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Much Love - Annie.



Blighting Imperfections




The next moment she realized she already had, that she understood him better than she actually cared to; that she knew what drove him, and what had driven him to become what was now being wiped away before her eyes.

“No,” she finally got word over tongue.

With that one word she was back in the kitchen, her fingers mere millimeters from his mouth as they had been brought back to the moment of their severance.

He stared at her, his whole body prickling itself back into feeling and he had to wonder why she hadn’t completed what he had felt she had set out to do. Why was it that they couldn’t destroy each other, no matter how much they may want it from time to time? His eyes traveled from hers to her lips and he knew what kept stopping him, how he’d go mad if he lost her. Even now, at the utter knowledge, a part of him revolted against the truth of it; but he had to embrace it for what it was, because he knew he would never rid himself of it. No matter how much simpler things had been before.

She didn’t want him to look at her like that. Every time he did it seemed like something took away her ability to think clearly. She felt his expression reflect itself within her and the yearning she could see on him began to build much too rapidly throughout her. Why was this happening?

“Why are you here?”

He raised his eyebrows, the sounds of the Bronze slowly rising to its normal hype as the club shimmered into view around him. He tilted his head to the side as took in the black dress she was wearing.

She looked tantalizingly hot.

“Wow,” he said. “That dress is...”

“What are you doing here?” she repeated impatiently.

“I just thought...”

“Clearly, you didn’t,” she stopped him. “Go away.”

He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he did know that he didn’t remember this. And he was positive he would have remembered That Dress. But he let go and simply went with it, his actions clearly not needing his participation with controlling them.

He put the beer he had in one hand down on a nearby table, her eyes not leaving his form.

“If you dance with me,” he said as a response to her previous demand, her eyebrows rising slightly.

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head, turning to walk away when he put a hand at the small of her back, ushering her forward.

They reached the dance floor and she looked pissed when she turned to face him. She felt pissed. Actually she felt angrier with him than she had in a long time, and though she had a baffling sense of where this was going and why her mind was playing her this scene, she could do nothing to stop it. She was swept up in it, and no second thought was about to enter her head.

He put his hands up in a reconciling manner, smiling slightly. She glared at him as he began to move to the slow rhythm of the music, coming steadily closer, diminishing the already limited space separating them. She hesitated, still angry, but then she finally had to comply, softly letting her body get caught by the sensual beat, raising her head as she stepped into him.

Her eyes began to expel the irritation, and carefully a new expression took over. It went straight into him; the seductiveness of her lowered lashes, the glint of increasing want in her gaze. He swallowed hard as her hands slid up his chest before going around him, her body warm against his. His fingers trailed her bare arms and her eyes closed, making him stare at her unabashed. He moved his hands down her back, sliding them over her hips and down her thighs before bringing them under the hem of the short skirt of the dress, grabbing her ass and making her open her eyes again with a slight intake of breath.

She wanted to stop herself, and yet there was no way. It was like she was inside her body, feeling everything without having the slightest say in which emotion to act on. Right now the most forward of those seemed quite evident.

Her hands moved to the front of his T, pulling at it and exposing his pale skin before she leaned forward and licked her way in an excruciatingly slow manner to his left nipple. He jerked when her teeth followed her lips and she brought her head up with a small smile, her hips grinding into him as she caught his lower lip with hers, suckling on it before biting it as well.

He frowned as she pulled away, her smile lingering.

“What was that you said?” she murmured. “About my dark side coming out to play?”

He stared at her, the sound of her pulse taking over his mind, as his eyes traveled to the side of her throat.

“You want it?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said; voice low.

Her smile widened just a tad.

But then she was in her own bed, her hand going to the side of her throat as she sat up, her eyes landing on Spike where he stood in the moonlight. She had no clue as to why her hand was where it was, she only felt a great relief that all she touched was smooth skin. She furrowed her brow as she observed the vampire.

“Why did you have to tell me?” she asked silently. “Couldn’t you have left it alone?”

“You deserved the truth,” he replied, his head still trying to understand the shift which had taken place and his loins struggling to quiet down after what she had so recently been afflicting them with.

“Please,” she now said. “You ratted on Riley to break us up, don’t try and act all noble about it.”

He smiled slightly at that, but grew serious.

“You’d rather still have him here, a vamp attached to each arm?” he asked.

“He was a good guy.”

“Really? Did he even give you an explanation for his late night excursions?”

“He said he couldn’t reach me.”

“And you know that’s not true.”

