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| But Not Forgotten Part 2 |
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Disclaimer and Summary -PART ONE |
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| By 1st Rab-id/Raeann |
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| BUFFY |
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| She was bored.� Beyond bored, numb.� Her skin felt cold.� And her mind was filled with the senseless hum of the overhead fluorescent bulbs.� Their flat light leeched the texture from the room.� She hated the bright plastic booths in the dining area.� Hated this job.� Hated everything about it.� Hers wasn't a passionate quick-flaring hatred but a slow soul-killing one.� The kind of hatred that ate out a body from the inside, leaving nothing but an empty shell.� |
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She glanced at the "lifers" around her, Gina by the soda machine; Walter at the drive-thru window.� They were staring blankly into space, half-asleep or rocking slightly like animals at the zoo. |
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The walls of Buffy's cage closed in on her at the thought and a tiny spark of desire ignited in her heart.� She wanted out.� She needed to get out.� Outside in the cool air, running free under the stars in her nocturnal habitat.� She needed to hunt something.� Kill it.� Feel alive again.� |
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"We're not allowed," Gina said and Buffy wondered if the zoo tigers ever laughed at such remarks. |
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"Thus quoth Manny," Buffy replied, thinking about how she could break Manny in half without breaking a sweat.� |
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But that wouldn't change the rules.� Manny would just be replaced, a hundred times over, a hundred-thousand times.� Normal human society was full of Mannys and, tempting as it was, Buffy couldn't possibly kill them all.� They would just keep coming at her with their petty concerns and regulations.� They were the clipboard-carrying auditors from Hell and each of them took another sliver off her spirit.� |
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She had a customer.� Gina nodded toward the service counter and Buffy turned to confront the one person she wasn't prepared to face.� He was pretending to consider the menu selections.� She wondered briefly how he'd found her.� He must have searched.� Come for her, to the house or the magic shop.� Two nights ago, he'd thrown her out.� Ordered her to stay away.� And yet tonight, he'd looked for her and someone had told him where she was.� Dawn or Willow or Xander or Anya, one of her friends, had believed his lies.� Someone had sent him here to torture her with his sculpted face and body and his knowing eyes. |
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'I'm working," she said, stating the obvious because so many times he needed to hear it. |
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"Service me," he said, rocking up on the balls of his feet and favoring her with that suggestive little smile. |
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"Good God, I can't take this,"�Buffy thought, as her heart clenched in her chest, "not here, not now." |
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She suddenly knew what a caged bird felt when it heard the wild ones singing.� She snapped out her reply.� He teased her with his version of the truth.� She set him straight, relaxing into the familiar give and take.� He was wrong.� He had to be wrong, she thought, the odds were so much in her favor.� He couldn't always be right about her. |
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"Buffy!" |
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He cut her with her own name.� Reeling up the distance between them, he leaned on the counter, suddenly serious.� He was as deadly to her as poison, his eyes caring and sincere.� Those eyes were killing her. �Like this job was killing her, but what he offered scared her far more than slow death. |
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"You're not happy here." |
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"How?" She wanted to scream at him, "How can you tell?� How can you see what my best friends and my blood kin can't?� How can you know what I've hidden so long and so well?" |
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Her lower lip trembled.� He was one surrender away from opening her stem to stern.� One well-chosen word away from spilling her insides on the sterilized Formica and swirling them like the DMP cow and chicken.�� And he was that close to making her bleed, because he loved her. |
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"This place will kill you," he said, as she twisted out of his grasp.� But his love, his understanding of her, was what pierced her deep.� It sent her slinking off. |
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He'd been so much easier to talk to when he wanted her dead.� He never hurt her like this when he'd only touched her to bruise and only spoke to insult or inflame.� Back then, she'd been able to tell him "no" and mean it.� Then when she'd pushed him away, she'd been free of him, free to walk off without a second thought.� Now, she needed an excuse to escape him.� "Gary and the fries",� and "really it's too bad, but you must understand, I can' stay, can't love you...because...I have to go....earn money."� Now, her mind stayed focused on him long after he was gone. |
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
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Buffy watched the grease boil up in the fryer.� She tried to not to think about last night.� Tried not to think about her dream of pale skin and cool fingers.� Timothy came back.� |
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"You can take your break now," he said.� His voice was a monotone, all natural animation squeezed out of it.� Buffy embraced the numbing power of that dead voice.� She let it sooth her as she crossed the room.� |
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Spike was freeze-framed in the drive-thru window.� She looked up in time to catch one moment in his stalk-by casing of the joint.� He was circling, peering in and testing the air, just to make sure that she'd quit the place.� He hesitated when he saw her.� He was angry; disappointed in her.� She snatched off her hat.� He moved on. |
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He was half-way across the parking lot when she exited the building.� She let the heavy metal door slam closed.� He walked to the far curb before stopping.� His shoulders hunched as he fought against turning toward her.� He turned.� Buffy raked through her hair, lifting it from her face, the way he'd done three nights ago.� Like him, she was still learning the new length.� Like him, she enjoyed the heavy, silk pull of it between her fingers and the way the strands broke free, showering down. |
