Fic: 5 Double Shot Drabbles
5 Double Shot Drabbles
(200 word stories)
Rating: R
Spoilers: A:tS "Shells" and BtVS S7 finale "Chosen"
Pairings: (by order of appearance) Wesley/Illyria, Buffy/Faith, Lilah/Wesley, Angel/Spike, Buffy/Wesley
Summary: The other side of love. An offshoot of my "Five Drabbles Outlining Perfect Happiness." Of course, there's a twist.
Warnings: Het, Slash, Sexual Content, Violence
Feedback: Por favor.
Author's Notes: Hah, see what happens is that I set myself up to do other fics (the poor neglected babies) and then a plotbunny clobbers me on the head and it just comes out. Oddly enough, a Buffy/Angel/Spike was planned but it has spun out of control and will end up being its own fic. (you are free to squee, netweight) Oh, and these are all exactly 200 words long.
*
after the fall
It's obvious. Her skin is not her skin. Her face is almost her face. She makes her voice her voice. For him.
He hadn't asked for that.
So he does not respond when she pleads for him in that voice, instead he follows the blue contours of her body, touches the harsh line of her jaw, and waits for her demands.
She was once admired, worshiped, loved. No longer. She has been abandoned, gutted, made empty in her solitude. And she has destroyed her to witness this.
He smoothes over her naked thighs, the flesh almost human. He could almost believe. She is beautiful but terrible.
He parts her legs easily, she is pliant in these moments, she allows him to fall farther into the pretense. He knows better, but she whines, "Wesley," in her twang, his thoughts clear and he thrusts home and looks into her pleased blue eyes.
She asks for worship. To be loved. So he says her name.
When they have had their fill, he does not leave her side. Her skin does not sweat and feels indifferent, neither cool nor warm to the touch.
He will ask her to use her true voice next time.
*
happy birthday wishes
They sit at the restaurant, nervous energy between them. Buffy drinks too much wine and Faith takes a large bite of pasta, her lipstick smears at one corner of her mouth.
"'S good here?" Faith asks.
Buffy sets down her fork. "I guess so."
"Gotta learn Italian though."
"It's not so rough." Faith snorts at that. "I mean, if you want to stay."
She smiles, but it is an awful smile, crooked dark lipstick against golden skin. "Trust me, I'm staying."
Buffy nervously smiles back only for a second. Faith's hand rests over her own and she feels a warm flush in her cheeks, but is sure it is the drink.
"Happy birthday," Faith announces. She reaches over the table, her reflexes always too fast, sliding her mouth over Buffy's. It takes a split second, but Buffy's mouth opens, deepening the kiss longer than Faith intends.
Faith sits back, wipes at her mouth, fixing the crookedness. "I know, B."
Suddenly, Buffy frowns.
"Awakening them all was a mistake. We'll be the last ones left."
She doesn't respond to that. Instead she says, "I'm tired of being alone."
Another twisted smile, but deliberate. "I'm staying."
Faith's lying, but Buffy doesn't care.
*
waiting in contemplation
It does not matter. None of it. She is alive. Really alive, possessing the knowledge and the freedom that comes with that. Lilah knows her future is not sealed in an unbreakable contract. She is free.
The sensations of living have become amplified: she memorizes the vibrant colors of the sunset, the taste of a good wine, and the decadence of a good piece of chocolate.
She takes off her sunglasses as she stands on the beach, watching Wesley walk towards her on the long stretch of sand, a smile on his face that is only for her.
They don't speak of relationships or mention that they're living together. They share the same bed, wake up together, but neither has said the word. They don't want to sign another dollar.
Well, he doesn't. She can hold her tongue.
He is almost there. They do not need to speak, there is only the need for sensation. She reaches out to touch his hand, to have him, to know that he is hers, and hers alone.
And then she wakes. And does not feel her blood moving, does not hear her heartbeat. She is not alive. But still, the dead can dream.
*
struggling for redemption
"Do it, Angelus."
