Disclaimer: See, there's this god that walks around on earth, and this god, he owns 'em all. Bow down to the great Joss! Ya'know, 'cause I'm just a lowly fan who likes to sneak in and borrow the characters; Hey, I promised to return 'em, eventually.
Author's Notes: What can I say; I have no idea where these story ideas come from. Uh, let's see, this is shortish, finished, and all I can say is that you aren't supposed to know what's up or what's down when I'm finished with you, but guesses while you're sitting on the ceiling are welcomed. ;) I might even tell you what really happened. Basically, you can pick any outcome you want, that's the fun of the things I think up at like 2am in the morning when I can't sleep. Hmm, happens a lot doesn't that.
Summary: Fragments of dreams and reality from Buffy's mind as she sleeps help her realize a shocking truth that she wasn't ready to admit to herself.
Rated: R
Date Started/Finished: August 12th 2003
Images from a Broken Soul
By ~Delenn~
"I love you," she says and she's above him, all around him, everywhere, glowing in the light.
No, it's candlelight, there are candles surrounding them, he lit them before. "I love you," she says again, rising above him and then falling back down, taking him deeper, into herself, her soul and heart.
A broken goddess. His.
And he knows it's his fault, but he wouldn't trade this moment because he realizes that he'll have to let her go eventually, and that's with a sooner rather than later. "I love you," she murmurs then cries out, still pounding above him, on top of him.
She says it again, "I love you," and again, "I love you," each word punctuated with gasps and moans as she moves them both closer towards that moment of peace and ecstasy they are seeking.
There's an explosion in the distance, but neither notices, too wrapped up in one another, in the way her long blonde hair falls over her shoulders, whipping around with every precise movement of hers. The way her eyes shine with truth when she speaks on each downward thrust mesmerizes him, "I love you."
But he's dragging her down, trying to pull her closer and suddenly the candles are gone, blown out. And they're falling, falling, the floor is collapsing and they're sinking into some unknown place.
A dark abyss for the demon and his broken goddess to reside.
…|…
"I love you," he says, and she can see him there, his black clothed, duster covered, form in her doorway. He's circled in silver light, an outline from the nightlight in the hallway.
Then he's slipping into her bed, under the covers, with her. And is struck by how much she doesn't want him there, doesn't want him here, in her room, in her bed.
He's managed to shed his clothes but she missed it. Slowly, reverently, he runs his hands along her pajama-covered body as though he's afraid of breaking her.
Then his hands have grasped the material and he's ripping it from her body. She doesn't want this, not here, not him; she doesn't want him. But he rolls on top of her with no resistance.
"I love you," he says, sliding into her, hard, fast, just like they both enjoy. She won't cry out. He says it again and again with each powerful thrust as he pounds into her.
"I love you," breathe in, slam harder, "I love you," gasp, moan, "I love you," he's repeating it but it's not a montra, each word is sharp and clear, as though he's trying to make her see something.
But it's not enough, she needs something… more, she needs more.
As they grow closer she pulls his head down to her neck and he whispers one last time, "I love you," before he bites down as they reach the point of no return, blood gushing, her soul draining, sleep.
…|…
She wakes feeling groggy, her hand to her neck, feeling the dreaded mark, a mark, she doesn't know if it's his or not.
Him; so peaceful, so beautiful, sleeping next to her in her bed, dead to the world. So trusting, he knows she would never hurt him, she won't; she can't.
Feet move without her consent and before she knows it, she's up, standing by the window, hand on the shade. She won't lift it, won't hurt him, he trusts her and loves her and she couldn't do that to him.
So she doesn't look at the shade, she studies him instead, still, perfect, pale, like a statue. Platinum hair against alabaster skin.
Face turned to the side, towards her, covers pushed down, his back visible, surrounded in a sea of red. His clear blue eyes open and catch hers as flames explode across her vision, reflected from his gaze.
Perfect, so beautiful but he's covered in fire, and then she knows. "I love you," she breathes as he explodes, her words like his ashes blow in the wind.
And still she stares at her now empty bed. She won't turn and look through the open window at the dawn that has wounded her so badly she has crumpled to the floor.
She had to.
…|…
Bleep, bleep, bleep, the alarm goes off, bleep, bleep sunshine coming through the open window. It's everywhere and for the first time she doesn't greet the sun with joy but rather with apprehension and a slight nausea.
Bleep, bleep, bleep, another day, she reminds herself, just another day. Yet she can't tell if he's still there or not, lurking in the shadows here, somewhere, or gone. Gone. She can't even imagine.
Bleep, bleep, bleep, she flops back onto her bed, stares at the ceiling, bleep, bleep, bleep, "I love you," all she can seem to remember.
She doesn't know if it's her words or his that she is remembering, but it doesn't matter, doesn't change their importance, "I love you," she wants to cry.