She was silent long enough for Spike to raise his eyebrows in wonderment.

“I tried to stop him from leaving,” she stated, almost defiantly. “Given the choice, yeah, I’d want him here.”

“Really?” he repeated, actually quite taken aback. “Wane him off the addiction to having the life sucked out of him? Build a cute little cottage for two?”

“Could you just not?”

“No, I can’t just not. I’ve a personal bloody interest in this. In how you’d picture your life with that blob of meat.”

She eyed him for a moment.

“Jealous?” she then asked.

He huffed.

“It’d take a lot more than Captain sodding Cardboard to make me jealous,” he replied.

“I miss him,” she said, unable not to. “Especially at night. God, he was a fabulous lover. Of course, you already know I think that.”

His eyes had turned harsh. Her mouth was curled in a slight smirk, her gaze challenging in a way he’d never seen them before. And then he was next to her, naked on the bed, his mouth closing around one of her already hard nipples as his hand slid over her stomach, into the soft curls between her legs, which parted as she arched her back, his fingers finding the small bud they were looking for and she moaned.

She raised her head when the touch, the next instant, disappeared.

She was fully clothed, lying on the ground. She sat up with a jerk. She could still feel him near her and she scrambled to her feet, looking around, but not spotting him anywhere. She felt unsatisfied and it staggered her to think that the soft pounding still remaining had been so swiftly produced by someone she shouldn’t stand the sight of.

Couldn’t stand the site of.

Can’t stand.

What is happening to me? she thought.

She placed a hand by her heart, where the emotions she had felt him feel seemed to have gathered like a softly aching lump.

“He got away,” Spike’s voice sounded behind her and she turned around as he came jogging up to her. “I tried to stop him. Yelled ‘stop’ a few times. Didn’t work. Bloody fast little critter that one. ‘Course he had eight legs. You alright?”

She stared at him.

It wasn’t Spike, it was a memory.

“You said ‘yes’,” Spike stated at her side and she turned her head to him where he was observing his image. “Then you sent me on my merry way, like you always do. Such a pleasure being in your company. Always manage to make me feel welcome.”

“Can you blame me for how I feel?” she shot. “Not wanting you around is a smart thing, in my book. Or was... Or, I don’t know!” she exclaimed at the softening of questions in his gaze. “You’ve made damn sure to let me know just how evil you are. I’m under the impression you like the label, that you’re quite comfortable with it, so don’t come and think you can just screw things up.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

“But you are!”

“You started it,” he remarked and she glared at him, then a smile appeared on her mouth without her knowing where it came from.

He returned it tentatively and she looked away from him.

“I don’t know how to feel,” she mumbled.

“Don’t try so hard,” he said and she met his gaze again. “You know I’m not asking anything of you, right? I bloody well didn’t know it’d get this... revealed, all of it. And sure,” he continued, beginning to walk. She followed. “I do want you,” he said, gaze honest, open. She observed him. “But it’s not that I expect you to want me around. I don’t.”

He wasn’t sure where these words were coming from, but he felt as though he meant them, and it was a strange thing.

She was about to open her mouth and say something as response when his clothes suddenly disappeared and he was completely naked, still walking with his back to her, as though nothing had happened. She realized he hadn’t noticed. Taking in his ass she licked her lips, then gave herself a mental slap and brought herself out of it. He stopped and was about to turn to her, still speaking. Her eyes widened.

Oh, God!

The first thing which popped into her head was her swinging her pompoms and suddenly he was wearing her cheerleading outfit. Her eyes grew even larger, but she turned them quickly in his as he asked:

“Know what I mean?”

She nodded, guiltily having no clue as to what he had been talking about.

He started walking again and she once more followed, desperately trying to think of anything which didn’t look as funny. She bit back the laughter and the outfit switched into plain blue jeans and a white shirt. She gaped. His hair turned darker, shorter, then a little longer, straight, wavy, curly, blonde again, brown, black, then bleached once more as he said:

“I dunno ‘bout you, but I think it’s bloody important, innit?”

His eyes were in hers again and she blinked.

“Uh-huh,” she agreed.

“What do you think, then?” he asked.

“Oh,” she said, the jeans and shirt giving way for leather pants and a black sweater, making her jaw drop even more. He looked the way she felt in that moment, pulse quickening at the thought of getting the fabrics off him. “Oh!” she repeated as he was waiting for her to elaborate. “Eh... I think you should finish your thought, it wasn’t half bad, actually.”

