Woo! Fic!
Well, it's non-traditional, it's kind of weird, very arsty and in the words of purple_smurf, "bittersweet."
Buffy. Angel. One night. Kind of smutty.
Fic: Of You in Dreaming of the Night
Author: Regala Electra
E-mail: regala_electra@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Pairing: Buffy/Angel
Summary: I loved you so much, I still do, it hurts every day and I don’t think I want it to go away.
Spoilers: BtVS S7
Feedback: Fantastic.
*
I know this one, she says and he’s kind enough to show his chagrin on his face.
Yes, he replies and his voice is low for he doesn’t want anyone to hear but her, I remember this one too.
You’ve had the same one, she asks and it’s funny that she expects an honest answer.
Why are you here, she says after a long stretch of silence in the dark.
Do you want me to leave?
Not fair, she sighs, brushing errand strands of hair off of her face and sits up better in the mass of pillows and blankets she had huddled under hours before. This isn’t really happening.
I could leave…if you want.
You’re repeating yourself, she remarks with a cool smile.
I should have let you sleep. You look like you haven’t slept well…
In a very long time, she finishes, a frown darkening her face. You shouldn’t bring that up. Do you really want to hear about everything in my life? The First, the potential Slayers…Spike?
His face is cast in shadows yet even she can make out the faint grimace crossing his face. No, I don’t want to hear about Spike.
He moves across the darkened bedroom, silent as always, a tangible ghost carrying ebbs of a wonderful dream in his wake.
Tell me about you, here and now, he suggests.
She lies back, inviting him to lie next to her. I don’t have anything to say…about me. I guess…I’ve been worrying about everything else. I don’t have time to think about myself.
It’s not being selfish, he replies to a concern she doesn’t fully reveal. You’ve had to deal with a lot this past year.
You can’t know that, the pain in her voice is far too old and she feels her throat tightening. We decided, she trails off to look at him, you can’t know that. Not anymore.
I don’t forget, you know, I don’t forget you.
Can you just kiss me?
He moves closer to her, perfectly still and so pale in the barest light gleaming through the open window, lips barely grazing her cheek and he mumbles, distracting her out of this moment, Is that going to keep you from bleeding inside?
What? She tries to look as though she has no idea what he means, failing miserably. His face is dark, not angry, but a sort of resigned despair, as though he’s been waiting for her to say it without him asking.
I can smell it, his hands skim her torso, skin stretched harshly over her ribcage, here. You haven’t healed.
I…I don’t think I will, she confesses, a sadness aching in her confession.
You don’t want to, he backs away and there’s something like a reflex, imbedded in her so deep that causes her to grab onto his arm, to ask him not to go.
There’s only a few hours left.
Not enough time, he whispers back, knuckles smoothing over her cheek, his hand turning over to dance fingertips over the bruises that only now, are beginning to heal.
Please, she whispers to him, please, just this once, don’t go. I’m sorry. I…I should’ve told you…
I know. I knew it. The second you were back in my arms, but I couldn’t tell you, I could feel it here, his other hand covers her chest, where her heart races under his palm, but I wouldn’t dare.
I loved you so much, I still do, it hurts every day and I don’t think I want it to go away.
He kisses her and it is too soft and gentle. She presses against him, encouraging his lips to part, tasting his cool scent that she’s nearly forgotten, bringing her arms around him.
It is safe here in the quite hours of twilight before the morning rises once again to claim a new day, another day of fighting.
He lays atop her, kisses her and then whisper-sweet caresses of his lips travel down her jaw, her neck, and he presses a harder kiss to the lingering traces of a scar that’s never healed correctly. Her top is pulled off and she helps to remove his clothes, the silence this time is not like being in a hollow vacuum, it is reverent and echoes within her harshly beating heart; she can make enough thudding beats for the both of them.
Kiss me, she repeats again, and he obeys her command.
