Tired of Life (R, Proverbs verse)
Title Tired of Life
Author Brutti ma buoni
Words c800
Rating R, with sex and swearing (mostly in the longer version)
Prompt To appreciate the earth is for the gods; I am merely covered in dust.
Setting Follows Follows The One Eyed Man and While There’s Life There’s Hope. This is a short version of the full version of this fic which is too long for the comm and is available here.
They’ve been here three hours now. She’s getting pretty buzzed, he reckons, unless it’s put on - but he doesn’t think so. This is the Vampire Slayer, come to town to clean up evil, and instead hanging out with a neutered vampire gang boss.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?
Finally, he asks.
A slowish song is playing, so she doesn’t bother to stop dancing as she moves closer, starts talking. Apparently, all he had to do was ask.
“I was coming here to kill you.”
“Figured as much.” He can’t be bothered to feign indignation; she’s right, it is her job, though it’s not his job to make it easy for her.
“You were next on the list. Vampire masters. I’m taking them out. Cleaning up America. Next stop, the world.” Buffy reels it all off, like rote-learned schooling. No joy. Not even steely heroic determination. Just tasks.
“But?” He breathes it slowly into her ear, plastered up against her back as the music impels. He’s been close to Slayers before, but never lacking the adrenalin of the fight. He remembers, a little surprised, how bloody gorgeous she is.
She shrugs, full-body, shoulders lifting against his chest, head rolling back to speak into his ear. “You said ‘Hello cutie.’ And I remembered.”
She slips away from his hold, turning to face him, stepping into his space again, interleaving their thighs. “I remembered how you wanted to save the world.”
“Just that once,” he says, hastily. Not time to get a hero’s rep. The last thing he wants is a role as some Slayer sidekick, even if the alternative is a fight to the death.
A finger to his lips stops the incipient babble. “I know. But you… you stopped. You didn’t do the evil thing. So maybe, maybe I don’t always have to do the good things?”
The song ends then, and Buffy goes to retrieve her drink, swallowing hard as she downs the lot. When she turns back, Spike realizes he’s been merely standing, agape, watching her. Buffy reaches out a hand, and he walks forward till he’s within touching distance. She grabs, and manoeuvres the two of them till he’s sprawled on the booth seat and she’s straddled over him. Any sense of personal space long gone. Her mouth is practically on his as she continues.
“I do the right thing, and I die, and it hurts. I do the right thing and I come back, and it hurts. I do the right thing and other people still die, and it hurts. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe nothing on earth really matters. Maybe it’s not worth the fight?”
“Thought you loved the fight,” is all he can think to say. She still moves like a dream, he saw that earlier.
All he can focus on are her lips, still within a few inches of his face. His eyes must be crossing, not a good look. Her lips move again. “Maybe. Maybe it’s time to end it?” She leans back, unzips her top, and he’s staring at a lightly-scabbed scar over one breast. He can smell the old blood. “Maybe I’d be more fun undead?”
On the one hand, Spike is fiercely aroused by the whole scenario. Dangerous, self-harming nutjob females are a species Drusilla hardwired him for, and curving blonde Slayer is a gorgeous example of the type, tits virtually in his face and blood pumping under her soft, flawed skin. On the other hand, his mind is screaming, horrified by her ennui, and oddly prim about her proposal. A Slayer doesn’t ask to be turned. A vampire doesn’t kill Slayers on demand. What does she take him for?
She’s watching him, intent, so she sees the moment when primness wins the day. Sighs a little. “Too much?” He nods. “Okay. But we can still hang out, right? It looked like Faith had fun being evil. And I’m sure you could use a Slayer sidekick. Props to the vampire master, right?”
Undeniable. “Um. Yeah, okay. You want to play evil, who am I to turn you down?” Because she may be in urgent need of psychiatric help - he’s moderately certain of that, in fact - but there’s nothing in the evil vampire handbook that says you make allowances for weakness among your enemies. A Slayer on the staff would be one hell of a feather in his cap. “I’ll start you on a lieutenant’s pay, see how it goes.” Nothing in the evil vampire handbook about minimum wage, either. If she really wants to play at being bad, she’ll find ways to make more cash soon enough.
She nods, wriggles on his lap, and says, “And we can fuck too, right?”
