When They Dared To Dream
Jan. 4th, 2020 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
queenkatyastarTitle: When They Dared To Dream
Author: Katya Starling
Dedicated To: My beloved J, who inspired this
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt: None
Word Count: 2,029
Date Written: 2 November 2019
Warnings: None
Summary: Buffy tells Spike to stay.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
He woke with the urgency to leave pulsing in his subconscious. His fingers flexed and curled around the toned arms of his lover. She made a soft, satisfied noise, as she often did when sound asleep next to him, but though she smiled as she dreamed, he knew what would happen if he stayed too long. It was what always happened: She'd be pissed. She'd be pissed at him, at herself, at anything and everything that dared to move around her. Her friends and enemies alike had learned to steer clear of the Slayer whenever she was seen getting drunk out on the town with him.
For just a moment, he hesitated. For just a moment he thought of the fact that he now had his soul. Unlike her precious Angel, he had fought long and hard and willing sacrificed and suffered to earn his soul. He would have done anything for her. He still would. But though he'd willingly traversed through a place worse than Hell itself for her, he knew he still didn't deserve her. He would never deserve her. There was no power in the world, neither above or below it, that could make him worthy of her -- or anyone else for that mattered.
He stroked her golden blonde hair tenderly as he gazed thoughtfully into her beautiful, peaceful, sleeping face. No one would ever deserve this wonderful woman. No one could. No mere meager man was ever going to be worthy of such a valiant heroine, the one Slayer who would not stop no matter what, the one Slayer who'd proven time and again that she would always save the world yet also always put her friends and family first. When Buffy loved, she loved with everything within her. She loved with a passion that was so far beyond anything else he'd ever seen or experienced in all his hundreds of years. It was one of hundreds of reasons she would never be stopped, and why neither he or anyone else would ever deserve her.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, gathering his wits and courage about him. It hurt so deeply every time he left her. It always would, he knew, but he had to do it. He had to do it for her. It didn't matter what it cost him. He brushed his lips softly across her flesh again. She moaned in her sleep, her body thrusting up against his.
Heat was beginning to radiate from her. He knew he could take her easily again, and she would go around him both easily, willingly, even eagerly. But when she woke, as she would eventually, she'd be enraged to find him here, rightfully enraged because they both knew he was still a beast and would never deserve her. "Luv," he whispered softly and kissed her again.
Her hand found his cheek. She cupped his face and stroked his skin with her agile fingers. He tensed against her touch not because he didn't want her to touch him but because he did. With every fiber of his being, he wanted her to touch him. He wanted her to curl around him. He wanted her to draw him within her power and sensuality and wonderfulness again. He wanted to be one with her again.
But it never stopped there. It never would. And just as he would never be enough for her, the trysts they shared, the stolen moments in the middle of the night and later as the sun began to wake again, would never be enough for him. It didn't matter that none could touch their passion. It didn't matter that she burned him more than the sun ever could, but then again, perhaps in a way, that was part of the problem.
She burned him, inside and out, more deeply than anyone ever had or would. She burned him in places no other could ever reach. She had brought to life things he'd long ago thought dead, including his heart. It might still not beat, but it ached. It yearned. It did everything but beat, and it was filled with love every second of every day and night for her. That was exactly why their passion would never be enough, but also why he knew he would never be enough for her.
Slowly, gently, Spike forced himself to withdraw from the woman he loved. She moaned his name in her sleep and drew closer to him. Her legs reached out and wrapped around his, and he moaned as she tried to pull him back to her. He knew she was asleep. He knew this was another test not just of his heart and soul but that he was even worthy to be in her life. He knew the right thing to do. He knew the thing he had to do. But he'd be damned if he wanted to do it!
"Buffy." Her name escaped him in a fierce growl. His body had grown tight and hard again, and he froze, torn between curling back around her and thrusting deep within her willing, warm life and between leaving before she did wake and was furious with him for still being there, for even being there in the first place.
He knew in the next second that it was too late as, with another beat of her heart that seemed to thunder in the still room to his ears, her green eyes flashed open and looked directly into his face. "Spike," she said in return and then surprised them both as she leaned over and cupped his face in her hands. With her Slayer strength, she drew his solid, tight body to her. He didn't move willingly, but he also didn't try to stop her. He'd never try to stop her from doing anything to him, as they'd both learned the night she had blinded him so cruelly and, he thought again, so justly. He didn't deserve to look upon her ravishing beauty after all.