I had a dream like this, he cuts in every time he gives her a moment to breathe, and in it, you left me and I was alone again. That…that nearly broke me, when I woke up to no one. I should have told you that was a reason why I left.
I wouldn’t have understood, she manages before he removes her pajama bottoms and the thin underwear underneath. She rolls to lie side-by-side, her hot skin needing to come in closer contact with him, her body aching for this even more than the crying need in her heart.
You underestimate yourself.
I miss you, she admits and she muffles a sob when he guides himself inside her warmth.
I love you even when I pretend that I don’t anymore.
You…you mean…
I told you that I needed to move on, to forget, his voice is broken, sighs of content and there’s a deep longing somewhere inside a place she can’t quite find, I almost wish it worked but then, this…I wouldn’t have this.
She rocks her body to a time she never understands, it’s beyond reason and hope yet she knows it can’t last but it must, for this moment stretches longer than anything she’s ever done.
I love you, Buffy.
Angel, she moans another lie, I wish you were here.
She wakes with the sun hot on her face, her bruises and her wounds no match for the dark one still living within her heart.
A dream of him that will never come true and she knows she shouldn’t have slept the night. Because he always came back, every night, and it’s like it should have gone a long time ago.
But she can’t have that.
So she gets up, ignoring the protest in her wearied muscles, and looks outside the open window.
She hadn’t left it open the night before.
She dresses, noticing her bruises on her face have almost disappeared over the night.
Her bed is rumpled and if she tries hard enough, she can pretend that he’s still here, a vague sense-memory that hasn’t left her, but the connection’s dead inside. He’s not here.
I miss you, she wants to say, I miss you so much. I wish you didn’t leave me. I wish I had told you to stay and that you believed me.
Once that’s over, she admits to herself that it’s a foolish wish and she promises herself that this time, she won’t dream of him.
And then she faces her friends and the potential Slayers with a grave, unreadable face.
The night’s over and she’s no longer being lied to in the darkness.
End.
Tomorrow, there is school and my brain will once again be forced to work. And new BtVS. Hooray.
Buffy. Angel. One night. Kind of smutty.
Fic: Of You in Dreaming of the Night
Author: Regala Electra
E-mail: regala_electra@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Pairing: Buffy/Angel
Summary: I loved you so much, I still do, it hurts every day and I don’t think I want it to go away.
Spoilers: BtVS S7
Feedback: Fantastic.
*
I know this one, she says and he’s kind enough to show his chagrin on his face.
Yes, he replies and his voice is low for he doesn’t want anyone to hear but her, I remember this one too.
You’ve had the same one, she asks and it’s funny that she expects an honest answer.
Why are you here, she says after a long stretch of silence in the dark.
Do you want me to leave?
Not fair, she sighs, brushing errand strands of hair off of her face and sits up better in the mass of pillows and blankets she had huddled under hours before. This isn’t really happening.
I could leave…if you want.
You’re repeating yourself, she remarks with a cool smile.
I should have let you sleep. You look like you haven’t slept well…
In a very long time, she finishes, a frown darkening her face. You shouldn’t bring that up. Do you really want to hear about everything in my life? The First, the potential Slayers…Spike?
His face is cast in shadows yet even she can make out the faint grimace crossing his face. No, I don’t want to hear about Spike.
He moves across the darkened bedroom, silent as always, a tangible ghost carrying ebbs of a wonderful dream in his wake.
Tell me about you, here and now, he suggests.
She lies back, inviting him to lie next to her. I don’t have anything to say…about me. I guess…I’ve been worrying about everything else. I don’t have time to think about myself.
It’s not being selfish, he replies to a concern she doesn’t fully reveal. You’ve had to deal with a lot this past year.
You can’t know that, the pain in her voice is far too old and she feels her throat tightening. We decided, she trails off to look at him, you can’t know that. Not anymore.
I don’t forget, you know, I don’t forget you.
Can you just kiss me?
