Nothing At All
think I was wrong when I told Cardboard Man that I could love her
physically, never touching her locked away heart, and be satisfied. I think
I lied to both of us that day. For three weeks he's been gone and every
night she's come to me, baring herself to my touch, parting her thighs to
let me drink my fill, twining her tiny fingers delicately through my hair as
she rides out her orgasm.
And every night is better than the first- primal, hungry, ravenous, and
strong. But she doesn't stay to savor the moment. As I thrust into her for
the last time, spilling everything I have left of me, she pulls away,
gathers her things and leaves. Rarely are there spoken words. It's all
grunts, moans, growls, and everything a good shag should be, but it's not
Because now that I've had a little, I want it all.
I want to know more than how the coarse hairs between her thighs feel. I
want to know more than what she sounds like when she comes. And I want to
know her secrets, who she is, who she plans to be. I know where to touch her
to make her scream out, but I don't know her favorite color. I know how hard
to pound into her, but I don't know her favorite food. I know how to make
her plead with me to fuck her harder, but I don't know what movies make her
And it's not enough. It should have been, all things considered. But this is
Sunny-Hell, where 'kick the Spike' seems to be the Hellmouth's game of
choice ... and I'm the stupid fuck who keeps coming back for more.
I want to hate her. I had actually hoped that she would be a bad lay and I
wouldn't want her again. But she's incredible. I never should have given
into temptation that first night. I went to her mother's house to see how
things with the soldier boy had played out and I found her sitting on the
stairs looking like hell. Her eyes were wide, completely dry and unfocused.
I insulted her and she didn't reply. Instead, she held out her hand, which I
foolishly took, and she led me to her room.
I asked her what she was doing. I asked her if she had something to tell me,
something to show me. I asked her if she was going to drop me out her window
head first. I asked her if she was okay. But I never asked why.
All the questions died in my throat when she took her jacket off, slipped
out of her shoes, and lay back on the bed, motioning for me. I thought I had
died, but every part of my body was suddenly more alive than it had ever
been. So I convinced myself I was dreaming and went to her. She was like a
present that I slowly unwrapped, pulling down her pants, tugging off her
bra. Taking delight in the total package that was her.
If there was ever a more exquisite creature, I've never seen it. Her skin
was so soft, so unexpectedly feminine and her muscles, the ones I knew she
had, were relaxed under my touch. I've had my fair share of women, believe
me, but she was like nothing I've ever imagined. For hours, I delighted in
her. She made me come so many times I thought I'd be too exhausted to make
it back to my crypt, but I didn't stop until she collapsed, sweaty and
sated, and whimpered, "No more."
And I thought that would be it.
The next night, she came to me - wordlessly, cunningly, certain that I'd
surrender-and I didn't disappoint. I think I may have fooled myself in the
beginning. I swore a million times, in the desolate quiet after her
departure, that I didn't care about the emotions. I didn't care about her
lack of feeling or the fact that she was hot as hell outside, but colder
than me inside.
But finding out the truth never hurts more than when you lie to yourself.
So, as I near the culmination, as I get ready to explode and she begins to
writhe underneath me, I know that I'll only have her here for a few more
minutes. And I have to make her talk this time. She cries out, signaling her
climax, and mine arrives a few seconds later. I bury my face in her neck,
inhaling the fresh scent of her hair.
I have to say something.
~ And I know the night is fading
~ And I know the time's gonna fly
~ And I'm never gonna tell you
~ Everything I gotta tell you
~ But I know I've gotta give it a try
"Buffy," I whisper against her ear, softly kissing her lobe. She starts to
push me aside, trying to pull away, but I shake my head and look down at
her. "Stay. Spend the night."
"What?" Her eyes are huge in her face. "Move."
"Move?" I slide to one side and watch her rise in disbelief. "That's it?
Move? No 'thanks, it was fun, we'll do it again tomorrow.' Nothing?" She
keeps her back to me, slipping her shirt over her head. "Slayer, look at me.
That's the least you could do."
With her pants in hand, she turns to face me. Her face is stony, and for a
second, I think that any flicker of emotion on it would cause it to crumble.
"What is it, Spike?"
"This!" I gesture around the room, then point at her, then myself. "Us. What
are we doing?"
"If I really have to tell you what we're doing -"
"I know what we're doing, Buffy. But **what** are we **doing**?"
She switches her pants from one hand to another, shifts her weight on her
bare feet, looks around the room. I want to grab her and shake her. I want
to scream at her. I- I want to make her love me. With a sigh, she looks at
me again. "Do you want to stop, Spike?"
"Stop what? Say it!" I shout. "Fucking? Shagging? Having a fling?"
