ficlets, drabbles, etc
Offerings for buffyverse1000, the brainchild of the ever wonderful doyle_sb4.
Um, I don't kill with the drabbling, yo. My mind works on epic length. But, still. I had fun.
Angel/Wes/Gunn
Angel watches them sometimes. Not all the time, just every once in a while. And there's a hungry look on his face when he does it, one that's solitary and separate. Wes picks up on it, too, and sometimes when Angel watches them, Gunn and Wes lock eyes, questions and answers passing back and forth.
Gunn's not sure how it starts tonight. There was Angel coming down the steps, stopping and staring at the two of them on the sofa, where they sat leaning against each other. There was Wes and Gunn looking at each other.
And now there's kissing, and it gets hazy for Gunn. Because Wes is standing up, tugging Gunn with him, and their tongues are swirling and exploring, and their feet are moving them closer to the staircase and Angel.
Gunn lifts his head, sees the look in Wes' eyes and he knows it's about Angel being solitary and alone, and Wes' weird protective instinct when it comes to Angel. And maybe Gunn's told Angel a dozen times that they can't ever be friends, but life happens and things change, and he hasn't been able to keep the line between friend and coworker in sight for a long damn time.
Wes sees the answer in Gunn's eyes and they step closer, bodies touching all the way down to their toes. They turn to Angel, still standing on the step, face hungry, and they look back at him. And he sees the answer in their eyes and he shuts his for a moment, legs moving him down the stairs and bringing him to them before he opens them again.
Gunn/Spike Post-Time Bomb
Spike's heart doesn't beat. Not at his chest, or his neck, or his wrist, or along his dick.
Gunn's heart won't stop beating and each tap of the drum inside of him makes him remember lying on that slab in the dark basement, waiting-waiting-waiting.
He's all over Spike, lips at all of the still pulse-points he can find, and Spike is rubbing Gunn's back in soothing motions, like he knows what's going on inside Gunn's head. But he's not stopping Gunn. In fact, he's shivering and groaning a little bit.
And Gunn's hit all the dead spots he knows, and he can still feel his heart beating-pounding-calling and he's waiting-waiting-waiting, staring at Spike with eyes he knows have to be insane looking.
"Bloody hell, Gunn," Spike says and there's an ache in his voice that makes Gunn squeeze his eyes close, because Spike is feeling bad for him and he's going to be noble or some shit and not let this happen.
But he's wrong, because Spike sets a hand at the back of his neck, draws him closer, and there should be a pounding pulse in Spike's mouth, on Spike's tongue, but there's just stillness, and Gunn lets himself fall into it.
Dawn/Fred
Fred is thin bones that are fragile like a bird's, a wide grin that lights her face up, and a mind with paths that Dawn can't even begin to walk. In Dawn's mind, Fred equates with a string of words: science and math and genius and sweetness and beauty. She thinks that Fred is how Willow would have been if she'd never gotten into magic and never lost so many parts of herself she'll never get them back and will always be a shell of what she could have been. But mostly, Dawn thinks that she's lucky.
It was Illyria that she first met: leather clad, disdaining and violent. But Willow did her thing after they all rode in to stop the army of demons that Angel unleashed on Los Angeles. Illyria and Wes are still there. Dawn and Fred are in London. Only sometimes does it make any kind of sense to Dawn.
Every once in a while Dawn will come home to their apartment and find Fred writing on the walls, her eyes desperate and pleading, just like the first time Dawn saw her.
On those days, Dawn pries the marker from Fred's fingers, takes her hands and tells Fred that she's real. That she's here. That she's flesh and blood and not so much non-existence. Then she kisses Fred, long and slow, her head tilted only a little bit because she has to keep eye contact with Fred. Has to make sure Fred realizes that it's real.
When that spark of Fred returns, when the seams are sewn back together, Dawn lays Fred down. Touches her lips to every inch of flesh that's tangible and extant, makes Fred feel everything with all of her senses, and then she lets Fred cling to her like there's nothing but Dawn.
And every once in a while Dawn will cut herself, watch the red slide across her skin like it holds the answers to everything but refuses to tell her, and on those days, Fred returns the favor.
Faith/Tara
Two blocks away from the small church where Buffy forced their bodies back where they belonged, Faith is curled up in a ball in someone's back yard. Shaking. Shivering. Wishing every fucking thing her in fucking life had been fucking different.
Wishing she was different from the start, because maybe then she wouldn't be so fucked up.
A noise. Soft and quiet like a mouse rustling in the leaves, and Faith hopes it's something bad. Something stronger and fiercer and more desperate than she is. Because she can't do this anymore. She can't keep fucking everything up and being fucked up and she can't fix it and being Buffy didn't help and--
"Hi."
Warm eyes. Soft lips. Gentle hands that wipe the tears from Faith's cheeks. Tara, with her big eyes and sweet voice, whispering soothing nonsense and sitting close enough to Faith that she can feel Tara's muscles shift as she rubs Faith's back.
