Continents Divide (Buffy/Dean)
Title: Continents Divide
Author: Lisa
Status: Completed One-Shot
Rating: PG-16
Fandom: BtVS/SPN
Character(s) and/or Pairing(s): Buffy/Dean
Genre: Dark/Angst/Violence
Summary: I preferred the emptiness rather then having this desire to give into the darker Id of my being.
Challenge: Prompt #01 - Don’t die in me. Table #2 = Darkness. Written for Would You Still Have Fallen Marathon at Route 66: Destination Sunnydale
Spoilers: N/A
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright of Eric Kripke and The CW. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended. Piece inspired by Don't Die On Me by Mirah, no infringement intended.
Distribution: Not without permission from myself.
AN: Huge thanks to Nicole for helping me flesh this out and for beta’ing. Any mistakes are my own. You can listen to the song here.
This pain is worse than it had been with Angel. That had just been a burning ache, a hollowness that seemed to swallow me before it spat me back, leaving only a shell of who I had once been. This, this caused the Slayer inside to quiver with a blistering white-hot anger. The essence that had violated the First Slayer was longing to be unleashed. Images of how I could cause the most pain flashed brilliantly, full of color and sound in my mind. I - the darkness, knew just how hard it could twist a human arm before it’d popped out. How much blood could be drained before it became just a body. I knew exactly what would cause him the most pain, knew how to destroy him emotionally. It begged me to break the oath that had kept me grounded, isolated from the darkness that lusted and longed to lap me up like a lover’s caress.
I preferred the emptiness rather than having this desire to give into the darker Id of my being.
My delicate fingers wrap tightly around the highball glass that held my Vodka Seven that I’d ordered a few minutes before I was a witness to my own personal nightmare. I can’t help but squeeze the glass tighter as I watch the table in the corner of the bar. It’s like a train wreck and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away. The glass groans, it sounds like ice about to break and I force my muscles to relax, to ease up before I shatter it. Deep breathes; hadn’t someone once told me to take soothing breaths to calm angry emotions?
I balk at that. Angry? My emotions are past angry, they are in their own category at this point. A new kind of a rage for a new kind of a pain. I’m like an entrepreneur.
I hadn’t planned on coming here, hadn’t wanted to know what my brain already knew. Spike had always told me I liked the pain, needed a bit of monster in my man. Maybe he was right or maybe he was wrong. Maybe I just enjoyed the searing pain because it reminded me that I wasn’t trapped in a coffin or tossed out like yesterday’s news. I must still be human if I can feel this kind of slicing and slashing against my soul.
Lifting the glass, I press my mouth to the lip and take a long pull. The drink, more vodka the 7-Up, burns my tongue, then my mouth and finally my throat. I relish in the sensation for a few seconds before I finish it. With still swift movements, I slide the now empty glass over the bar and into the hands of the burly bartender. I must have that look because he doesn’t even bother to ask if I want a refill, he just does it.
My gaze flickers back to the corner, the forbidden fruit in my own personal Garden of Eden. The blonde of the night is sitting on his lap, her breasts pressed firmly against his chest and I know if I close my eyes I could probably ‘feel’ his breath on my neck. I know the sensations that would course through my body and with that in mind, I refrain from blinking.
She giggles and I wish, not for the first time, that I could mute my Slaying hearing. The joyous carefree sound of it snaps that tiny thread of sanity I’d been clinging to. It rages, slamming against the inner walls that I’ve carefully built around it and I feel my body shudder in response from the force.
My vision blurs before I feel wet salty tears slide down my cheeks. “Fuck.” The curse passes through my parted lips and I’m reminded how much I’ve changed since those final months in Sunnydale.
Blindly, my fingers search for the drink and as they connect with the cold glass that’s covered in condensation, I question how long I can hold the darkness at bay tonight. How long will it be before I have to sneak out of my dimly lit corner and hunt? Not because it’s my duty but because tearing, violently ripping apart the darkness is the only thing that’s keeping me from succumbing to its luscious whispers.
