Ficlet: Stars in Her Eyes
Title: Stars in Her Eyes
Author: Rebcake
Word count: 570
Rating: R
Warnings: Not exactly sex, but not sweet romance, either.
Prompt: Diamond necklace cat o'nine tails
Summary: Spike has found an extreme way to help Buffy blow off steam.
Spike brings his arm down. With a twist of the wrist, red blossoms like a spidery chrysanthemum. Buffy jerks in her bonds and he hears a grunt from behind the scarf in her mouth. He’d discovered that letting her have her tongue during these times defeats the purpose. Her words are her most effective defense, after her vicious right hook, and defenses don’t help her with this.
See, Buffy has trouble letting go of things. Her tenacity is essential to her success as a Slayer. That and her bordering-on-mystical intuition has led to one victory after another. Winning is her job. Sure, he knows the party line. Knows it by heart. The Slayer is not just what she does, it‘s what she is. He knows it - better than anybody. It just isn’t all that she is. Much as she might be pulled toward the ideal of impenetrable, unbeatable warrior for justice, the pressure of that is too great for the woman, the human, she’ll always be. She’s stuffed with feelings and squirming urges for which she has no outlet. No acceptable outlet, anyway. Just this.
He walks around her. Checks his work. There is a lot of skin still unmarked. Her face, of course. Her hands and forearms. Her feet. He knows how sensitive they are, that involving them would get the job done quicker, but he wouldn’t want to hobble her. Most of him doesn’t want any of this. He’d rather be the one hanging there, suffering for his lady’s pleasure. He knows he’ll get his turn, when that’s what she needs.
Part of him doesn’t mind a jot. Vampire, after all. He’s got several lifetimes of dishing out pain to all comers, and it’s no secret he’d enjoyed himself along the way. There’s more to it, though. They’ve got history, the two of them, and he’s got some resentments stored up.
He’s well aware that he’s unworthy of her slightest notice, but he still wants far more than that. All of it, really. Hand-holding, champagne-drinking, walks on the bloody beach: the whole package. He wants to hear about her day, with sodding words instead of blows. He wants to cover her with jewels, adorn her in silks. Or leather. He hasn’t made up his mind about that part, yet.
Point is, he’s not likely to get any of those things, least of all the pleasure of handing her a velvet box containing a sparkling bauble for her pretty neck. Right now, this is the only gift he’s permitted to give her.
He finds a place with criss-crossed welts and gives it a twisting pinch, watching her face while standing out of her eyeline. Here it comes. Finally. One tear falls from a brimming eye. Then another. Each a glistening diamond, and twice as precious for its rarity.
He folds the tails of the cat against the handle and carefully uses it to lift the tear from her cheek. He makes sure she sees it before he brings it to his lips. That turns the tide. The trickle becomes a torrent. She’ll be alright now.
He removes the scarf from her mouth and takes her down, relishing the way she gasps and clings to him as he gentles her.
“There now. Let it all out.”
Her salty tears flow over his chest. For this one moment, he’s got her. It’s her gift to him.
FIN
Author: Rebcake
Word count: 570
Rating: R
Warnings: Not exactly sex, but not sweet romance, either.
Prompt: Diamond necklace cat o'nine tails
Summary: Spike has found an extreme way to help Buffy blow off steam.
Spike brings his arm down. With a twist of the wrist, red blossoms like a spidery chrysanthemum. Buffy jerks in her bonds and he hears a grunt from behind the scarf in her mouth. He’d discovered that letting her have her tongue during these times defeats the purpose. Her words are her most effective defense, after her vicious right hook, and defenses don’t help her with this.
See, Buffy has trouble letting go of things. Her tenacity is essential to her success as a Slayer. That and her bordering-on-mystical intuition has led to one victory after another. Winning is her job. Sure, he knows the party line. Knows it by heart. The Slayer is not just what she does, it‘s what she is. He knows it - better than anybody. It just isn’t all that she is. Much as she might be pulled toward the ideal of impenetrable, unbeatable warrior for justice, the pressure of that is too great for the woman, the human, she’ll always be. She’s stuffed with feelings and squirming urges for which she has no outlet. No acceptable outlet, anyway. Just this.
He walks around her. Checks his work. There is a lot of skin still unmarked. Her face, of course. Her hands and forearms. Her feet. He knows how sensitive they are, that involving them would get the job done quicker, but he wouldn’t want to hobble her. Most of him doesn’t want any of this. He’d rather be the one hanging there, suffering for his lady’s pleasure. He knows he’ll get his turn, when that’s what she needs.
Part of him doesn’t mind a jot. Vampire, after all. He’s got several lifetimes of dishing out pain to all comers, and it’s no secret he’d enjoyed himself along the way. There’s more to it, though. They’ve got history, the two of them, and he’s got some resentments stored up.
He’s well aware that he’s unworthy of her slightest notice, but he still wants far more than that. All of it, really. Hand-holding, champagne-drinking, walks on the bloody beach: the whole package. He wants to hear about her day, with sodding words instead of blows. He wants to cover her with jewels, adorn her in silks. Or leather. He hasn’t made up his mind about that part, yet.
Point is, he’s not likely to get any of those things, least of all the pleasure of handing her a velvet box containing a sparkling bauble for her pretty neck. Right now, this is the only gift he’s permitted to give her.
He finds a place with criss-crossed welts and gives it a twisting pinch, watching her face while standing out of her eyeline. Here it comes. Finally. One tear falls from a brimming eye. Then another. Each a glistening diamond, and twice as precious for its rarity.
He folds the tails of the cat against the handle and carefully uses it to lift the tear from her cheek. He makes sure she sees it before he brings it to his lips. That turns the tide. The trickle becomes a torrent. She’ll be alright now.
He removes the scarf from her mouth and takes her down, relishing the way she gasps and clings to him as he gentles her.
“There now. Let it all out.”
Her salty tears flow over his chest. For this one moment, he’s got her. It’s her gift to him.
FIN