She pulled him to her until his body was on top of hers again. His forehead pressed against hers. Their lips hovered just a breath apart. He could have ended any conversation or argument with a single kiss. He could have thrust his tongue into her mouth, silencing anything she had to say, and his dick into her, ending any words of protest that may have otherwise been about to be spoken in cries of passion. But instead he didn't move. He just gazed into her eyes . . . and could almost swear his own heart was beating.
Of course it wasn't. His heart didn't and would never beat. He'd never be human. He'd never be anything close to deserving her. He'd only ever be a monster.
"Don't leave," she whispered, surprise flickering among the other, deeper emotions swimming in her eyes.
"You'll regret it in the morning." He growled the words without intending to, but dear God, what the woman was doing to him! It was taking every bit of his newly advanced self control to not just plummet into her and end these meaningless, unimportant words. But they were important, he reminded himself with a mental shake. Of course they were important. Buffy was talking. Anything she had to say was important, and he would adhere to her command every time . . .
But . . . Hadn't she just ordered him not to leave? He knew his confusion showed on his face as he gazed down at her, caught between doing what he wanted with every bit of his being and doing what she deserved. He should leave. He had to leave. He had to do what was right for her. It didn't matter what he wanted. It never mattered what he wanted.
"Don't leave," she ordered again. She licked her lips, something she knew drove him wild, and gazed up into his troubled, warring eyes. "Please don't leave," she spoke again, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. She moved just so against him, inviting him back into her without actually speaking those words. "Stay with me."
"You don't mean that." He winced. Those very words had started many fights between them in the past. It was not his place to say what she meant, what she wanted, what she needed, what she would never willingly want . . . or even, as she'd told him before, what she would definitely never need.
She leaned up against him, pressing her face closer into his. "Don't leave," she whispered again, and this time, her words sounded like a plea. He'd heard her cry in that very same tone before. He'd held her many times when she'd spoken like that, often never making a move on her.
But suddenly, she arched up against him, wrapped her legs around him, and pulled him into her. She cupped his face more tightly in her hands. "Don't leave," she said again. And for just a moment, Spike dared to dream. He dared to think that maybe she could mean those words, maybe she could mean them in the light of day, maybe she could actually come to love him one day or, at the very least, to actually, truthfully need him.
She gazed at him, caught, as another word slipped free of her conscious restraint, "Ever."
Again, he could have almost sworn that his heart was beating. There certainly seemed to be more than just Buffy's heartbeat pounding in the room now. But he knew it couldn't be so. His heart would never beat. He'd always be dead. Yet he suddenly felt more alive than he'd ever felt before, more alive than he'd ever been with Dru, more alive than he'd ever been when he actually breathed and his heart had beat, more alive, even, than he'd ever been with the one woman he did love, with his precious Buffy.
"You don't mean that -- " he started to say, and his voice caught.
"Yes," she said, not flinching or moving her steady gaze from his for even a second. "Yes, I do. Don't leave me." Her bottom lip trembled as it always did just before she started to cry. "Ever again."
Tears jumped into his eyes. Moving swiftly, he wrapped himself all around her. His fingers buried in her long, blonde hair. His face burrowed into the crook of her neck. His lips covered her throat and cheek with tender, sweet kisses. "I won't," he vowed, and in that moment, he chose to dream. He would dream tonight that she meant those words. He would dream that she actually wouldn't send him away. He would dream that maybe, just maybe, she could love him at least a tiny bit. He would never dare to dream that he deserved her -- such was not possible, no matter how wild or outrageous the dreams --, but he would dream that she wouldn't send him away, that she'd want him just a little bit, that she'd want him, for however long or short, to stay.
And he would. He would happily stay for however long she could actually want him. Even if did prove just to be until the sun rose again, he would stay until she ordered him to leave. He would stay until she could stand the sight of him no longer. He would stay and pray to any being that might take pity upon a wretched soul who would never deserve it, let alone her, that she would actually want him to stay for as long as possible. Even if it was just going to be one night, it would be the next part of his life.
But in that moment, as Buffy's lips found his and spoke of emotions she dared not yet voice, they both knew something had changed. He would never, could never, deserve her. But she no longer wanted him to leave. And she'd never tell him to go again. For as long as there was breath left in her body, she'd never send him away again, and he would stay, even after, as close to her as ever he could remain.