He smirked.

“How flattering,” he said and she smiled as well, the leather giving way for a dark blue suit and she felt about ready to jump him. “It’s just you can’t bloody change your entire nature, can you? We are who we are. If we can’t accept each other for who we are, then what’s the sodding point?”

The suit changed into black pants and a white shirt and she frowned at the waiter-ness of the clothes. Then he turned to her, bringing a white cotton napkin over one arm as he met her gaze, saying:

“I could cater your every need; you do know that by now, don’t you?”

She couldn’t believe the idiocy of those words, and when he began to look wondering she realized he hadn’t said them.

She had.

She’d made him say it.

“What?” he asked.

Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please, she prayed silently and just as he turned his head to look down at himself his clothes switched into black jeans, T and duster and she tilted her head back with relief.

“Thank God,” she breathed.

“What?” he repeated and she had her eyes in his once more.

“What?” she mimicked him. “And I know what you’re saying with the accepting you and me for who we are and that we’re actually supposed to just be at each other’s throats right about now and perhaps even have killed one another, who knows, but now here we are, with the not killing and the talking. Right? Right. Let’s go do something else.”

The scenery swirled into a disco. Lights were flashing in perky colors and music was blasting from speakers. Spike looked around, then down at his feet, his eyes widening at the sight of the roller skates he was wearing. He immediately lost his balance, tumbling onto his back and hitting his head on the floor. People were skating in a never ending whirl around him; he could hear the sound of the skates even over the music.

Then Buffy leaned over him.

“What’re you doing, you can’t skate lying flat on your back,” she said, grabbing his arm and getting him to his feet.

“I can’t bloody skate.”

“I thought that was just the fear of ice talking.”

“I do not have a fear of ice.”

She smiled.

Her hair was in two ponytails, she was wearing a tight T and shorts, her tanned legs looking good enough to eat. Not that he would, of course.

“Here, take my hand,” she said. He didn’t want to and she smiled again. “You trust me?” she inquired.

“Not for a moment.”

She laughed and he felt himself begin to loosen up. She looked happy. He wondered if he’d seen her truly relaxed like this. He concluded he hadn’t. He slipped one hand in the one she held out and she turned so that she faced him, beginning to skate backwards.

“Show off,” he muttered and she smiled brightly.

She pulled him easily, though he felt like a fool and as though he would, any minute, fall to the floor again.

“Don’t worry,” she said, putting the hand of his she was holding at her hip as she glided close to him. “I’ll catch you.”

“I’m not gonna add to your burden, love,” he stated and her eyes turned warm.

“I know,” she assured. “You’ll always be there, catching me back.”

Then she scooted away, spinning into a graceful twirl, coming out of it on one leg, arms unfolding as she raised them to the ceiling, head tilted back, eyes closed. The fluid motion continued into strong strokes as she began to skate away from him. He watched her and the scenery began to change again, a moment later she was running, hair freed to fly around her face and her clothes exchanged for pants and jacket. He was following her, running as well. They were in a forest. Everything was gray. Everything was withering away.

Buffy felt panic grab her and she didn’t know where it came from. She ran faster and faster, her feet twirling the ashes covering the ground. She finally began to slow, coming to a stop, fighting for air. She reached for a low branch of a nearby tree to steady herself, but it crumbled between her fingers and she felt the dread claw at her once more. She couldn’t breathe.

“Buffy,” Spike said, his hands grabbing her when she was about to go down on her knees.

“Something’s wrong,” she gasped.

“Easy,” he tried to calm her.

“No,” she shook her head, getting herself out of his hold and stumbling away from him.

She was running again. She felt like the ashes were clinging to her skin, covering her, sneaking down her throat, coating it, filling it. She started to cough, her eyes filling with tears from the strain. She needed water.

The next moment she came to a crashing halt as she reached the end of the forest and before her lay the ocean, incredibly still, its surface like a mirror. Only it was too late, she had been moving too quickly and in the following blink she tumbled forward, feeling a new kind of horror grab her when she looked down and saw a large, black shadow slowly moving beneath the surface below her; its fin appearing, creating soft ripples which began to spread. She turned in the air; her hand, in the last moment, getting hold of the tip of the cliff she was falling off and her other hand joined the hold.

She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the strength she knew she had within her. She could pull herself up. But she was shaking so bad at the thought of falling that she couldn’t concentrate. Then she felt two hands grabbing her upper arms, pulling her straight up and then placing her on her feet on the cliff. She stared at him, feeling very small all of a sudden.