Minutes, maybe hours, pass. Circles on Faith's back. Heat from another person. Comfort that she doesn't know what to do with. Then words that she has to struggle to understand.
"Why did you...um, you know? Switch?"
Nothing is simple for Faith, not even the answer to a question that should be the simplest thing in the world. She should be able to say, "Because I didn't want to get taken by the Watchers." Or, "Because Buffy stabbed me and put me in a coma." Or, even, "Because I'm evil."
But she has no answer to give Tara, so she pulls away from all the nice things and presses her head against her knees. More soft rustling, fingers in her hair, a forehead against her skull.
"You don't have to be someone you don't want to be."
Her head jerks up so quickly that she slams it against Tara's chin, the crack of it sounding loud in the quiet behind a house where a family is being a family and all is right in the world.
Tara rubs her chin, brings her hand to Faith's face to wipe away more tears, and will she never fucking stop the fucking crying already? And, that's a no, she realizes as more tears replace what Tara's taking away.
Tears that won't end, softness and gentleness that she doesn't deserve because she's wrong and bad and she should be dead and buried and her head is going to drive her so insane that she won't be able to function if she doesn't do something.
So she moves forward, quick strike like a snake, pushes Tara back and lies on top of her. Prepares to strike again but soft and gentle and comfort and shit that's going to carve her insides away, all in a voice, in a word.
"Stop."
Freezes, caught between so much that she's shaking and she has to clench her teeth to keep from screaming.
And she's being pushed upwards. Sitting up, Tara in front with her long skirt a pool on the soft grass. Sweetness of lips against hers, coaxing them open even when Faith makes a noise, fearful and lost. Tongue sweeping against hers so slow and firm, nothing at all like the quick and fleeting kisses Faith's used to.
Everything about her is wrong and she's a mistake and there's someone sitting in front of her, kissing her, who Faith knows is right and whole and steady, and it breaks her. It breaks her and she pulls away, lifts her head to the sky and screams.
It brings the family to their back porch and Tara's arms around her, and it takes the tears with it, and Faith jerks back. Stands up and pulls at her hair and runs and screams.
She runs and screams until she's at the train yard out in the warehouse district, and she hops into a boxcar and it takes her away from Sunnydale, one slow chug at a time. And when it passes a rail switch and picks up speed, Faith stops screaming and she sits in the doorway and feels herself empty of everything but those words from Tara.
ETA: Um, yeah. Upon reading these all in a row? There's a sad theme. Awww. Poor characters having to work out my needful issues. *pets characters*
ETA2: *stares at pairings above* I think I might have forgotten how to write het.
Um, I don't kill with the drabbling, yo. My mind works on epic length. But, still. I had fun.
Angel/Wes/Gunn
Angel watches them sometimes. Not all the time, just every once in a while. And there's a hungry look on his face when he does it, one that's solitary and separate. Wes picks up on it, too, and sometimes when Angel watches them, Gunn and Wes lock eyes, questions and answers passing back and forth.
Gunn's not sure how it starts tonight. There was Angel coming down the steps, stopping and staring at the two of them on the sofa, where they sat leaning against each other. There was Wes and Gunn looking at each other.
And now there's kissing, and it gets hazy for Gunn. Because Wes is standing up, tugging Gunn with him, and their tongues are swirling and exploring, and their feet are moving them closer to the staircase and Angel.
Gunn lifts his head, sees the look in Wes' eyes and he knows it's about Angel being solitary and alone, and Wes' weird protective instinct when it comes to Angel. And maybe Gunn's told Angel a dozen times that they can't ever be friends, but life happens and things change, and he hasn't been able to keep the line between friend and coworker in sight for a long damn time.
Wes sees the answer in Gunn's eyes and they step closer, bodies touching all the way down to their toes. They turn to Angel, still standing on the step, face hungry, and they look back at him. And he sees the answer in their eyes and he shuts his for a moment, legs moving him down the stairs and bringing him to them before he opens them again.
Gunn/Spike Post-Time Bomb
Spike's heart doesn't beat. Not at his chest, or his neck, or his wrist, or along his dick.
Gunn's heart won't stop beating and each tap of the drum inside of him makes him remember lying on that slab in the dark basement, waiting-waiting-waiting.
He's all over Spike, lips at all of the still pulse-points he can find, and Spike is rubbing Gunn's back in soothing motions, like he knows what's going on inside Gunn's head. But he's not stopping Gunn. In fact, he's shivering and groaning a little bit.
And Gunn's hit all the dead spots he knows, and he can still feel his heart beating-pounding-calling and he's waiting-waiting-waiting, staring at Spike with eyes he knows have to be insane looking.
"Bloody hell, Gunn," Spike says and there's an ache in his voice that makes Gunn squeeze his eyes close, because Spike is feeling bad for him and he's going to be noble or some shit and not let this happen.
But he's wrong, because Spike sets a hand at the back of his neck, draws him closer, and there should be a pounding pulse in Spike's mouth, on Spike's tongue, but there's just stillness, and Gunn lets himself fall into it.