This is the last resort. He has tried everything to goad Angel.
But he cannot be convinced. He shakes his head, and says wearily, "Go Spike, you're free."
Spike snarls at him, but it is no longer effective. "I don't want this bloody life."
There is a sick crack as Angel's punch connects with Spike's jaw. "Leave or I'll kill you."
Blood is spat out, some splatters onto Angel. He does not respond.
Spike wipes at his mouth, anger clear in his eyes. "You fucking bastard."
Angel picks Spike up by his neck, slamming him against the wall. "You won, Spike. Get the fuck out of here."
"Little longer," he gasps out, "just a little..."
Angel lets go, watches Spike slump to the floor.
"You deserve this, but I won't give it to you."
The laugh, gasping and wheezing, is awful. "The soul's safe. I don't want this, mate. It's soddin' bonkers to feel like this."
Angel crouches down next to him. His voice is dangerous, "Like what?"
"Fragile." And Spike, who shouldn't be able to, slams his mouth against Angel's.
Blood spills into Angel's mouth, taste sharper than scent, too tempting.
There is no other option.
*
the balancing act
She watches Wesley shaving as she lies in the bed. Her sheet pools around her midsection and she reclines, a lazy position. She knows he looks back at her in the reflection.
"Do we really have to go?" But her voice is soft, accepting.
"Darling," he says and she loves him just a little more for that, "as much as I would enjoy the pleasure of your company alone, this is an urgent matter."
She gets up and kisses the back of his neck. Enjoys that he shivers. "Do you want to flip heads or tails?"
He pauses and she sees a bead of blood rising out of an invisible nick on his neck. The razor glints in the mirror.
Wesley moves so that she is standing next to him, and he brushes the shell of her ear with his lips, and she smiles.
"You may kill Giles," he decides and resumes his shaving. He neatly presses a towel against his neck, stopping the bleeding.
She waits for him to finish and kisses him, his skin newly soft against her own. "I love you."
They have never said each other's name when saying that. He replies back, "I love you, too."
The End.
(200 word stories)
Rating: R
Spoilers: A:tS "Shells" and BtVS S7 finale "Chosen"
Pairings: (by order of appearance) Wesley/Illyria, Buffy/Faith, Lilah/Wesley, Angel/Spike, Buffy/Wesley
Summary: The other side of love. An offshoot of my "Five Drabbles Outlining Perfect Happiness." Of course, there's a twist.
Warnings: Het, Slash, Sexual Content, Violence
Feedback: Por favor.
Author's Notes: Hah, see what happens is that I set myself up to do other fics (the poor neglected babies) and then a plotbunny clobbers me on the head and it just comes out. Oddly enough, a Buffy/Angel/Spike was planned but it has spun out of control and will end up being its own fic. (you are free to squee, netweight) Oh, and these are all exactly 200 words long.
*
after the fall
It's obvious. Her skin is not her skin. Her face is almost her face. She makes her voice her voice. For him.
He hadn't asked for that.
So he does not respond when she pleads for him in that voice, instead he follows the blue contours of her body, touches the harsh line of her jaw, and waits for her demands.
She was once admired, worshiped, loved. No longer. She has been abandoned, gutted, made empty in her solitude. And she has destroyed her to witness this.
He smoothes over her naked thighs, the flesh almost human. He could almost believe. She is beautiful but terrible.
He parts her legs easily, she is pliant in these moments, she allows him to fall farther into the pretense. He knows better, but she whines, "Wesley," in her twang, his thoughts clear and he thrusts home and looks into her pleased blue eyes.
She asks for worship. To be loved. So he says her name.
When they have had their fill, he does not leave her side. Her skin does not sweat and feels indifferent, neither cool nor warm to the touch.
He will ask her to use her true voice next time.
*
happy birthday wishes
They sit at the restaurant, nervous energy between them. Buffy drinks too much wine and Faith takes a large bite of pasta, her lipstick smears at one corner of her mouth.
