Spikeslashathon
Apr. 3rd, 2004 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlettuceThis is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
challengetime, who requested caramel sauce and the phrase "amazing how things change but always stay the same." Well, I kinda hit them...
Tears of Abraham
By Claire
He knows it's wrong when he opens his eyes, knows he shouldn't be here in this dark alley, rank and dirty, with mud under his feet and walls on either side.
His hand reaches out, running fingers along the rough brick. There's the soft sound of laughter as a fingertip catches on a sharp edge, the scent of blood mingling in with the smells of the street. He brings the hand to his lips, tongue swiping at the blood absently. He tastes metal over a memory of smooth skin, of soft molasses running through his fingers and the smell of caramel.
"Oh god, I know this place."
And then it's darkness as his head is tilted back by small hands with too much strength in them.
"My precious boy."
Sharp slice of pain as teeth slide into his neck, and then he's floating.
He never felt his soul leave when Drusilla turned him, never felt the tug at his body as part of him was condemned to the ether. But he feels it now, pulling, screaming as it's wrenched away from him.
"You'll be all right soon, my love."
But he won't be, can't go back to that, even though part of him yearns for the freedom it brings. He can feel the hold he has on his soul weakening, and maybe it would be easier if he just let go.
And then there's a hand on his chest, holding him in place. He looks down into sharp eyes, soft features framed by a halo of blonde.
Buffy's hand reaches for his, and he grips it like a lifeline as the spectre of Drusilla melts away.
"Spike." Her voice is soft and melodic and full of promise. And he doesn't know why he'd refused to go after her when he came back, but he regrets it with every inch of his being. Wishes he'd been stronger for her. But he'd died for her, and why didn't that seem like it was enough?
"You left me."
Voice fading now, and he wants to keep her from leaving, but he can't stop the slide of her fingers as they slip out of his grasp, ghostlike and insubstantial until they just aren't there anymore and Spike is holding nothing but air.
And she's wrong. He didn't leave, she did. Left him alone in the dark, burning from the inside as bright as the sun. He'd begged her to go, and she had. Left him, like everyone else.
Buffy, Drusilla, Angel. They all left. Came into his life and changed it, breaking it down before leaving him alone to rebuild. Drusilla, Angel, Buffy. Places and names changing with the seasons, even if the ending always remained the same: him, alone, with nothing but the voices of the dead for company. Maybe it was always destined to end this way, with the darkness swallowing him and the whispers filling his mind, surrounding him.
And he's drowning; in blood and tears and what feels like guilt. Although maybe he deserves this. Maybe it's just the karma that's been waiting in the sidelines, biding its time until the time was right.
He sinks further, opening his lips and letting the rich liquid run into him. And all the times he's had blood sliding down his throat, he's never noticed before how much it tastes like ashes.
And then hands grab him, fingers tightening on flesh that bruises with stolen blood.
"Spike!"
Word harsh and ugly, a frisson of pain running through him.
"Don't do this!"
Command coming down from on high, like the voice of God. And Spike wants to ignore it, but he can't. Words seeping under his skin, burning, pain flaring brighter than it ever had in a cave under Sunnydale.
He struggles, fighting harder now, because he belongs to the darkness, and the whispers that live in the shadows. And he wants the ashes back, scouring him clean.
"Dammit, boy, come back to me!"
He wants to let go but the hands won't let him. The grip tightens, anchoring him in a way like nothing else ever has. And no matter what he does, they just won't let him go.
His eyes open and Angel's face is there, but his vision is blurry, like he's under water, like he's still submerged by the blood.
There's relief written in Angel's features. Relief tinged with something Spike thought he'd never see on the other vampire's face. And he knows what it is, but still doesn't want to name it, doesn't want to face everything that will come with that one word.
"Spike." Soft and careful, and the shiver that runs through him this time has nothing to do with pain.
"What happened?" Because his body feels like it's still not there.
"Shaman," Angel replies. "We don't know who sent him, or why he went after you. We almost lost you."
He can taste Angel on his lips, salty and metallic and all he can ask is, "why?" Why did you come for me? Why didn't you let me go?
And Angel hears the question, even if it isn't asked, but his face is unreadable. "Fred was concerned."
But Spike can read the lie in the words, knows that Angel's presence has nothing to do with Fred.
/Dammit, boy, come back to me!/
It has nothing to do with Fred, and nothing to do with Dru, and nothing to do with a blonde Slayer they both once gave up everything for.
Angel looks at him, eyes moving over his body, checking Spike before he moves away.
"Angel." Name called out, stopping the other man from leaving. "I-" And Spike has the words there, but they just won't make it past his lips.
Angel's eyes meet his, pale hand gripping the doorframe. There's silence as they look at each other, and then, "I'll see you tomorrow, Spike."
He nods, allowing Angel to leave. He turns away as the door closes behind the other man, almost missing the soft words as they sneak into the air.
"I won't leave you, Will."
But Angel is gone, and maybe the voice is just one of a hundred he still hears in his mind. But if it is, maybe it's the only one he needs to listen to.
End.