The End
Author: Katya Starling
Dedicated To: My beloved J, who inspired this
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt: None
Word Count: 2,029
Date Written: 2 November 2019
Warnings: None
Summary: Buffy tells Spike to stay.
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
He woke with the urgency to leave pulsing in his subconscious. His fingers flexed and curled around the toned arms of his lover. She made a soft, satisfied noise, as she often did when sound asleep next to him, but though she smiled as she dreamed, he knew what would happen if he stayed too long. It was what always happened: She'd be pissed. She'd be pissed at him, at herself, at anything and everything that dared to move around her. Her friends and enemies alike had learned to steer clear of the Slayer whenever she was seen getting drunk out on the town with him.
For just a moment, he hesitated. For just a moment he thought of the fact that he now had his soul. Unlike her precious Angel, he had fought long and hard and willing sacrificed and suffered to earn his soul. He would have done anything for her. He still would. But though he'd willingly traversed through a place worse than Hell itself for her, he knew he still didn't deserve her. He would never deserve her. There was no power in the world, neither above or below it, that could make him worthy of her -- or anyone else for that mattered.
He stroked her golden blonde hair tenderly as he gazed thoughtfully into her beautiful, peaceful, sleeping face. No one would ever deserve this wonderful woman. No one could. No mere meager man was ever going to be worthy of such a valiant heroine, the one Slayer who would not stop no matter what, the one Slayer who'd proven time and again that she would always save the world yet also always put her friends and family first. When Buffy loved, she loved with everything within her. She loved with a passion that was so far beyond anything else he'd ever seen or experienced in all his hundreds of years. It was one of hundreds of reasons she would never be stopped, and why neither he or anyone else would ever deserve her.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, gathering his wits and courage about him. It hurt so deeply every time he left her. It always would, he knew, but he had to do it. He had to do it for her. It didn't matter what it cost him. He brushed his lips softly across her flesh again. She moaned in her sleep, her body thrusting up against his.
Heat was beginning to radiate from her. He knew he could take her easily again, and she would go around him both easily, willingly, even eagerly. But when she woke, as she would eventually, she'd be enraged to find him here, rightfully enraged because they both knew he was still a beast and would never deserve her. "Luv," he whispered softly and kissed her again.
Her hand found his cheek. She cupped his face and stroked his skin with her agile fingers. He tensed against her touch not because he didn't want her to touch him but because he did. With every fiber of his being, he wanted her to touch him. He wanted her to curl around him. He wanted her to draw him within her power and sensuality and wonderfulness again. He wanted to be one with her again.
But it never stopped there. It never would. And just as he would never be enough for her, the trysts they shared, the stolen moments in the middle of the night and later as the sun began to wake again, would never be enough for him. It didn't matter that none could touch their passion. It didn't matter that she burned him more than the sun ever could, but then again, perhaps in a way, that was part of the problem.
She burned him, inside and out, more deeply than anyone ever had or would. She burned him in places no other could ever reach. She had brought to life things he'd long ago thought dead, including his heart. It might still not beat, but it ached. It yearned. It did everything but beat, and it was filled with love every second of every day and night for her. That was exactly why their passion would never be enough, but also why he knew he would never be enough for her.
Slowly, gently, Spike forced himself to withdraw from the woman he loved. She moaned his name in her sleep and drew closer to him. Her legs reached out and wrapped around his, and he moaned as she tried to pull him back to her. He knew she was asleep. He knew this was another test not just of his heart and soul but that he was even worthy to be in her life. He knew the right thing to do. He knew the thing he had to do. But he'd be damned if he wanted to do it!
"Buffy." Her name escaped him in a fierce growl. His body had grown tight and hard again, and he froze, torn between curling back around her and thrusting deep within her willing, warm life and between leaving before she did wake and was furious with him for still being there, for even being there in the first place.
He knew in the next second that it was too late as, with another beat of her heart that seemed to thunder in the still room to his ears, her green eyes flashed open and looked directly into his face. "Spike," she said in return and then surprised them both as she leaned over and cupped his face in her hands. With her Slayer strength, she drew his solid, tight body to her. He didn't move willingly, but he also didn't try to stop her. He'd never try to stop her from doing anything to him, as they'd both learned the night she had blinded him so cruelly and, he thought again, so justly. He didn't deserve to look upon her ravishing beauty after all.
