I laid back against him, my hand resting on his side as I read the book. I don't know, maybe I was nuts, but it felt good. I began to read a poem by Robert Burns, for some reason it seemed pretty...
THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast, Loud roars the wild inconstant blast; Yon murky cloud is filled with rain, I see it driving o'er the plain; The hunter now has left the moor, The scatt'red coveys meet secure; While here I wander, prest with care, Along the lonely banks of Ayr.
The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn By early Winter's ravage torn; Across her placid, azure sky, She sees the scowling tempest fly; Chill runs my blood to hear it rave: I think upon the stormy wave, Where many a danger I must dare, Far from the bonie banks of Ayr.
'Tis not the surging billows' roar, 'Tis not the fatal, deadly shore; Tho' death inev'ry shape appear, The wretched have no more to fear: But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierc'd with many a wound; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonie banks of Ayr.
Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales; The scenes where wretched Fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves! Farewell my friends! Farewell my foes! My peace with these, my love with those-- The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell, my bonie banks of Ayr.
Now's she touching me and reading Robert Burns' poems. She couldn't torture me more if she tried. Not that the poem wasn't nice, that's bloody it, it was nice. And her hand on my side, her body laying against my back, all of her warmth invading my body, that was nice too.
It was all so comforting, like I wasn't destined to be a pile of dust soon and I hated her for it. I would do anything to get this chip out of my head and my hands around her throat, choking her love and poems and care until she died.
Instead, as angry as I was, I didn't want her to leave, didn't want her stop reading. "Read another one." I heard myself say.
Bloody hell, Spike. Just let her get in and turn you to mush why don't you?
He said he wanted to hear another so I did. I read a couple more in fact. Each one I found fitting for him and his situation. I could only hope that this would help him to relax, to help him to see that I am not his enemy, and he isn't the man that he was made to believe he was.
After about an hour of reading poem after poem I finally couldn't stop myself, I leaned in and kissed his cheek softly. "Sorry...I..I couldn't stop myself."
Her kiss was warm on my cold cheek. The poems had calmed me. I guess if I'm going to be stuck in chains in a cellar, might as well be glad I'm not alone.
"It's okay." I whisper. I don't push her away. At least someone gives a damn about me, not like bloody Buffy and Willow upstairs.
THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
Yon murky cloud is filled with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain;
The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatt'red coveys meet secure;
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.
The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn
By early Winter's ravage torn;
Across her placid, azure sky,
She sees the scowling tempest fly;
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave:
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonie banks of Ayr.
'Tis not the surging billows' roar,
'Tis not the fatal, deadly shore;
Tho' death inev'ry shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear:
But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound;
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
To leave the bonie banks of Ayr.
Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and winding vales;
The scenes where wretched Fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves!
Farewell my friends! Farewell my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those--
The bursting tears my heart declare,
Farewell, my bonie banks of Ayr.
Robert Burns
Reply
It was all so comforting, like I wasn't destined to be a pile of dust soon and I hated her for it. I would do anything to get this chip out of my head and my hands around her throat, choking her love and poems and care until she died.
Instead, as angry as I was, I didn't want her to leave, didn't want her stop reading. "Read another one." I heard myself say.
Bloody hell, Spike. Just let her get in and turn you to mush why don't you?
Reply
After about an hour of reading poem after poem I finally couldn't stop myself, I leaned in and kissed his cheek softly. "Sorry...I..I couldn't stop myself."
Reply
"It's okay." I whisper. I don't push her away. At least someone gives a damn about me, not like bloody Buffy and Willow upstairs.
Reply
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