The masterlist for the ficathon is here, so there's a lot more Spike for you to read :-)
challengetime, who requested caramel sauce and the phrase "amazing how things change but always stay the same." Well, I kinda hit them...Tears of Abraham
By Claire
He knows it's wrong when he opens his eyes, knows he shouldn't be here in this dark alley, rank and dirty, with mud under his feet and walls on either side.
His hand reaches out, running fingers along the rough brick. There's the soft sound of laughter as a fingertip catches on a sharp edge, the scent of blood mingling in with the smells of the street. He brings the hand to his lips, tongue swiping at the blood absently. He tastes metal over a memory of smooth skin, of soft molasses running through his fingers and the smell of caramel.
"Oh god, I know this place."
And then it's darkness as his head is tilted back by small hands with too much strength in them.
"My precious boy."
Sharp slice of pain as teeth slide into his neck, and then he's floating.
He never felt his soul leave when Drusilla turned him, never felt the tug at his body as part of him was condemned to the ether. But he feels it now, pulling, screaming as it's wrenched away from him.
"You'll be all right soon, my love."
But he won't be, can't go back to that, even though part of him yearns for the freedom it brings. He can feel the hold he has on his soul weakening, and maybe it would be easier if he just let go.
And then there's a hand on his chest, holding him in place. He looks down into sharp eyes, soft features framed by a halo of blonde.
Buffy's hand reaches for his, and he grips it like a lifeline as the spectre of Drusilla melts away.
"Spike." Her voice is soft and melodic and full of promise. And he doesn't know why he'd refused to go after her when he came back, but he regrets it with every inch of his being. Wishes he'd been stronger for her. But he'd died for her, and why didn't that seem like it was enough?
"You left me."
Voice fading now, and he wants to keep her from leaving, but he can't stop the slide of her fingers as they slip out of his grasp, ghostlike and insubstantial until they just aren't there anymore and Spike is holding nothing but air.
And she's wrong. He didn't leave, she did. Left him alone in the dark, burning from the inside as bright as the sun. He'd begged her to go, and she had. Left him, like everyone else.
Buffy, Drusilla, Angel. They all left. Came into his life and changed it, breaking it down before leaving him alone to rebuild. Drusilla, Angel, Buffy. Places and names changing with the seasons, even if the ending always remained the same: him, alone, with nothing but the voices of the dead for company. Maybe it was always destined to end this way, with the darkness swallowing him and the whispers filling his mind, surrounding him.
And he's drowning; in blood and tears and what feels like guilt. Although maybe he deserves this. Maybe it's just the karma that's been waiting in the sidelines, biding its time until the time was right.
He sinks further, opening his lips and letting the rich liquid run into him. And all the times he's had blood sliding down his throat, he's never noticed before how much it tastes like ashes.
And then hands grab him, fingers tightening on flesh that bruises with stolen blood.
"Spike!"
Word harsh and ugly, a frisson of pain running through him.
"Don't do this!"
Command coming down from on high, like the voice of God. And Spike wants to ignore it, but he can't. Words seeping under his skin, burning, pain flaring brighter than it ever had in a cave under Sunnydale.
He struggles, fighting harder now, because he belongs to the darkness, and the whispers that live in the shadows. And he wants the ashes back, scouring him clean.
"Dammit, boy, come back to me!"
He wants to let go but the hands won't let him. The grip tightens, anchoring him in a way like nothing else ever has. And no matter what he does, they just won't let him go.
His eyes open and Angel's face is there, but his vision is blurry, like he's under water, like he's still submerged by the blood.
There's relief written in Angel's features. Relief tinged with something Spike thought he'd never see on the other vampire's face. And he knows what it is, but still doesn't want to name it, doesn't want to face everything that will come with that one word.
"Spike." Soft and careful, and the shiver that runs through him this time has nothing to do with pain.
"What happened?" Because his body feels like it's still not there.
"Shaman," Angel replies. "We don't know who sent him, or why he went after you. We almost lost you."
He can taste Angel on his lips, salty and metallic and all he can ask is, "why?" Why did you come for me? Why didn't you let me go?
And Angel hears the question, even if it isn't asked, but his face is unreadable. "Fred was concerned."
But Spike can read the lie in the words, knows that Angel's presence has nothing to do with Fred.
/Dammit, boy, come back to me!/
It has nothing to do with Fred, and nothing to do with Dru, and nothing to do with a blonde Slayer they both once gave up everything for.
Angel looks at him, eyes moving over his body, checking Spike before he moves away.
"Angel." Name called out, stopping the other man from leaving. "I-" And Spike has the words there, but they just won't make it past his lips.
Angel's eyes meet his, pale hand gripping the doorframe. There's silence as they look at each other, and then, "I'll see you tomorrow, Spike."
He nods, allowing Angel to leave. He turns away as the door closes behind the other man, almost missing the soft words as they sneak into the air.
"I won't leave you, Will."
But Angel is gone, and maybe the voice is just one of a hundred he still hears in his mind. But if it is, maybe it's the only one he needs to listen to.
End.
The masterlist for the ficathon is here, so there's a lot more Spike for you to read :-)
