You completely infuriate me. And not in the let’s be friends, riddled with angst type of way. I’m talking about up and down, beating my bleeding head against the brick wall. Why you don’t see it I’ll never know. All I am is a sodding demon to you. Doesn’t matter that with or without the bloody soul I’ve got more character than Angel could ever hope to borrow.
And yet you don’t want to acknowledge that.
All it ever seems to be is me running after you as you waltz off with some chosen campaign, never taking one sodding second to look behind you and notice that I’m the one
Which is precisely why I don’t understand this weird attraction between the two of you…
Sure there’s the perk that he’s human, by all means shout out the glorious fact out to the world, but he’s also boring as the fourth level of hell. That ever condescending grin and his facial expressions of disappointment, happiness, and fear have grown more than old seeing as he’s played it on constant repeat. Who wants to be normal if it means that every night you’re crawling into bed with a man that thinks inventive shagging is turning the lights on?
It’s plain to all who have eyes that you aren’t happy luv.
The watcher who’s always cleaning his damn glasses is aware of it, the same as the Whelp and Red. Why do you think it was so easy to split you lot up to begin with? All I had to do was play on your fears, which might I say, you all need counseling for, and voila! Scooby suicide. You’re lucky that I sided with you down in that Initiative hell hole instead of playing up to that Tony Robinson git. Could’ve had myself a real good day.
But now it seems to be getting even worse.
There’s a certain glint to Red’s eye that is very unnerving. Not all vamps can sense magic but Dru could. She’d wake in the middle of the day, clawing at the covers and crying out about how she itched. The tingles down my spine whenever the witch does some mojo have left me with the same reaction.
Her powers are growing something fierce.
It won’t be long before she starts trying to control her environment.
Makes me want to take a long hard look at her motives and suss out whether there is need for alarm. Magic always has consequences, but I don’t think that has entered into that pretty little head of hers. Only Glinda is keeping her on the straight and narrow.
The whelp is something entirely different. We both are aware that he doesn’t like me. Hell, the boy takes every opportunity to goad me now there’s this sodding chip in my brain. Yet he’s also starting to take things more into his own hands. Or, to be more honest, twist a sentence to his liking. Xander has no super powers to speak of, which I am more than bloody thankful for, but perhaps you need to watch him. What I am trying to say pet, is that he’s gotten wiser, if not more manipulative.
But then again you probably don’t want to hear that.
Right this second, you’re at the Bronze, dancing your heart out after downing a second shot of tequila. I can smell the intoxicating mix of booze, sweat and sex from here. And while my demon struggles inside the cavern of my chest, desperate to go to you and make you mine, I hold back.
Even if you did accept my advances right this moment and let me place a quivering hand on your vanilla scented skin, it still would mean nothing.
You may need me, but you don’t love me. At least not in the way I want you to.
I love you the same way a drowning man cherishes air. There isn’t one part of me that isn’t tattooed with your mark. The watcher, your friends, even your heart can scream that I don’t give a toss about your welfare but it’s there Slayer.
The pain is there.
Right this minute, Riley is in a broken down house in the bad side of town. His arms are laid out in supplication like some kind of crack addicted Christ and like bad medicine, I don’t mention it. As I walk towards you, head hanging and bleached hair curling unruly, I never even whisper that the entire time a vampire whore sucks the blood from his veins, he’s talking about you. Saying how you don’t need him but that you love him.
The Captain has finally realized that he is redundant.
And as my hand slides down your waist to wrap around a graceful hip, I never tell you that I left him there.
Let him die.
His eyes glazing over will slowly roll back as that weak heart patters to a sluggish finish. In perfect synchronization his back will arch for a moment and he will make one last cry. I only know this because of their whispers. His girls, for they truly are his Slayer, are sick of sharing. They want a monster and tonight they’ll take one of yours and make him into something else.
Perhaps he thinks he’ll have enough monster inside him then.
Your eyes close and the shiver that trails down your back lets me know that you’re aware of my presence. You know that it’s me who touches you so lightly. The sound of the band forces your body to move and you twirl perfectly into my arms.
For the first time I am holding you without the look of resignation, or worse, revulsion. I don’t question what it means. I can’t in a smoky club that should have seen the death of this town on more than one occasion. I can tell by the flush to your cheeks that tomorrowrquote s fears are forgotten. In this slow, achingly close dance, they have no meaning. The tongue inside my mouth, which threatens to breathe dead air onto living worries, is bitten instantly.
Tightening my hold around your waist, your face rests against my chest. I can feel heavy hot tears soak into black fabric.
And that’s when I realize that you know.
Somehow inexplicably, his death has reached your ears first.
In a gesture that leaves me completely stunned, you pull my face close and trace my lips.
Perhaps you don’t infuriate me so much as you make me feel weak.
But then that’s to be expected innit? When we break apart, I can feel the words soak into my skin.
“What are you thinking?”
I stutter for a moment. Everything and nothing. Feeling guilty for lettingyour ponce of a boyfriend succeed in his death wish. Wishing that I was man enough to swallow my pride and watch you be happy with another.
Instead I smile and brush a kiss against the column of your throat.
“Nothing luv. Nothing at all.”
Fin