"'S good here?" Faith asks.
Buffy sets down her fork. "I guess so."
"Gotta learn Italian though."
"It's not so rough." Faith snorts at that. "I mean, if you want to stay."
She smiles, but it is an awful smile, crooked dark lipstick against golden skin. "Trust me, I'm staying."
Buffy nervously smiles back only for a second. Faith's hand rests over her own and she feels a warm flush in her cheeks, but is sure it is the drink.
"Happy birthday," Faith announces. She reaches over the table, her reflexes always too fast, sliding her mouth over Buffy's. It takes a split second, but Buffy's mouth opens, deepening the kiss longer than Faith intends.
Faith sits back, wipes at her mouth, fixing the crookedness. "I know, B."
Suddenly, Buffy frowns.
"Awakening them all was a mistake. We'll be the last ones left."
She doesn't respond to that. Instead she says, "I'm tired of being alone."
Another twisted smile, but deliberate. "I'm staying."
Faith's lying, but Buffy doesn't care.
*
waiting in contemplation
It does not matter. None of it. She is alive. Really alive, possessing the knowledge and the freedom that comes with that. Lilah knows her future is not sealed in an unbreakable contract. She is free.
The sensations of living have become amplified: she memorizes the vibrant colors of the sunset, the taste of a good wine, and the decadence of a good piece of chocolate.
She takes off her sunglasses as she stands on the beach, watching Wesley walk towards her on the long stretch of sand, a smile on his face that is only for her.
They don't speak of relationships or mention that they're living together. They share the same bed, wake up together, but neither has said the word. They don't want to sign another dollar.
Well, he doesn't. She can hold her tongue.
He is almost there. They do not need to speak, there is only the need for sensation. She reaches out to touch his hand, to have him, to know that he is hers, and hers alone.
And then she wakes. And does not feel her blood moving, does not hear her heartbeat. She is not alive. But still, the dead can dream.
*
struggling for redemption
"Do it, Angelus."
This is the last resort. He has tried everything to goad Angel.
But he cannot be convinced. He shakes his head, and says wearily, "Go Spike, you're free."
Spike snarls at him, but it is no longer effective. "I don't want this bloody life."
There is a sick crack as Angel's punch connects with Spike's jaw. "Leave or I'll kill you."
Blood is spat out, some splatters onto Angel. He does not respond.
Spike wipes at his mouth, anger clear in his eyes. "You fucking bastard."
Angel picks Spike up by his neck, slamming him against the wall. "You won, Spike. Get the fuck out of here."
"Little longer," he gasps out, "just a little..."
Angel lets go, watches Spike slump to the floor.
"You deserve this, but I won't give it to you."
The laugh, gasping and wheezing, is awful. "The soul's safe. I don't want this, mate. It's soddin' bonkers to feel like this."
Angel crouches down next to him. His voice is dangerous, "Like what?"
"Fragile." And Spike, who shouldn't be able to, slams his mouth against Angel's.
Blood spills into Angel's mouth, taste sharper than scent, too tempting.
There is no other option.
*
the balancing act
She watches Wesley shaving as she lies in the bed. Her sheet pools around her midsection and she reclines, a lazy position. She knows he looks back at her in the reflection.
"Do we really have to go?" But her voice is soft, accepting.
"Darling," he says and she loves him just a little more for that, "as much as I would enjoy the pleasure of your company alone, this is an urgent matter."
She gets up and kisses the back of his neck. Enjoys that he shivers. "Do you want to flip heads or tails?"
He pauses and she sees a bead of blood rising out of an invisible nick on his neck. The razor glints in the mirror.
Wesley moves so that she is standing next to him, and he brushes the shell of her ear with his lips, and she smiles.
"You may kill Giles," he decides and resumes his shaving. He neatly presses a towel against his neck, stopping the bleeding.
She waits for him to finish and kisses him, his skin newly soft against her own. "I love you."
They have never said each other's name when saying that. He replies back, "I love you, too."
The End.