~fin~
Completed: August 23, 2008
Author: Lisa
Status: Completed One-Shot
Rating: PG-16
Fandom: BtVS/SPN
Character(s) and/or Pairing(s): Buffy/Dean
Genre: Dark/Angst/Violence
Summary: I preferred the emptiness rather then having this desire to give into the darker Id of my being.
Challenge: Prompt #01 - Don’t die in me. Table #2 = Darkness. Written for Would You Still Have Fallen Marathon at Route 66: Destination Sunnydale
Spoilers: N/A
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright of Eric Kripke and The CW. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended. Piece inspired by Don't Die On Me by Mirah, no infringement intended.
Distribution: Not without permission from myself.
AN: Huge thanks to Nicole for helping me flesh this out and for beta’ing. Any mistakes are my own. You can listen to the song here.
This pain is worse than it had been with Angel. That had just been a burning ache, a hollowness that seemed to swallow me before it spat me back, leaving only a shell of who I had once been. This, this caused the Slayer inside to quiver with a blistering white-hot anger. The essence that had violated the First Slayer was longing to be unleashed. Images of how I could cause the most pain flashed brilliantly, full of color and sound in my mind. I - the darkness, knew just how hard it could twist a human arm before it’d popped out. How much blood could be drained before it became just a body. I knew exactly what would cause him the most pain, knew how to destroy him emotionally. It begged me to break the oath that had kept me grounded, isolated from the darkness that lusted and longed to lap me up like a lover’s caress.
I preferred the emptiness rather than having this desire to give into the darker Id of my being.
My delicate fingers wrap tightly around the highball glass that held my Vodka Seven that I’d ordered a few minutes before I was a witness to my own personal nightmare. I can’t help but squeeze the glass tighter as I watch the table in the corner of the bar. It’s like a train wreck and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away. The glass groans, it sounds like ice about to break and I force my muscles to relax, to ease up before I shatter it. Deep breathes; hadn’t someone once told me to take soothing breaths to calm angry emotions?
I balk at that. Angry? My emotions are past angry, they are in their own category at this point. A new kind of a rage for a new kind of a pain. I’m like an entrepreneur.
I hadn’t planned on coming here, hadn’t wanted to know what my brain already knew. Spike had always told me I liked the pain, needed a bit of monster in my man. Maybe he was right or maybe he was wrong. Maybe I just enjoyed the searing pain because it reminded me that I wasn’t trapped in a coffin or tossed out like yesterday’s news. I must still be human if I can feel this kind of slicing and slashing against my soul.
Lifting the glass, I press my mouth to the lip and take a long pull. The drink, more vodka the 7-Up, burns my tongue, then my mouth and finally my throat. I relish in the sensation for a few seconds before I finish it. With still swift movements, I slide the now empty glass over the bar and into the hands of the burly bartender. I must have that look because he doesn’t even bother to ask if I want a refill, he just does it.
My gaze flickers back to the corner, the forbidden fruit in my own personal Garden of Eden. The blonde of the night is sitting on his lap, her breasts pressed firmly against his chest and I know if I close my eyes I could probably ‘feel’ his breath on my neck. I know the sensations that would course through my body and with that in mind, I refrain from blinking.
She giggles and I wish, not for the first time, that I could mute my Slaying hearing. The joyous carefree sound of it snaps that tiny thread of sanity I’d been clinging to. It rages, slamming against the inner walls that I’ve carefully built around it and I feel my body shudder in response from the force.
My vision blurs before I feel wet salty tears slide down my cheeks. “Fuck.” The curse passes through my parted lips and I’m reminded how much I’ve changed since those final months in Sunnydale.
Blindly, my fingers search for the drink and as they connect with the cold glass that’s covered in condensation, I question how long I can hold the darkness at bay tonight. How long will it be before I have to sneak out of my dimly lit corner and hunt? Not because it’s my duty but because tearing, violently ripping apart the darkness is the only thing that’s keeping me from succumbing to its luscious whispers.
~fin~
Completed: August 23, 2008