Lessons
Title: Lessons
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing/Characters: Buffy/Spike, William/Cecily
Author:
knittedshadow
Rating: PG-13
Words: 500
Description: Sometimes William can’t sleep at night. Plagued by nightmares and childhood fears he prefers to keep a candle burning, sit by its flickering flame and put pen to paper.
Challenge: None
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and ME just won't hand over the BtVS cast to me however many times I offer them money. Or Annointed Ones.
Lessons
London 1880
Lesson the First: They’re only words.
Sometimes William can’t sleep at night. Plagued by nightmares and childhood fears he prefers to keep a candle burning, sit by its flickering flame and put pen to paper.
My darling Cecily
When his mother coughs in the room next to his, it pleases him to know that, if she grows too agitated in sleep, he is close enough to be by her side in an instant. To sit by her bed and calm her fears.
My heart expands
He thinks how pleased his mother will be when she sees him happy and married at last. He knows his writing’s poor and his poems laughable. But he puts his heart and soul into every verse and begs that that’s enough. He is sure that Cecily will be able to read between the lines and see the true feeling behind them, and once she sees that she cannot possibly refuse him.
If they’re no good, they’re only words.
New York City 1977
Lesson the Second: Death is on your heels.
Sometimes Spike thinks he lives solely for these moments, the heady beat of a Slayer’s final fight. The punching, kicking, fucking free for all, where you have to rely on gut-instinct to take you further than careful plans ever could.
It went like this.
Reflex after reflex, punches coming like heartbeats as he ducks and weaves around her. Their own little dance. Oh only in New York, on a late-night subway, could two people be left so blissfully alone to tear each other apart.
Could have danced all night with that one.
But their steps have to falter sometime, just one beat out of time and he grabs his chance. Pinning her to the ground, life leaving through the grip in his hand. Spike loves the end of a blood-soaked tango, a violent twist, the crack of bones and a Slayer dead by his feet.
Death is on your heels, baby, and sooner or later it’s gonna catch you.
Sunnydale 2000
Lesson the Third: It would never be you.
Sometimes Spike wonders why he bothers. Looking at the girl in front of him, who hates him even when he’s trying to help, he can feel that age-old tug and pull, that never-ending cycle; hate, love, heartbreak. Wash, rinse, repeat until even he’s tired of the sound of his lovesick voice.
The thing about the dance is…
Truth is, Spike knows why he bothers. He loves the feeling of being in love. Loves the whole wallowing spectacle of it. And every time he feels that relentless power, he gives himself up to it unrepentantly.
You never get to stop.
Spike admits that he’s love’s bitch and wears it proudly. But love’s fool? That comes more sadly, a quiet, private acceptance. And even though he knows it’s true he can’t help but ask the question, the old movie cliché…
Dance with me?
It wouldn’t be you Spike, it would never be you. You’re beneath me.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing/Characters: Buffy/Spike, William/Cecily
Author:
knittedshadowRating: PG-13
Words: 500
Description: Sometimes William can’t sleep at night. Plagued by nightmares and childhood fears he prefers to keep a candle burning, sit by its flickering flame and put pen to paper.
Challenge: None
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and ME just won't hand over the BtVS cast to me however many times I offer them money. Or Annointed Ones.
Lessons
London 1880
Lesson the First: They’re only words.
Sometimes William can’t sleep at night. Plagued by nightmares and childhood fears he prefers to keep a candle burning, sit by its flickering flame and put pen to paper.
My darling Cecily
When his mother coughs in the room next to his, it pleases him to know that, if she grows too agitated in sleep, he is close enough to be by her side in an instant. To sit by her bed and calm her fears.
My heart expands
He thinks how pleased his mother will be when she sees him happy and married at last. He knows his writing’s poor and his poems laughable. But he puts his heart and soul into every verse and begs that that’s enough. He is sure that Cecily will be able to read between the lines and see the true feeling behind them, and once she sees that she cannot possibly refuse him.
If they’re no good, they’re only words.
New York City 1977
Lesson the Second: Death is on your heels.
Sometimes Spike thinks he lives solely for these moments, the heady beat of a Slayer’s final fight. The punching, kicking, fucking free for all, where you have to rely on gut-instinct to take you further than careful plans ever could.
It went like this.
Reflex after reflex, punches coming like heartbeats as he ducks and weaves around her. Their own little dance. Oh only in New York, on a late-night subway, could two people be left so blissfully alone to tear each other apart.
Could have danced all night with that one.
But their steps have to falter sometime, just one beat out of time and he grabs his chance. Pinning her to the ground, life leaving through the grip in his hand. Spike loves the end of a blood-soaked tango, a violent twist, the crack of bones and a Slayer dead by his feet.
Death is on your heels, baby, and sooner or later it’s gonna catch you.
Sunnydale 2000
Lesson the Third: It would never be you.
Sometimes Spike wonders why he bothers. Looking at the girl in front of him, who hates him even when he’s trying to help, he can feel that age-old tug and pull, that never-ending cycle; hate, love, heartbreak. Wash, rinse, repeat until even he’s tired of the sound of his lovesick voice.
The thing about the dance is…
Truth is, Spike knows why he bothers. He loves the feeling of being in love. Loves the whole wallowing spectacle of it. And every time he feels that relentless power, he gives himself up to it unrepentantly.
You never get to stop.
Spike admits that he’s love’s bitch and wears it proudly. But love’s fool? That comes more sadly, a quiet, private acceptance. And even though he knows it’s true he can’t help but ask the question, the old movie cliché…
Dance with me?
It wouldn’t be you Spike, it would never be you. You’re beneath me.