Different Sorts of Love


by Lilachigh

Very short piece written for Jem who, like Buffy in this story, was having a very bad day but still bothered to write me a review.



She dragged herself off the dead demon and sank down on a nearby tombstone, head in her hands. Was it dead? Yes, yucky yellow pus like blood all over her jeans. Great - another load of washing. And the machine in the basement was making very odd clanking noises ever since Dawn had put her trainers in it. There was no money for a repairman

Buffy sighed wearily and groaned. Her stomach ached so bad - it was that time of the month, the time that seemed to come round every ten days when you were feeling low. She thought it very mean that being the Slayer didn’t stop you having monthlies.

“You’d think I’d get a sort of pass of some sort,” she muttered to the dead demon. “Buffy is exempt pain on account of job. Exempt spots and lank hair and tummy ache and feeling irritable - go away, Spike!”

The vampire had appeared in front of her, silently as ever. Oh boy, was she not in the mood for him this evening.

“Buffy....” She could see his head tilt and knew that his keen sense of smell had picked up on.... Oh boy, it was gross. She couldn’t even have her period in peace.

“You’re a pig, Spike! Go away!”

“Hey Vampire, here. Can’t help the reaction to blood, Slayer. I sensed you an hour ago, but thought I’d let you do the killing bit first.’

He sat down beside her and pulled her close. There was a rustle of leather under her cheek. “Fancy a visit to the crypt tonight?”

Buffy sighed. She was hot, tired and ached all over. She wished with all her heart that she could quench her body’s reaction to him.

“I feel awful, Spike. Can’t I just go home”’

“The crypt is my home, pet.”

He pulled her to her feet and she didn’t have the energy to push him away. This evening was just going from bad to worse. Why did she let him do these things to her.
Surely he wouldn’t want to - well, yes, she supposed he would. And, what made her feel really sad with herself was that she would let him.

Five minutes later she sat slumped in Spike’s arm-chair. Wearily she looked up as he handed her a mug of warm milk laced with - “Uggh, Spike. What are you trying to do? Make me drunk! That’s got brandy in it. I don’t like - ”

She looked up into implacable blue eyes. “Stop arguing and just drink the sodding milk, Slayer!”

She was too tired to argue. She supposed this was all part of Spike’s big seduction scene tonight. It differed every time she came to the crypt and she couldn’t fight it, even if she wanted to, which part of her didn’t.

He’d vanished into the lower chamber. Bet he’s lighting candles and things, she thought. There would be the big bed with the black sheets and red velvet cover. He would lay her on top of it and start doing things to her body that she should hate, but she knew she would let him and oh, she was so tired and her tummy ached so much....

When she woke, she was aware that some time had passed. She was lying on the bed as she’d guessed; warm, covered with the soft velvet throw. Her boots were off and her jeans were unbuttoned but still on, and she seemed, miraculously, to be cuddling a hot water bottle to her stomach.

Someone was stroking her forehead with cool fingers and the pain had magically eased.

‘Why?’ she muttered drowsily.

‘All different sorts of love, Slayer,’ came the reply.

ends





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