew…before we knew where you were.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked at her, as if he was thinking of something.
“I’m glad, that when I was gone, that you had such good friends, such a good sr, tr, to look after you.”
She bit her lip. She couldn’t tell him, that in those years, she’d all but lost contact with her friends, if not Dawn. Couldn’t tell him that she hadn’t let any of them help her. She didn’t think she’d deserved any more help, any more sacrifice, than they’d already given her for so long.
“I know. I am lucky. So very, very lucky. Good friends, good sister, good…you.”
“A good what? What am I, Elizabeth? I’m not sure, feels like I haven’t ever been sure, so you have to be my memory; you have to fill me in. I know it’s a lot to ask, for you to…”
No, no! Not him again thinking he’s unworthy of her. The past comes up swiftly to knock the wind out of her, as it floods her with memories of not just their good times, which were too few, but of the bad. Her beating him down, with fists and words. The worst were the words. But he, William doesn’t know this, doesn’t share Spike’s memories, yet Spike shared William’s insecurities, his belief that he wasn’t worthy of love She She shakes her head vehemently at him, “No! It’s not a lot to ask! It’s nothing; it’s the least of what you deserve,” she says, taking his chin in her hand, forcing him to see inside her, “What you are is my heart, William. You’re…everything that’s good inside me, that’s what you are; my heart.”
And then she’s in his arms, his mouth crashing in on hers, his tongue demanding entrance, as he pulls her on top of him. His hands are on her face, holding back her hair, touching her, pulling her mouth harder and harder to his, until they both need to come up for breath, to look at each other in wonder and lust, and to do it all over again and again. She grounds herself onto him, wishing she could either swallow him, or melt into his body, be totally one with him; protect him, lose herself.
After they’ve thrown off their own and each other’s clothing, the desperateness of the dance continues. He drowns in her body, buries himself in between her breasts, her legs, in her heat. Makes love to her more like Spike, faster, harder, more desperate, less tender than William. And she responds in kind, makes herself love him rougher than usual, meets his hard thrusts with her own, uses her slayer muscles to wow him in ways she hadn’t before. She’s falling and losing herself and she wants to stop, take a step back; not risk him in order to make herself feel, or hurt him in order to remember the other him, only wants to make him forget wanting to remember. But she’s lost in him, him in her, ahey hey dance the dance of the desperate.
“Come back to me, Elizabeth,” he murmurs after a while, pulling her down to a kiss, as she was gyrating on top him, her eyes glazed.
Buffy slowed her movements and looked into his eyes, saw the fleeting shadow of hurt in them.
She placed her hands on either sides of his face and kissed his lips, “I’m here, baby,” she said, softly.
“Want to feel connected to you,” he said, as he flipped them over, his eyes never leaving hers, “I want to see you loving me while I’m loving you.”
“I’m right here with you,” she said, as she watched him as he slowed his thrusts, looking into her face.
“Love making love to you as much as Shakespeare loved writing sonnets. That’s what you are, Elizabeth, you’re my sonnet. Love you so much, my sweet girl.”
“Oh, God, William! Love you, love you!” she cried, as his eyes, his words took her over the top into sweet ecstasy, as her words tumble him into his, too.
He leaned down and kissed her once more, slow and sweet, before rolling off her and pulling her toward him. She curled up against his chest, listening to his heart beating, strong and sure. His feelings for her overwhelm her senses, they always did.
“I think that was cheating,” she laughed softly.
“Not cheating, just loving you like you deserve,” he replies, kissing the top of her head.
A few minutes later, he turns over and snuggles down, his head between her breasts. She runs her hands through his hair and soon hears his soft snore.
She wishes she could capture these days with him, bottle them, break them open in later days that will come, when she won’t be able to protect him from the truth. Wonders how his love for her will stand up then.
“If wishes were horses…”
“Hmm?” he mumbled.
“Nothing. Goodnight, William,” she whispers and falls asleep too, wishing for flying horses.
END CHAPTER 71
Buffy took the walkie-talkie, as Williamk thk the flashlight.
