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You have now come with me, I have now come with you, to the season that should be winter, and is not: we have not come back.

We have not come back: we have not come round: we have not moved. I have taken you, you have taken me, to the next and next span, and the last—and it is the last. Stand against me then and stare well through me then. It is a wall not to be scaled and left behind like the old seasons...It is not a wall...It is a written edge of time. Step not across, for then into my mouth, my eyes, you fall. Come close, stare me well through, speak as you see...Into my mouth, my eyes, shall you thus fall, and be yourselves no more...And haste unto us both, my shame is yours...

~Laura Riding
Poet: A Lying Word

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MENDING WALLS

Spike tasted sorrow on her lips; tasted her hurt—her pain. He wanted to ease it, because he thought that maybe, if he could get that wounded look off her face, then maybe it would heal the wounds he wore on the inside. Mend the walls. Anya’s sorrow was nothing but a reflection he thought he could no longer see. It was real. Maybe if she could forget, he could forget; lose themselves in sensation; find oblivion.

Maybe it would mean he was good enough. For someone.

For a moment.

Anya didn't rush. Didn’t want to rush. He didn’t either. Go slow, and have all else just…fade. Piece by piece. Remove the hurt from his skin, his gut, his heart. Lift it up and over like a gossamer veil, and lean in for a tender kiss.

And she was—tender.

He thrust slowly inside with a moan that was borderline whimper, blending with her gasp of surprise. His eyes widened a bit at what he had done—what he was doing—but then he felt her hands softly trail up his sides, her eyes pleading with him to…make it better. If only for a moment. All they had was a moment. He thirst for that moment.

He moved. He mended.

*****

She felt so empty inside. She just wanted...needed to make the pain stop; to make that hollow feeling go away. And Spike knew—he knew what she was feeling. She saw it in his eyes; felt it in his touch. Felt it when he was inside. He was there with her. No one else knew—understood how she was coming apart. But Spike did. And she thought maybe he could pull her back together—for her to know what it was like to not hurt for a moment so that she could feel whole once more.

He leaned in again to kiss her softly, lips trembling, stroking her face with his roughened hands gently. For a second, she thought of Xander’s hands before rejecting that image from her mind’s eye. Xander had hurt her, but Spike, he would heal her. For the moment.

She moaned something unintelligible as she clenched around his length, making him breathe out, “Anya.” And then he thrust deeper, making her hands tighten on his torso as he undulated.

He was all she had to cling to, after all.

*****

His orgasm snuck up on him. Involuntarily, his head lurched forward into the crook of her neck as he rode out the billow of bliss. He rested there on top of her until reality came smashing back. Unease made him pull back, not look at her. He found that he couldn’t, just then.

*****

And when she came, it was strong—she felt it through her whole body. And it was nice; comforting. For a moment. Just a moment. The feeling of loss and emptiness leapt upon her instantly, spreading through her like a disease. She felt cold. Spike pulled back, eyes downcast, brow furrowed. He didn't look at her. She sat up slowly, adjusting her skirt, and then reaching for her top.

*****

He kept himself busy, tucking in, zipping up and buckling as Anya got off of the table, pulling her top on. He swallowed slightly as he did so, and finally looked up. She turned her back on him, purposely.

She couldn't look at him either. It was just as well.

The moment had passed.

*****

She slightly heard his boots move across the floor. It was as if he didn’t want to disturb the quiet. She looked up then, just as he paused.

*****

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. He knew that though it was over, she was grateful all the same. And so was he—grateful to share with someone who listened, and understood.

He nodded at her as he opened the door.

*****

And as he closed the door behind him, and she felt that ache settle in her chest again, she noticed something. It wasn’t as piercing as it had been about half an hour ago. Still hurt, but it was progress. And she didn’t feel so empty.

She didn’t feel quite so alone.