Somewhere in a nameless bar in the city built for lost souls, a man sat on a nondescript barstool.
This bar, this stool, this drink had become his routine since, well since he became corporeal again. Each night he would find himself sitting in this bar, on this stool, thinking about her.
Always about her.
He would sit here and replay each moment they shared over in his mind, trying to find the courage to go to her.
The bar tender looking far older than his age. The wisps of grey hair framing his temples and the hard lines around eyes showing that he had spent too many years serving thankless drunks.
Kept an eye on the platinum blonde wrapped in leather, seeing that his drink was nearly empty, and the all too familiar grim line of his patron’s lips he pulled the bottle down off the shelf and placed it silently in front of him. The patron spared the old man a glance, a wordless thank you passing between them.
A scent filled his nose and the familiarity of it pulled at the edge of his mind, calling forth other memories, ones he tried to forget. He breathed deep, jasmine and musk, the intoxicating mix was calling to him. A heavy knowing sigh filled his body; tonight he will loose the battle again.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. She had come tonight just as he knew she would. She comes here every night looking for that special someone to share her life with, instead each night she leaves with him.
Turning slightly on his stool, he watches her out of the corner of his eye. She is wearing black leather and red lace. She looks magnificent, dangerous and sexy as hell. She dressed for him tonight. She won’t admit she did, but he knows.
So here, he sits his scotch twirling between his restless fingers watching from the bar. He is a predator waiting out its prey. He watches as she mingles with her friends and teases the other men with her seductive dance. She gives them a taste of what it might be like to be with her then laughs as she slips from their needy grasp.
He knows her all too well and the game she plays with him every night. Their dance is stepped out the same until her friends have all gone home and it just them that is left.
He tries to tell himself that it’s the ambiance that keeps him coming back here each night, but he knows it is so much more twisted.
For most of the people here, the night is ending; the dance floor is nearly empty. Slowly those she came with leave, insisting on one more dance one more drink, ignoring their pleas to follow, she stays. She says her goodbyes to her friends promising to call later.
On her way back to her stage, she brushes past him, her hand running along his outer thigh. She gives him a wink over her shoulder, her blonde hair cascading down her back.
Spike swallows the last of his drink; the glass now empty is lighter in his hand thuds on the bar. He shakes off the hollow feeling that has followed him since his return, alcohol and a hot blonde always helps.
Its game time.
In his twisted grog-addled mind, he pushes all thoughts of this woman dancing for him out of his mind and she is replaced by the one he comes here to forget, they have similar features it’s easy to do.
Letting his fantasy run wild, in his mind, Buffy smiles at him. Buffy entices him onto the dance floor with a seductive sway of her hips.
Spike makes his way to the dance floor to where she is waiting. He presses his body to hers, her ample bosom presses against his hard chest, and the music beats through him. His hips sway in time to hers. Soon the rhythmic sway becomes more like grinds.
Before the song has come to its end, Spike has grabbed her by the hand and is dragging her out the back door to the alley.
That was the foreplay now on to the main event.
In seconds, she is pressed against a wall in the alley behind the bar. Her pants are gone and he is buried deep inside her, filling her.
The act is so raw, so animalistic; they tear and rip at each other, both desperate for that release. Her back pressed hard against the brick wall as he drives into her at a relentless punishing pace she can feel the brick bite into her soft skin.
The scent of her arousal and blood fills his senses driving him further into oblivion. For a second he remembers it’s not her. He closes his eyes and remembers why he is here, and not where he should be.
Squeezing his eyes tighter, he summons other memories a lot like this one, only more painful, a different alley, a different town, and another time. There forever etched in his mind, behind closed lids he sees her, the one he needs to remember and wants to forget, he sees Buffy.
This woman he holds desperately onto while trying to remember another. She is the one he forgets.
She watches him while they fuck. His eyes screw shut as though he is trying to conjure a picture in his mind; she knows its woman he loves, the one he sees in her. She silently wills him to open his eyes, to see the woman she is, the one he is buried in, not the one clouding his mind.
She wants him to see her.
She hears him whisper her name. The one he comes here every night to forget or maybe remember. She doesn’t know. A torrent of jealousy rips through her veins. She tries to shake off the emotion it isn’t fair to hate someone you never met.
Instead, she whispers her name into his ear. Hoping that one night he will be with her - now. Not lost in the memory of another.
He hears her whisper a name, there is a desperate undertone in the way she says it. As he pulls from her and zips his jeans, he wonders for a second if it’s her name or the name of the lover she comes here to forget.
He never asks.
He knows she will never be more than a fuck, a release, a moment in his life where he can forget and pretend.
He could never feel more for her because she is not her.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Unbeata'd so any and all mistakes are my own. I own nothing , they all belong to god, aka, Joss, I just play out my twisted fantasies with them.