“Can’t leave you alone for five seconds, can I?” he asked and she smiled a half smile as he lead her forward, bringing her into a bathroom. “Take a shower,” he instructed, handing her a towel. “You’re dirty.”

She looked down at herself and saw that she actually was covered in ashes and hurriedly she undressed, stepping into the warm water.

“Feel better?” he wondered when she came downstairs.

It looked very different, but it was her house. It didn’t matter, though. She took the cup of tea he had prepared and sunk down with a grateful sigh in the living room couch.

“Feel amazing,” she said, meeting his gaze as she took a mouthful of the liquid. “Thank you,” she added when she had swallowed.

“Didn’t exactly scrub your back, love,” he pointed out.

“Didn’t exactly feed me to the shark, either,” she smirked and he did as well, shrugging.

“Anyone’s gonna have the first bite it’ll be me,” he retorted.

She smiled the shadow of a smile, sipping her tea.

“I believe you,” she then said. “You would bite me, wouldn’t you?”

He smiled.

“Only if you asked me to.”

“Asked you to?” she repeated, perplexed, but smiling.

“So you don’t remember then?”

She frowned, her smile fading slightly.

“Remember what?” she asked.

“Oh, good, there you are,” her voice said and she came walking into the living room. Buffy turned her head to herself with her frown deepening. “As I was saying: you can’t forget about the homework you still have to do, that you were supposed to do yesterday, but that thing came up...”

“Thing?” Spike asked.

“Nest,” Buffy explained.

“Ah,” Spike nodded.

“Hello!” the other Buffy protested, shaking her hair behind her shoulders and proceeding with: “And you promised mom you’d pick up her dry cleaning and get Dawn to buy a good pair of shoes, nothing with rhinestones or weird lacing, and maybe you should see if you can finally buy those black pumps you’ve been eyeing for the past month. Giles wants you to go on patrol after he’s quizzed you on that homework you’ve yet to do, so you should get some sparring done before then, and Willow and Xander wanted to do something fun so make sure to think of something that’s fun for the whole group since you know they’ll bring Tara and Anya and you don’t want to exclude them. Also...”

The Buffy on the couch wrinkled her nose in dislike, watching herself rant on and on.

“Gee,” she then said. “I can be really annoying.”

“Just figuring that out, eh?”

She hit him on the arm.

“Shut up,” she said and he smirked.

“I saw you, before, in a bed in hospital... They were trying to give you a shot,” he murmured and she turned her head to him, clearly taken aback.

Her hands started fidgeting with the hem of the bathrobe she was in as she said:

“That’s a long time ago.”

“They locked you up?”

“Only for a really short while,” she finally confessed. “I freaked my parents out; you’ve no idea what it did to them, what I did.”

“I get it,” he said. “Must’ve been hard, keeping it from them all that time.”

She nodded solemnly.

“Can you sing?” she wondered. He furrowed his brow. “Well, that night... when I told my mom. Remember? I said we played in a band first, and that I played the drums and you said you sang.”

He smiled a little.

“Do you play the drums?” he then asked back.

“No.”

His smile widened before he looked away from her. She eyed him.

“But...” she began.

“I’m not bloody serenading you, pet,” he interrupted her and a smile spread on her mouth as well. “So drop it.”

“What did your father do?” she asked after a short while.

“He was an artist,” he answered. “Hopelessly devoted to it, too. Never did make any money, though.”

“Too bad. Do you know if any of his paintings are still out there?”

Spike was silent for a long moment, then replied:

“No.”

“It’s easy to find out,” she remarked. “What?”

He rested his eyes in hers.

“I haven’t thought about him in a long time,” he said.

She observed him, then smiled tryingly. He smiled back, getting to his feet.

“Maybe we should...”

“Buffy,” Angel interrupted as he came strolling into the room. “You coming?” he added and Buffy stared at him, then she nodded, rising and walking around the coffee table to take the hand he reached her.

They walked through the door and Spike watched them before slowly following in their wake.

The sky was painted pale with dawn. The strange gloom which acted as prelude to the piercing rays of light lay quivering in wait for the morning. The older vampire and Slayer walked hand in hand across the lawn and to the street, seemingly not caring at all about the approaching certain death about to peak over the treetops.

Spike didn’t think twice about it as he walked in their footsteps.

Buffy laughed and Angel joined her, wrapping an arm around her waist and she leaned against him. They were talking with ease. Safe in the presence of the other. Spike felt the jealousy tear loose and stomp its way through him.