***
Author Brutti ma buoni
Words c800
Rating R, with sex and swearing (mostly in the longer version)
Prompt To appreciate the earth is for the gods; I am merely covered in dust.
Setting Follows Follows The One Eyed Man and While There’s Life There’s Hope. This is a short version of the full version of this fic which is too long for the comm and is available here.
They’ve been here three hours now. She’s getting pretty buzzed, he reckons, unless it’s put on - but he doesn’t think so. This is the Vampire Slayer, come to town to clean up evil, and instead hanging out with a neutered vampire gang boss.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?
Finally, he asks.
A slowish song is playing, so she doesn’t bother to stop dancing as she moves closer, starts talking. Apparently, all he had to do was ask.
“I was coming here to kill you.”
“Figured as much.” He can’t be bothered to feign indignation; she’s right, it is her job, though it’s not his job to make it easy for her.
“You were next on the list. Vampire masters. I’m taking them out. Cleaning up America. Next stop, the world.” Buffy reels it all off, like rote-learned schooling. No joy. Not even steely heroic determination. Just tasks.
“But?” He breathes it slowly into her ear, plastered up against her back as the music impels. He’s been close to Slayers before, but never lacking the adrenalin of the fight. He remembers, a little surprised, how bloody gorgeous she is.
She shrugs, full-body, shoulders lifting against his chest, head rolling back to speak into his ear. “You said ‘Hello cutie.’ And I remembered.”
She slips away from his hold, turning to face him, stepping into his space again, interleaving their thighs. “I remembered how you wanted to save the world.”
“Just that once,” he says, hastily. Not time to get a hero’s rep. The last thing he wants is a role as some Slayer sidekick, even if the alternative is a fight to the death.
A finger to his lips stops the incipient babble. “I know. But you… you stopped. You didn’t do the evil thing. So maybe, maybe I don’t always have to do the good things?”
The song ends then, and Buffy goes to retrieve her drink, swallowing hard as she downs the lot. When she turns back, Spike realizes he’s been merely standing, agape, watching her. Buffy reaches out a hand, and he walks forward till he’s within touching distance. She grabs, and manoeuvres the two of them till he’s sprawled on the booth seat and she’s straddled over him. Any sense of personal space long gone. Her mouth is practically on his as she continues.
“I do the right thing, and I die, and it hurts. I do the right thing and I come back, and it hurts. I do the right thing and other people still die, and it hurts. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe nothing on earth really matters. Maybe it’s not worth the fight?”
“Thought you loved the fight,” is all he can think to say. She still moves like a dream, he saw that earlier.
All he can focus on are her lips, still within a few inches of his face. His eyes must be crossing, not a good look. Her lips move again. “Maybe. Maybe it’s time to end it?” She leans back, unzips her top, and he’s staring at a lightly-scabbed scar over one breast. He can smell the old blood. “Maybe I’d be more fun undead?”
On the one hand, Spike is fiercely aroused by the whole scenario. Dangerous, self-harming nutjob females are a species Drusilla hardwired him for, and curving blonde Slayer is a gorgeous example of the type, tits virtually in his face and blood pumping under her soft, flawed skin. On the other hand, his mind is screaming, horrified by her ennui, and oddly prim about her proposal. A Slayer doesn’t ask to be turned. A vampire doesn’t kill Slayers on demand. What does she take him for?
She’s watching him, intent, so she sees the moment when primness wins the day. Sighs a little. “Too much?” He nods. “Okay. But we can still hang out, right? It looked like Faith had fun being evil. And I’m sure you could use a Slayer sidekick. Props to the vampire master, right?”
Undeniable. “Um. Yeah, okay. You want to play evil, who am I to turn you down?” Because she may be in urgent need of psychiatric help - he’s moderately certain of that, in fact - but there’s nothing in the evil vampire handbook that says you make allowances for weakness among your enemies. A Slayer on the staff would be one hell of a feather in his cap. “I’ll start you on a lieutenant’s pay, see how it goes.” Nothing in the evil vampire handbook about minimum wage, either. If she really wants to play at being bad, she’ll find ways to make more cash soon enough.
She nods, wriggles on his lap, and says, “And we can fuck too, right?”
***