"Shut up," she says evenly. "Don't make it something perverse."
Perverse! "Uh, Slayer, you're fucking a demon on a nightly basis. Wrapping
your hot little legs around a lifeless man. Letting him do things to you
that would make the people who 'called' you weep. It doesn't get any more
perverse than that."
Her eyes narrow and she shakes her head, mumbling under her breath as she
shoves her legs into her jeans. "I'm leaving."
"Fine," I growl, but I can't pretend that it doesn't bother me anymore. She
snatches her shoes off the floor, where she toed them off hours ago, and I
foolishly rush across the room, blocking the door. I seem to be a glutton
for punishment where she's concerned. "If you can't tell me what we're doing
then at least tell me **why** we're doing it. Why do you keep coming back?"
"Why do you keep letting me?" she asks me. Her face is still set in a firm
expression, unwavering, chin jutting slightly, lips tightly pursed. "Why
does anyone do anything?"
"Don't answer questions with a question!" I snap, crossing my arms and
leaning back against the door. "Just tell me."
She turns away from me and paces across the room. "I don't know."
"You don't know? That's the most pathetic thing I've ever heard. What
compels you to come here? What thoughts go through your head when you decide
to let me take you?"
"Take me?" She spins to face me and points her finger. "You don't take me! I
let you in! I'm in control! I am always in control!"
"Really?" I raise an eyebrow. "So which scares you more, Buffy?
Surrendering, or liking it?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
I step away from the door and move toward her. She holds her ground. I come
to a stop a few inches away and say, "You're scared of falling into
something you can't control. Like love."
"Love!" she snorts bitterly. "Like I would ever fall for you!"
I grin, studying her face. "Oh, you fall, baby. Every single night."
"Please!" She tries to sidestep me, but I catch her arm and shove her
against the wall. "Let go, Spike."
"No. I'm not letting go, pet. I watched Angel let go. I watched that Parker
boy let go. I watched Riley Finn let go and there's something you didn't
figure into the equation when you started coming here."
"What's that?" she asks me through gritted teeth.
"My track record. I'm not exactly known for letting go."
"Stalker much!?" Buffy shoves me angrily, but I right myself before she can
"Oh, I'm a stalker now?" I push her against the wall again and so help me, I
can hear her pulse quicken as I press against her. She likes the challenge,
the hunt, the trapping, the -- the kill. Her tongue darts out, wetting her
lips, and I want to crush her mouth with mine. Instead I grip her arms and
pin them. "Who started this, Buffy?"
"Doesn't matter," she says in a low voice, and she's looking at my lips like
she wants me to kiss her. "Nothing matters."
"**This** matters." I tighten my grip on her hands and rub my cheek against
hers, breathing her in again. "Tell me you don't feel it. Tell me you don't
feel the sparks that fly every time we're together. Tell me you don't want
more. Tell me you don't need me as much as I need you." My gaze meets hers
and I see that there are tears in her eyes. "Or tell me that you do. Tell me
~ I can make tonight forever
~ Or I can make it disappear by the dawn
~ And I can make you every promise that has ever been made
~ And I can make all your demons be gone
"Damn it, Spike." She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and blinks her eyes.
The tears dry up before they fall and she gently pulls her hands free,
putting them on my chest. "This is it. It's all we have. Sex and no strings.
**Nothing** sex. Unemotional sex. No ties. No bonds. We have nothing."
"It's something," I growl. Despite my effort to remain calm, I feel my own
eyes welling against my will. I want to bang her head against the wall. I
want to kick her, hit her, call her vile names, but I don't. I can't.
Because ... because I love her. I said I wouldn't and I tried not to, but
there it is. "It's something!" I shout. "'Nothing' wouldn't make me feel
"What way?" She sees the tears in my eyes and her face softens. "Spike-"
I hold up a hand and turn away. "God damn it, Slayer. Don't you see it?
Don't you see what you do to me?" I have to force myself to look at her
again. "I love you." There. I said it. Take that, you treasonous bitch. God,
I want you.
I think she's stopped breathing. She stands motionless, arms akimbo, jaw
slack. I snap my fingers in front of her and she blinks, glancing up at me.
"Oh god," she whispers, closing her eyes.
"Don't bother praying. It won't do either of us any good. We're fucked,
pet." Why did I think blurting it out was a good thing? "Look ..."
"Why did you say that?" She stares at the floor.
"Because I mean it."
"Y-you can't love!" she yells. She begins to pace again and I sit on the
edge of the tomb, crossing my arms. "It's impossible! You're a soulless
demon!" she adds, stopping in mid-stride to hammer the point home by
crooking her fingers into claws and growling at me. "Demons don't love!"