He moves closer to her, perfectly still and so pale in the barest light gleaming through the open window, lips barely grazing her cheek and he mumbles, distracting her out of this moment, Is that going to keep you from bleeding inside?
What? She tries to look as though she has no idea what he means, failing miserably. His face is dark, not angry, but a sort of resigned despair, as though he’s been waiting for her to say it without him asking.
I can smell it, his hands skim her torso, skin stretched harshly over her ribcage, here. You haven’t healed.
I…I don’t think I will, she confesses, a sadness aching in her confession.
You don’t want to, he backs away and there’s something like a reflex, imbedded in her so deep that causes her to grab onto his arm, to ask him not to go.
There’s only a few hours left.
Not enough time, he whispers back, knuckles smoothing over her cheek, his hand turning over to dance fingertips over the bruises that only now, are beginning to heal.
Please, she whispers to him, please, just this once, don’t go. I’m sorry. I…I should’ve told you…
I know. I knew it. The second you were back in my arms, but I couldn’t tell you, I could feel it here, his other hand covers her chest, where her heart races under his palm, but I wouldn’t dare.
I loved you so much, I still do, it hurts every day and I don’t think I want it to go away.
He kisses her and it is too soft and gentle. She presses against him, encouraging his lips to part, tasting his cool scent that she’s nearly forgotten, bringing her arms around him.
It is safe here in the quite hours of twilight before the morning rises once again to claim a new day, another day of fighting.
He lays atop her, kisses her and then whisper-sweet caresses of his lips travel down her jaw, her neck, and he presses a harder kiss to the lingering traces of a scar that’s never healed correctly. Her top is pulled off and she helps to remove his clothes, the silence this time is not like being in a hollow vacuum, it is reverent and echoes within her harshly beating heart; she can make enough thudding beats for the both of them.
Kiss me, she repeats again, and he obeys her command.
I had a dream like this, he cuts in every time he gives her a moment to breathe, and in it, you left me and I was alone again. That…that nearly broke me, when I woke up to no one. I should have told you that was a reason why I left.
I wouldn’t have understood, she manages before he removes her pajama bottoms and the thin underwear underneath. She rolls to lie side-by-side, her hot skin needing to come in closer contact with him, her body aching for this even more than the crying need in her heart.
You underestimate yourself.
I miss you, she admits and she muffles a sob when he guides himself inside her warmth.
I love you even when I pretend that I don’t anymore.
You…you mean…
I told you that I needed to move on, to forget, his voice is broken, sighs of content and there’s a deep longing somewhere inside a place she can’t quite find, I almost wish it worked but then, this…I wouldn’t have this.
She rocks her body to a time she never understands, it’s beyond reason and hope yet she knows it can’t last but it must, for this moment stretches longer than anything she’s ever done.
I love you, Buffy.
Angel, she moans another lie, I wish you were here.
She wakes with the sun hot on her face, her bruises and her wounds no match for the dark one still living within her heart.
A dream of him that will never come true and she knows she shouldn’t have slept the night. Because he always came back, every night, and it’s like it should have gone a long time ago.
But she can’t have that.
So she gets up, ignoring the protest in her wearied muscles, and looks outside the open window.
She hadn’t left it open the night before.
She dresses, noticing her bruises on her face have almost disappeared over the night.
Her bed is rumpled and if she tries hard enough, she can pretend that he’s still here, a vague sense-memory that hasn’t left her, but the connection’s dead inside. He’s not here.
I miss you, she wants to say, I miss you so much. I wish you didn’t leave me. I wish I had told you to stay and that you believed me.
Once that’s over, she admits to herself that it’s a foolish wish and she promises herself that this time, she won’t dream of him.
And then she faces her friends and the potential Slayers with a grave, unreadable face.
The night’s over and she’s no longer being lied to in the darkness.
End.
Tomorrow, there is school and my brain will once again be forced to work. And new BtVS. Hooray.