Buffy smiled at Angel, feeling the strength of him close and taking from it. She missed him, she really did. They headed out of the city, into the woods. She told him about what was going on and he glanced back at Spike, hovering like a wraith somewhere not far behind them. Then he smiled, eyes back in hers, shaking his head a little.

“It’s typical,” he muttered.

“What is?” she asked.

“Him tagging along. He’s like a lost puppy. He never was good taking care of himself.” She raised her eyebrows and he mimicked her as he said: “What? Have you ever seen him on his own?”

“Yes. You’re one to talk about him like that when you haven’t spent time with him for a hundred years.”

He furrowed his brow a little.

“Are you defending him?”

“Yeah, I’m defending him,” she answered, pausing as she realized she had said the opposite of what she had meant to say. “Maybe there’s more to him than you think,” she added.

“Are you ill?”

She laughed, giving him a shove.

They had reached the top of a hill, overlooking the city and showing the orange sky tattling the rising sun. He had waited for it once before, in that very spot.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done, if you’d died,” she said as they turned to face each other.

“You got the thought out of my head fast enough,” he smiled. “I only left because I wanted you to be happy. To have a full life. I held you back, Buffy. And our relationship wasn’t... it couldn’t grow. We were stuck.”

“I know,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “Feels like yesterday.” She grew thoughtful as she turned her eyes out of his and looked at the horizon, where a small speck of gold had begun glorifying the sky. “And still, like a long time ago.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, making her look back at him.

She smiled, closing her eyes as he leaned forward to place his lips against hers. However, the kiss was stopped as she heard Spike give a yell of pain. She turned her head to him, her eyes widening as his hands were at his face and he was going down on his knees.

“It burns!” he exclaimed.

She was at his side in a second.

“Spike?” she said as he doubled over, whining and shaking. “Spike!”

The warmth of the sun suddenly seemed tangible and she felt her heart wrench itself into a tight knot within her as she realized what was happening to him.

“Get up! Right now!” she barked, grabbing him and beginning to get him to his feet.

Only he sat back, completely calm. His gaze meeting hers, full of tease.

He was fine!

“You bastard!” she exclaimed, shoving him hard in the chest before she stood.

He laughed and she shook her head, fighting to keep her face straight.

“It’s not funny,” she stated.

He merely smiled widely, getting to his feet.

“Did you say your goodbyes?” he asked.

She turned her head to the spot she had shared with Angel, noting he was gone. Then she looked back at Spike.

“We’ll never say our goodbyes,” she replied.

“Neither will Dru and I,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t let her go.”

“Have you?” she asked and he eyed her.

“Don’t think I have?”

“Well, it’s just, sharing a hundred plus years with someone... Kinda hard to compete with.”

“Wanna try?”

She met his gaze, unable to hold down a small smile as she said:

“No!”

He smirked.

Suddenly the view spun around them and they found themselves in a well-known cemetery, as it hosted his crypt. She was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, her hair in a tight ponytail which swung as she spun around to face him. Her spider senses told her to duck, and so she was on him the next moment, making him fall backwards onto the ground, their noses touching as she drew a slight breath, his eyes widening quizzically.

“No Face,” she said. “He’s here.”

“Don’t see him,” Spike mumbled, unsure of how to tackle her sudden closeness.

“There was a glitch,” she explained. “I mean, I could feel him.”

And you’re about to feel a little bit more of me than I want, Spike thought, sitting up and thus making her straddle him, which didn’t exactly improve the matter.

“Can you feel him now?” he murmured.

She was about to answer, but paused and he swallowed, trying to keep a cool head, but finding it as hard as not smoking from the sun.

Her heart was beginning to grow heavy, beating in her throat instead of her chest, and her skin felt all electric as she placed her hands against his chest.

Then she was grabbed forcefully from behind, by the hair, and painfully pulled to her feet.

“See?” she gritted out to Spike before kicking out a leg, hitting No Face, who was still behind her, in the side.

She repeated it, Spike rising and swiftly moving forward to join in. Her hands were on the demon’s, clawing for him to let his hold go. Spike hit him on the side of the throat; then put his elbow on the spot, trying to break their adversary away from the Slayer. It didn’t work.

“Spike!” Buffy said, putting one foot up in the air. “Give me a hand.”