She pulled him to her until his body was on top of hers again. His forehead pressed against hers. Their lips hovered just a breath apart. He could have ended any conversation or argument with a single kiss. He could have thrust his tongue into her mouth, silencing anything she had to say, and his dick into her, ending any words of protest that may have otherwise been about to be spoken in cries of passion. But instead he didn't move. He just gazed into her eyes . . . and could almost swear his own heart was beating.
Of course it wasn't. His heart didn't and would never beat. He'd never be human. He'd never be anything close to deserving her. He'd only ever be a monster.
"Don't leave," she whispered, surprise flickering among the other, deeper emotions swimming in her eyes.
"You'll regret it in the morning." He growled the words without intending to, but dear God, what the woman was doing to him! It was taking every bit of his newly advanced self control to not just plummet into her and end these meaningless, unimportant words. But they were important, he reminded himself with a mental shake. Of course they were important. Buffy was talking. Anything she had to say was important, and he would adhere to her command every time . . .
But . . . Hadn't she just ordered him not to leave? He knew his confusion showed on his face as he gazed down at her, caught between doing what he wanted with every bit of his being and doing what she deserved. He should leave. He had to leave. He had to do what was right for her. It didn't matter what he wanted. It never mattered what he wanted.
"Don't leave," she ordered again. She licked her lips, something she knew drove him wild, and gazed up into his troubled, warring eyes. "Please don't leave," she spoke again, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. She moved just so against him, inviting him back into her without actually speaking those words. "Stay with me."
"You don't mean that." He winced. Those very words had started many fights between them in the past. It was not his place to say what she meant, what she wanted, what she needed, what she would never willingly want . . . or even, as she'd told him before, what she would definitely never need.
She leaned up against him, pressing her face closer into his. "Don't leave," she whispered again, and this time, her words sounded like a plea. He'd heard her cry in that very same tone before. He'd held her many times when she'd spoken like that, often never making a move on her.
But suddenly, she arched up against him, wrapped her legs around him, and pulled him into her. She cupped his face more tightly in her hands. "Don't leave," she said again. And for just a moment, Spike dared to dream. He dared to think that maybe she could mean those words, maybe she could mean them in the light of day, maybe she could actually come to love him one day or, at the very least, to actually, truthfully need him.
She gazed at him, caught, as another word slipped free of her conscious restraint, "Ever."
Again, he could have almost sworn that his heart was beating. There certainly seemed to be more than just Buffy's heartbeat pounding in the room now. But he knew it couldn't be so. His heart would never beat. He'd always be dead. Yet he suddenly felt more alive than he'd ever felt before, more alive than he'd ever been with Dru, more alive than he'd ever been when he actually breathed and his heart had beat, more alive, even, than he'd ever been with the one woman he did love, with his precious Buffy.
"You don't mean that -- " he started to say, and his voice caught.
"Yes," she said, not flinching or moving her steady gaze from his for even a second. "Yes, I do. Don't leave me." Her bottom lip trembled as it always did just before she started to cry. "Ever again."
Tears jumped into his eyes. Moving swiftly, he wrapped himself all around her. His fingers buried in her long, blonde hair. His face burrowed into the crook of her neck. His lips covered her throat and cheek with tender, sweet kisses. "I won't," he vowed, and in that moment, he chose to dream. He would dream tonight that she meant those words. He would dream that she actually wouldn't send him away. He would dream that maybe, just maybe, she could love him at least a tiny bit. He would never dare to dream that he deserved her -- such was not possible, no matter how wild or outrageous the dreams --, but he would dream that she wouldn't send him away, that she'd want him just a little bit, that she'd want him, for however long or short, to stay.
And he would. He would happily stay for however long she could actually want him. Even if did prove just to be until the sun rose again, he would stay until she ordered him to leave. He would stay until she could stand the sight of him no longer. He would stay and pray to any being that might take pity upon a wretched soul who would never deserve it, let alone her, that she would actually want him to stay for as long as possible. Even if it was just going to be one night, it would be the next part of his life.
But in that moment, as Buffy's lips found his and spoke of emotions she dared not yet voice, they both knew something had changed. He would never, could never, deserve her. But she no longer wanted him to leave. And she'd never tell him to go again. For as long as there was breath left in her body, she'd never send him away again, and he would stay, even after, as close to her as ever he could remain.
The End