Dawn/Fred
Fred is thin bones that are fragile like a bird's, a wide grin that lights her face up, and a mind with paths that Dawn can't even begin to walk. In Dawn's mind, Fred equates with a string of words: science and math and genius and sweetness and beauty. She thinks that Fred is how Willow would have been if she'd never gotten into magic and never lost so many parts of herself she'll never get them back and will always be a shell of what she could have been. But mostly, Dawn thinks that she's lucky.
It was Illyria that she first met: leather clad, disdaining and violent. But Willow did her thing after they all rode in to stop the army of demons that Angel unleashed on Los Angeles. Illyria and Wes are still there. Dawn and Fred are in London. Only sometimes does it make any kind of sense to Dawn.
Every once in a while Dawn will come home to their apartment and find Fred writing on the walls, her eyes desperate and pleading, just like the first time Dawn saw her.
On those days, Dawn pries the marker from Fred's fingers, takes her hands and tells Fred that she's real. That she's here. That she's flesh and blood and not so much non-existence. Then she kisses Fred, long and slow, her head tilted only a little bit because she has to keep eye contact with Fred. Has to make sure Fred realizes that it's real.
When that spark of Fred returns, when the seams are sewn back together, Dawn lays Fred down. Touches her lips to every inch of flesh that's tangible and extant, makes Fred feel everything with all of her senses, and then she lets Fred cling to her like there's nothing but Dawn.
And every once in a while Dawn will cut herself, watch the red slide across her skin like it holds the answers to everything but refuses to tell her, and on those days, Fred returns the favor.
Faith/Tara
Two blocks away from the small church where Buffy forced their bodies back where they belonged, Faith is curled up in a ball in someone's back yard. Shaking. Shivering. Wishing every fucking thing her in fucking life had been fucking different.
Wishing she was different from the start, because maybe then she wouldn't be so fucked up.
A noise. Soft and quiet like a mouse rustling in the leaves, and Faith hopes it's something bad. Something stronger and fiercer and more desperate than she is. Because she can't do this anymore. She can't keep fucking everything up and being fucked up and she can't fix it and being Buffy didn't help and--
"Hi."
Warm eyes. Soft lips. Gentle hands that wipe the tears from Faith's cheeks. Tara, with her big eyes and sweet voice, whispering soothing nonsense and sitting close enough to Faith that she can feel Tara's muscles shift as she rubs Faith's back.
Minutes, maybe hours, pass. Circles on Faith's back. Heat from another person. Comfort that she doesn't know what to do with. Then words that she has to struggle to understand.
"Why did you...um, you know? Switch?"
Nothing is simple for Faith, not even the answer to a question that should be the simplest thing in the world. She should be able to say, "Because I didn't want to get taken by the Watchers." Or, "Because Buffy stabbed me and put me in a coma." Or, even, "Because I'm evil."
But she has no answer to give Tara, so she pulls away from all the nice things and presses her head against her knees. More soft rustling, fingers in her hair, a forehead against her skull.
"You don't have to be someone you don't want to be."
Her head jerks up so quickly that she slams it against Tara's chin, the crack of it sounding loud in the quiet behind a house where a family is being a family and all is right in the world.
Tara rubs her chin, brings her hand to Faith's face to wipe away more tears, and will she never fucking stop the fucking crying already? And, that's a no, she realizes as more tears replace what Tara's taking away.
Tears that won't end, softness and gentleness that she doesn't deserve because she's wrong and bad and she should be dead and buried and her head is going to drive her so insane that she won't be able to function if she doesn't do something.
So she moves forward, quick strike like a snake, pushes Tara back and lies on top of her. Prepares to strike again but soft and gentle and comfort and shit that's going to carve her insides away, all in a voice, in a word.
"Stop."
Freezes, caught between so much that she's shaking and she has to clench her teeth to keep from screaming.
And she's being pushed upwards. Sitting up, Tara in front with her long skirt a pool on the soft grass. Sweetness of lips against hers, coaxing them open even when Faith makes a noise, fearful and lost. Tongue sweeping against hers so slow and firm, nothing at all like the quick and fleeting kisses Faith's used to.
Everything about her is wrong and she's a mistake and there's someone sitting in front of her, kissing her, who Faith knows is right and whole and steady, and it breaks her. It breaks her and she pulls away, lifts her head to the sky and screams.
It brings the family to their back porch and Tara's arms around her, and it takes the tears with it, and Faith jerks back. Stands up and pulls at her hair and runs and screams.
She runs and screams until she's at the train yard out in the warehouse district, and she hops into a boxcar and it takes her away from Sunnydale, one slow chug at a time. And when it passes a rail switch and picks up speed, Faith stops screaming and she sits in the doorway and feels herself empty of everything but those words from Tara.
ETA: Um, yeah. Upon reading these all in a row? There's a sad theme. Awww. Poor characters having to work out my needful issues. *pets characters*
ETA2: *stares at pairings above* I think I might have forgotten how to write het.