William put his arm around her, as he shone the light on the driveway back to the RV. They walked in, and she found the switch, except that it didn’t work.
“Crap!” she said. “It’s not plugged into anything!”
“Do they have some candles?”
“I don’t think so, but we have this.”
“Okay. We won’t need any light for long any” he” he said, coming up and nuzzling her neck.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Why?” he asked, continuing to kiss her.
“I just thought you were upset back there, you know, after Angela’s grandma’s outburst,” she said, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.
“I was for a while, but Angela explained something to me,” he said, as he deftly guided her toward the bedroom.
“What’s that?”
“Not important, tell you later,” he said, as he pushed her down on the bed, and then lay down next to her.
“Just one question, though,” he said, kissing her, distracting her.
“Why did you tell Xander and I suppose Dawn and Willow, too, about my false memories?” he asked, his voice a bit strained.
“What?” she asked, shocked.
He got up on one elbow and looked at her, “Angela told me that Xander had told her that I don’t remember the present, and that the only memories I did seem to have were of the 1800’s. Why did you tell them?”
Buffy turned on her side to face him, too, “Are you angry with me?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. Should I be?”
She shook her head.
“Just wanna know why, Elizabeth,” he said, looking into her eyes.
“William,” Buffy sighed, “I told them because, it explained why you don’t remember anything ‘modern,’ if you know what I mean. Isn’t it better that Xander just show you the things he’s showed you; about cars, motors, fishing, etc., rather than ask you each time, why you don’t remember anything?”
“S’ppose. Guess I never gave it much thought as to why he was being so kind in explaining it all to me. Guess if I was another guy, he’d probably think I was some kind of ‘slow minded bloke,’ eh?”
“Xander’s a good guy, anyway,” Buffy said, tentatively reaching out to stroke his cheek. “As for Dawn and Willow, well, they were with me, as you know, when we all got you out of the hospital. Willow’s my best friend and Dawn’s my sister, and you…you were lost and then you were found. They helped me find you, William, and so I told them.”
“So, that’s why they explain things to me, too? Why they sometimes let me prattle on about things that are so old? Things they’d have no ‘real’ memory of, not like I do. Like I seem to, anyway.”
“It will work itself out, one day. Please don’t do this to yourself,” she said to him, trying to push the ever present, although mostly ignored elnt int in the middle of the room, back into a corner, out of the way.
“How?” he asked, after a long pause, in whie jue just played with hair and studied the contours of her face.
“How what, William?”
“How did…how did they help you find me?”
She inhaled, “Well, Willow, she…she saw an article in the paper about a man found at the museum, and it fit your description. She called me and let me know,” Buffy answered, trying to make some of the truth, fit this partial lie.
William involuntarily shuddered at the memory of waking up alone, naked, terrified at The Field Museum, and everything that followed.
“What made her think it was me after all that time? Had you…been looking for me all those years?” he asked looking at her with something like sorrow etched on his face. “Had you tracked me to Chicago? Where was I before that?”
“I never forgot you! Not for a minute, William, not for a second,” she said, kissing him softly, hoping that would be enough of an answer to his question. “I don’t know where you were before Chicago. Honestly, it was pure luck that I found you.”
She looked at him, with his blue eyes begging her for answers, his love for her the only thing holding him in check, for she knew he feared what she might tell him, at least as much as he wanted the truth.
“No, I take that back!” she blurted out, “It wasn’t luck that led me to find you.”
He looked at her, afraid, suddenly. He knew that he was something of a burden to her. Helpless. No memory. Not the kind of man he was raised to be, in any case. Almost kept, even if it is with his own money, so she tells him. Fed, clothed, loved. Why’s it feel so…shameful, then somehow? The not knowing? Luck? More than that. It was his salvation to be found, be saved, feel loved by her, Good luck for him, but for her, it was probably…
“It was…grace,” she says softly to him in the dark, across mere inches, but across a chasm, whose edge he’d just stood on.
“Grace?” he repeats, thols ols of his dark blue eyes widen in wonder at her words. He drinks in her words and smiles at her in the dark, “I think maybe I like that word. Grace.”