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He loved her hair.� He'd told her so.� He loved the shine of it, the softness and the way it bounced when she rode him.� She had tried to deny him that pleasure but, of course, he would not be denied.� |
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| They were alike that way.� She signaled her need to him, bobbing her head toward the alley.� She didn't wait to see if he would come to her.� She knew he would.� Because they also shared the gift of insight.� It wasn't pretty.� It was far too real.� |
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She took his hand, pulling him toward the wall. |
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"Touch me." |
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If he'd done as she asked.� If he'd surrendered to her need.� Stoked over her belly or ripped open her blouse.� If he'd teased her nipples into sharp peaks with his tongue or pinched them in his teeth as he suckled.� Then she would have walked with him into the night.� She would have given him as much as she'd ever given Angel or Riley.� But he was stubborn and he wanted more.� He wanted her to tremble for him and die anew each time he touched her.� He wanted her to let go of her fear and cling only to him.� To love him as completely as he loved her. |
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She wasn't ready. |
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But she forced her body to take him in, regardless.� It hurt.� Buffy pushed against the pain.� Her nails bit into black leather and her breath caught at the back of her throat.� Spike filled her, as only he could.� She contracted around him, tightening with each beat of her heart.� The hot swirl of need spiraled through her gut.� She grew slippery, almost pleading for his kiss.� His hands were splayed against the wall.� He hadn't, wouldn't touch her.� He had told her no. |
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He spoke her name, drawing her eyes.� Buffy felt the lubricant seeping from her in response to his guttural whispers.� She couldn't look at him and hide her feelings and so she looked away.� She thought about money and Dawn and her seemingly pointless existence as her lover took his pleasure in her.� She refused to take anything from him in return.� She played the Victorian wife, thinking of king and country, knowing Spike would hate her for it.� Better that he hated her than loved her to the point of pain. |
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He came because he couldn't help himself.� The creamy fluid spurted out of him, tickling and caressing her depths.� It was cool and honey-thick and in a second or two it filled her, surrounding his shaft.� It cushioned his cock, relieving her pain and shifting their balance of power.� She held his melt inside her body, savoring the essence of pregnancy.� It diminished her fears and multiplied her desires.� She had to leave, quickly, before she begged for more.� Before she gave herself away.� |
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"Later," he promised, reading her mind.� |
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She never had to ask.� He always knew. |
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"I love you," he said.� The achingly beautiful words fell from his lips like poetry and struck her like fists.� She fled... |
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...from her own demon.� |
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Back in the building, back at her station, Buffy kept him inside.� She held on to him as long as she could before excusing herself to the bathroom.� She locked the door and leaned against it.� Stripping to her underwear, she draped her shirt over the mirror so she didn't have to face herself.� So, she didn't have to face her feelings.� She told herself there might be cameras hidden behind the glass, a way to catch the slackers. |
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The cramping between her legs was almost unbearable.� She rubbed her fingers against the aching nub of her clit, wrapping the silk of her panties around it.�� She twisted the cloth back and forth, imagining his tongue darting in to tease her.� The thought made her pant and buck her hips.� She slipped two fingers under the lace edge to touch herself, flesh on flesh.�� She groaned.� |
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Letting her head fall back against the door, she alternately probed and pumped into her soft folds.� Keeping the pressure on, she mimicked Spike's incomparable technique.�� She was swelling under her frantic strokes, leaking his come as she bloomed open.� Buffy struggled against her involuntary responses, wanting to hold onto him, but needing this release. |
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She sliced one thumb along the slight dip and curve of her belly, gathering silk in the palm of her hand.� She fisted up the crotch of her underwear, pulling it tight against her body, roping and rocking it.� Her other hand played over her breasts, pushing under the lace to cup over one hard, high nipple.� He would suck her there, lightly.� He would lick her here with firm assurance.� He would touch her, kiss her, hold her close and he would slide deep into her...now...like this...just like...this....� |
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"Spike, oh...god," she moaned, as she let go, folding herself around three fingers, "now...please...anything you want...anything." |
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Hot come pooled in her palm.� It slicked her fingers.� It soaked through the thin layer of her silken underwear and trickled down her legs.� Spike filled the room, his musk overpowering the scent of public toilets and disinfectant.� She had taken his seed and heated it, giving it the semblance of life.� |
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But the semblance of his love left her craving the real thing.� She would go to him.� Later.� Tonight or tomorrow.� One day soon.� She would meet his eye and he would know what she was keeping hidden.� And then she would be lost to any possibility of a normal life.� All of her dreams smashed.� All of her hopes wrecked.� All of her denial of him swept away...evaporated...gone! |
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PART ONE |
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THE END |
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E-MAIL ME |
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MORE FICTION |
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HOME |
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