He got what she meant the following second, moving around to stand before her, linking his fingers together and making a cup for her to step into. Their joined strength then allowed her a flip, where she landed behind No Face’s back, and was freed from his grasp. She peeked out from behind him, meeting Spike’s gaze with an appreciative nod before she kicked No Face forcefully at the small of his back. Spike let the toe of his right shoe connect with the demon’s chin, and through this combination the demon went down on his knees.

Buffy felt the adrenaline course through her as she took a step forward in order to pin the demon down, but in the next moment he was standing, one hand around her throat once more. Her eyes widened when he brought his free hand up, holding the dagger.

Spike ran forward, but was met by an awesome kick in the stomach which sent him flying several yards and made him hit the entrance to Alpert’s crypt back first.

“Nasselah,” Buffy heard a voice whisper, the dagger drifting closer. “Ih asi tesselah, Nasselah. Mekh ih se nakh isa messai.”

“Don’t,” Buffy practically whispered.

The tip of the dagger was millimeters from piercing her eye when the demon staggered forward and the dagger glanced to the side, missing its mark and scratching her cheek instead. The demon was gone from sight in one blink and Buffy found herself facing Spike, who was holding his side as though he was in pain.

“You okay?” he asked.

She felt her cheek, her fingertips coming away bloodied. She took in the sight, then shrugged.

“I’ll live. You?”

“Un-beating heart intact.”

They both looked the way his crypt lie and started toward it.

“Should have something for that cut,” he said.

“It’ll stop,” she replied.

They walked through the door.

“Keep forgetting we’re in there,” he murmured with a gesture to her head, and she smiled.

“Yeah.”

There was a noise which came from the room below and they both tensed.

Buffy put a finger to her lips and Spike nodded. They proceeded with making their way carefully up to the open trapdoor leading downstairs. Buffy pointed to herself and Spike shrugged the go-ahead. She climbed down first, he followed.

“This isn’t how it looks down here,” Spike remarked as he stepped down behind her, though he seemed more amused than offended.

He was, actually, very amused, at the taste she had bequeathed him with; which was something out of a forties horror movie. Black velvet and an actual coffin. He hadn’t slept in one of those for a while now. But the candles were him. And they were everywhere. He drew the conclusion that No Face was not the occupant.

Buffy took another step forward and halted at the sight which met her.

She was on the floor, straddling him, her arms around his neck, her hands buried in his hair while he breathed unnecessary breaths against her chest. She was riding him slowly. Her naked skin was glistening with sweat and her eyes were closed, her face in rapture.

Buffy felt her heart increase its beats by the double.

And suddenly the fantasy she had pulled him into, at the Bronze, dancing, how near he had been, how he had felt, how she had felt, what she had said, what she had been on the brink of offering, it all came flooding her mind. Her blood grew a few degrees warmer in her veins.

Spike came to the same kind of halt as she had, stopping at her side. He stared, couldn’t do anything but, feeling a strange envy of himself, and then a glittering desire which encircled him and made him turn his head to her.

“If I’d only known,” he said, the teasing in his voice making her want to cringe.

“It’s not mine,” she retorted.

“Yours?”

“My thought! It’s yours. You put it there,” she stated, fully convincing herself of it, too.

Their surroundings spun them into the dance floor of the Bronze; people moving to the loudness of live music, the beat going through the crowd.

“I put it there?” he more demanded than asked.

“Yes!”

“Why can’t you just sodding admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That there’s something there. Always has been. That if you could just move past this eternal bloody enemies bit, you might actually find you could like me. In some ways.”

“Ah, yes, yours are the ways I like: murderous, threatening, foreboding, callous, selfish, mocking, gleeful...”

“Alright,” he interrupted; her eyes still in his.

She smiled just a little, despite herself.

“So when do I matter?” he wondered softly and she felt a rush go through her at that way he had of looking at her as though she was all he could see. He took a step forward, diminishing the space between them to practically nothing and she tilted her head back to look up at him. “What do I do to matter?” he mumbled, bringing a hand to the cheek of hers which had been hurt before and now only carried a red mark where the cut had been.

His fingertips preceded his palm as it tenderly placed itself against her skin. Something within her began to grow weak. She was quivering as her hands grasped the hem of his shirt, the thought of him beneath her, inside her, made the quiver stagger and expand until she had an uncontrollable need to lean against him. She closed her eyes, the music fading away as well as the smells and impressions of what was around them.

When nothing happened she furrowed her brow questioningly; then opened her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She stared at the man who had taken the vampire’s place.

“Riley,” she breathed.