She hasn't cried in so long that she isn't even sure she still can, just like she wasn't sure that she could love. But now she realizes that she can, so maybe she'll just lay in her room, on her bed, and cry. For him, for her, "I love you."
Bleep, bleep, bleep.
The End
Author's Notes: What can I say; I have no idea where these story ideas come from. Uh, let's see, this is shortish, finished, and all I can say is that you aren't supposed to know what's up or what's down when I'm finished with you, but guesses while you're sitting on the ceiling are welcomed. ;) I might even tell you what really happened. Basically, you can pick any outcome you want, that's the fun of the things I think up at like 2am in the morning when I can't sleep. Hmm, happens a lot doesn't that.
Summary: Fragments of dreams and reality from Buffy's mind as she sleeps help her realize a shocking truth that she wasn't ready to admit to herself.
Rated: R
Date Started/Finished: August 12th 2003
By ~Delenn~
"I love you," she says and she's above him, all around him, everywhere, glowing in the light.
No, it's candlelight, there are candles surrounding them, he lit them before. "I love you," she says again, rising above him and then falling back down, taking him deeper, into herself, her soul and heart.
A broken goddess. His.
And he knows it's his fault, but he wouldn't trade this moment because he realizes that he'll have to let her go eventually, and that's with a sooner rather than later. "I love you," she murmurs then cries out, still pounding above him, on top of him.
She says it again, "I love you," and again, "I love you," each word punctuated with gasps and moans as she moves them both closer towards that moment of peace and ecstasy they are seeking.
There's an explosion in the distance, but neither notices, too wrapped up in one another, in the way her long blonde hair falls over her shoulders, whipping around with every precise movement of hers. The way her eyes shine with truth when she speaks on each downward thrust mesmerizes him, "I love you."
But he's dragging her down, trying to pull her closer and suddenly the candles are gone, blown out. And they're falling, falling, the floor is collapsing and they're sinking into some unknown place.
A dark abyss for the demon and his broken goddess to reside.
"I love you," he says, and she can see him there, his black clothed, duster covered, form in her doorway. He's circled in silver light, an outline from the nightlight in the hallway.
Then he's slipping into her bed, under the covers, with her. And is struck by how much she doesn't want him there, doesn't want him here, in her room, in her bed.
He's managed to shed his clothes but she missed it. Slowly, reverently, he runs his hands along her pajama-covered body as though he's afraid of breaking her.
Then his hands have grasped the material and he's ripping it from her body. She doesn't want this, not here, not him; she doesn't want him. But he rolls on top of her with no resistance.
"I love you," he says, sliding into her, hard, fast, just like they both enjoy. She won't cry out. He says it again and again with each powerful thrust as he pounds into her.
"I love you," breathe in, slam harder, "I love you," gasp, moan, "I love you," he's repeating it but it's not a montra, each word is sharp and clear, as though he's trying to make her see something.
But it's not enough, she needs something… more, she needs more.
As they grow closer she pulls his head down to her neck and he whispers one last time, "I love you," before he bites down as they reach the point of no return, blood gushing, her soul draining, sleep.
She wakes feeling groggy, her hand to her neck, feeling the dreaded mark, a mark, she doesn't know if it's his or not.
Him; so peaceful, so beautiful, sleeping next to her in her bed, dead to the world. So trusting, he knows she would never hurt him, she won't; she can't.
Feet move without her consent and before she knows it, she's up, standing by the window, hand on the shade. She won't lift it, won't hurt him, he trusts her and loves her and she couldn't do that to him.
So she doesn't look at the shade, she studies him instead, still, perfect, pale, like a statue. Platinum hair against alabaster skin.
Face turned to the side, towards her, covers pushed down, his back visible, surrounded in a sea of red. His clear blue eyes open and catch hers as flames explode across her vision, reflected from his gaze.
Perfect, so beautiful but he's covered in fire, and then she knows. "I love you," she breathes as he explodes, her words like his ashes blow in the wind.
And still she stares at her now empty bed. She won't turn and look through the open window at the dawn that has wounded her so badly she has crumpled to the floor.
She had to.
Bleep, bleep, bleep, the alarm goes off, bleep, bleep sunshine coming through the open window. It's everywhere and for the first time she doesn't greet the sun with joy but rather with apprehension and a slight nausea.
Bleep, bleep, bleep, another day, she reminds herself, just another day. Yet she can't tell if he's still there or not, lurking in the shadows here, somewhere, or gone. Gone. She can't even imagine.
Bleep, bleep, bleep, she flops back onto her bed, stares at the ceiling, bleep, bleep, bleep, "I love you," all she can seem to remember.
She doesn't know if it's her words or his that she is remembering, but it doesn't matter, doesn't change their importance, "I love you," she wants to cry.
She hasn't cried in so long that she isn't even sure she still can, just like she wasn't sure that she could love. But now she realizes that she can, so maybe she'll just lay in her room, on her bed, and cry. For him, for her, "I love you."
Bleep, bleep, bleep.