“Dawn,” she continued, “she came with me, when I found out. We went all around Chicago, looking for you, before we knew…before we knew where you were.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked at her, as if he was thinking of something.
“I’m glad, that when I was gone, that you had such good friends, such a good sr, tr, to look after you.”
She bit her lip. She couldn’t tell him, that in those years, she’d all but lost contact with her friends, if not Dawn. Couldn’t tell him that she hadn’t let any of them help her. She didn’t think she’d deserved any more help, any more sacrifice, than they’d already given her for so long.
“I know. I am lucky. So very, very lucky. Good friends, good sister, good…you.”
“A good what? What am I, Elizabeth? I’m not sure, feels like I haven’t ever been sure, so you have to be my memory; you have to fill me in. I know it’s a lot to ask, for you to…”
No, no! Not him again thinking he’s unworthy of her. The past comes up swiftly to knock the wind out of her, as it floods her with memories of not just their good times, which were too few, but of the bad. Her beating him down, with fists and words. The worst were the words. But he, William doesn’t know this, doesn’t share Spike’s memories, yet Spike shared William’s insecurities, his belief that he wasn’t worthy of love She She shakes her head vehemently at him, “No! It’s not a lot to ask! It’s nothing; it’s the least of what you deserve,” she says, taking his chin in her hand, forcing him to see inside her, “What you are is my heart, William. You’re…everything that’s good inside me, that’s what you are; my heart.”
And then she’s in his arms, his mouth crashing in on hers, his tongue demanding entrance, as he pulls her on top of him. His hands are on her face, holding back her hair, touching her, pulling her mouth harder and harder to his, until they both need to come up for breath, to look at each other in wonder and lust, and to do it all over again and again. She grounds herself onto him, wishing she could either swallow him, or melt into his body, be totally one with him; protect him, lose herself.
After they’ve thrown off their own and each other’s clothing, the desperateness of the dance continues. He drowns in her body, buries himself in between her breasts, her legs, in her heat. Makes love to her more like Spike, faster, harder, more desperate, less tender than William. And she responds in kind, makes herself love him rougher than usual, meets his hard thrusts with her own, uses her slayer muscles to wow him in ways she hadn’t before. She’s falling and losing herself and she wants to stop, take a step back; not risk him in order to make herself feel, or hurt him in order to remember the other him, only wants to make him forget wanting to remember. But she’s lost in him, him in her, ahey hey dance the dance of the desperate.
“Come back to me, Elizabeth,” he murmurs after a while, pulling her down to a kiss, as she was gyrating on top him, her eyes glazed.
Buffy slowed her movements and looked into his eyes, saw the fleeting shadow of hurt in them.
She placed her hands on either sides of his face and kissed his lips, “I’m here, baby,” she said, softly.
“Want to feel connected to you,” he said, as he flipped them over, his eyes never leaving hers, “I want to see you loving me while I’m loving you.”
“I’m right here with you,” she said, as she watched him as he slowed his thrusts, looking into her face.
“Love making love to you as much as Shakespeare loved writing sonnets. That’s what you are, Elizabeth, you’re my sonnet. Love you so much, my sweet girl.”
“Oh, God, William! Love you, love you!” she cried, as his eyes, his words took her over the top into sweet ecstasy, as her words tumble him into his, too.
He leaned down and kissed her once more, slow and sweet, before rolling off her and pulling her toward him. She curled up against his chest, listening to his heart beating, strong and sure. His feelings for her overwhelm her senses, they always did.
“I think that was cheating,” she laughed softly.
“Not cheating, just loving you like you deserve,” he replies, kissing the top of her head.
A few minutes later, he turns over and snuggles down, his head between her breasts. She runs her hands through his hair and soon hears his soft snore.
She wishes she could capture these days with him, bottle them, break them open in later days that will come, when she won’t be able to protect him from the truth. Wonders how his love for her will stand up then.
“If wishes were horses…”
“Hmm?” he mumbled.
“Nothing. Goodnight, William,” she whispers and falls asleep too, wishing for flying horses.
END CHAPTER 71