"Well, I guess I must not have gotten the memo when I became a 'soulless
demon', because that never stopped me before." I yank my coat off the floor
and dig through the pockets, looking for my smokes. When I can't find them,
I toss it aside and scowl at her. "I love you. I said it again. Now what?"
"You're crazy! Your brain is going haywire from the chip in it!" She
continues to pace, raking her fingers through her hair and pushing it all
back, clasping her hands behind her head. "You just told me you loved me!"
"And it wasn't just to get you in bed, 'cause check it out." I nod at the
rumpled blankets that litter my crypt. "I didn't have to try."
"This is insane. And sick! I'm leaving." She darts toward the door and this
time, I let her go. I just keep sitting, watching her walk away.
When she gets there, she pauses likes she's waiting for me to say more. When
the silence becomes too much for her, she looks at me. "Aren't you going to
"Do you want me to stop you?"
"Don't answer a question with a question."
"Touche," I reply. I walk to where she's standing and she turns to look at
me and once again, her eyes fill with tears, but this time, they slide down
her cheeks. I reach up and brush one away. "Why are you upset?"
"Because you complicated things," she tells me. "It was supposed to just
"Shhh." I shake my head and kiss her forehead. "Who cares what it's supposed
to be. This is what it is. Me and you. Wrong and right."
"Did you mean it?"
"But- but why?"
I don't know why. I don't know why she haunts me. Why she wants me, or why
she keeps coming to me. All I know is that I love her. Words should come
easy to me, but they don't. I swallow hard, desperately searching for
something right to say. "Why not?"
She looks enraged. "Why not? That's your answer?"
"Look, I wasn't planning this. So you'll have to cut me a little slack if I
don't know the exact words to say!"
"Whatever." With a shrug, she heads back toward the door.
"Am I supposed to stop you?"
"We have to stop each other," she replies, not looking at me as usual.
"We're heading down a dead end road here. We're completely wrong to be doing
this and what you think you're feeling, it's hormones."
"So I get to have hormones but not emotions? How does that work exactly?"
"I don't have all the answers either!" she shouts. More tears slide
carelessly down her cheeks. I go to her again.
"I do!" I lean my forehead against hers. "Just - just let go. You have to
let go of **them** like they let go of you and trust me. I'm not going
For a long time, we stand that way. With my head touching hers, I can almost
hear the gears grinding as she tries to process everything we've said. "You
complicated things," she whispers again.
"That's something then, huh?" I pull back slightly so I can see her face.
"You can't complicate nothing."
The words die in her throat and the look on her face tells me that she
finally gets it. There was never 'nothing' between us. It was always
something. Something powerful and bizarre. So strong it made us weak. So
wrong it made it right. And so bare that it came down to love. I don't care
if she loves me, just as long as she knows where I stand. At least, that's
what I tell myself when I take her bag from her hand and pick her up, taking
her back to my bed.
Her eyes are on me this time, watching every move I make as I undress her.
That's new. Normally they are closed or unfocused. This time, they follow,
locking on mine every time I glance at her. It isn't until I kneel in front
of her and kiss her belly, darting into her navel with my tongue, that I
feel her shaking. I stand up and take her hand. It's shaking too. "Are you
And I don't think she is. I think maybe the cold is leaving her. Maybe my
words have thawed what was frozen inside. "Buffy-"
"I couldn't say it before." She reaches up and cups my cheek with her hand,
looking me square in the eyes. "Make love to me."
I do. I take my time, thoroughly loving her body in ways I know she's never
been loved. In ways that I have never loved. Again and again, we tumble
together, slowly, quickly, frenzied and lazily all at once toward the brink
of satisfaction. I know when she's had enough, because she turns her back to
me and pulls my arm around her. It's new. It's perfect. The quiet after the
storm. No expectations. Just holding and feeling. Touching and rest.
I've never been more exhausted and as the first rays of sunlight begin to
stream around the various cracks in the crypt, I whisper. "I love you."
"I know," she says softly. "Spike, I- I can't-"
"One day you will," I tell us both. One day she has to. I felt something
different this time. She surrendered completely to me and she didn't just
take - she gave. The barriers went down. And she's still, isn't she?
I hear a slight snore from her and smile. She's worth waiting for. I won't
give up. I don't let go. I tighten my grip around her and close my eyes.
Whether she knows it or not, she made love out of nothing at all. And that's
something. I'll just cling to that for as long as I can.
~ But I don't know how to leave you
~ And I'll never let you fall
~ And I don't know how you do it
~ Making love out of nothing at all
Song used: Making Love Out Of Nothing At All by Air Supply
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