Birthday Prezzie
Apr. 17th, 2006 01:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damnednforsakenThis is a little belated and completely unexpected because of how it turned out but here's your birthday prezzie, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
sexymermaid! Enjoy, darlin'!
Title: It's Always Raining
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: PG-13 (maybe)
Summary: It's always raining here and nothing ever changes. But then, during one particular rain storm, everything does.
Warnings: Slash m/m, language, and slight angst
Spoilers: None
Author's notes: This is a birthday prezzie for the wonderful and talentedsexymermaid. Happy birthday, darlin'! Also, I've never done a first person fic before, so any constructive criticism on the voice or anything really would be most welcome.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's always raining here and nothing ever changes. I always sit here beside this window, drinking my lunch and wondering what might have been. I can still remember the look on his face when I told him I was leaving for good this time. I can still remember how he just looked at me, fighting the tears that I could both see and smell. I remember how I turned away from him, grabbing my suitcase and walking away from him one last time.
When I had arrived in Ireland after so many years of not setting foot on this Emerald Isle, I remember a soft peace settling over my troubled soul and I felt as if I was finally home. I went to the house that I had bought before coming here and unpacked, looking the place over and trying to let it feel like home. It did after I took a shower and curled up around a pillow, my hair spiking as I tried to get comfortable on the cold, lumpy bed.
But just as I was about to fall asleep, I reached over to put my arm around my lover's waist only to realize that he wasn't there. I realized then that this place was never going to be my home. Without him here, it just doesn't feel like anything other than a place to weather out the storm, wait it out and then go back to where I belong.
But I wouldn't do that, not this time. I had been through too much, I'd said to him as I'd left. I'd been through too much and couldn't go on doing it anymore. He'd asked me what I meant but it was too late, I had already gone.
I had already walked away and, in doing so, had sealed myself into this monotonous fate of drinking my lunch behind a rain blurred window in an unforgiving country that was no longer my home, even after the seven years that I'd inhabited it.
Now, though, as I look out the window one last time before I go wash out my cup, I see a figure walking through the rain. Sounds clichéd, I know, but it's true. There's someone walking up my front porch. Well, may as well go see who it is. Downing the last of my lunch, I set the red-stained mug aside and open the door just as my visitor had raised his hand to knock.
I know that I should have expected this visitor, know that I shouldn't be gobsmacked, know I shouldn't be letting him stand out in the rain getting soaked to the bone while I stand in my house with my jaw on the floor, but I am.
A polite clearing of his throat has me opening the door wider and standing back so he can come inside. He doesn't need my invitation and so comes in on my unspoken request. Shrugging off his wet rain coat, he just looks at me, completely silent. That in itself is as unusual as the beautiful creature before me.
He is still beautiful in my eyes. His own are still as deep as ever but his hair is changed. It's longer now, less harsh than it used to be last time I saw him. It's tickling the top of his cheekbones and is just begging to be brushed out of the way, behind his ears. I try and drive myself away from that path of thinking and clear my throat to ask him why he's here but he beats me to it.
"We both know why I'm here. I need to know why," he says softly.
"Why what?" I ask, even though I know the answer.
He just gives me a look that seems to be telling me that he can see right through me and I have the decency to look down in shame. I can hear a soft snort coming from him and look up. He's smiling that little rare smile that he used to give only when he was really happy and my lips can't help but quirk up in return.
I look him up and down quickly and then realize that he's dripping into my carpet and give myself a little mental smack 'round the head. "Did you want to take a shower or something and warm up? I can make some tea," I say, trying to be the considerate host.
He just gives me that little smile again and says, "Tea'd be nice. Don't need a shower, though. Just had one outside. Minus the soap."
I laugh as I go into the kitchen and take my mug with me, rinsing it after I put the kettle on. While waiting for the water to boil, I realize I have no idea what to do. I've wanted him here with me for so long, have replayed our reunion over and over in my head so many times that now, when it all comes down to it, I can't do anything that I'd planned. I sigh heavily and lean against the counter, bracing both of my hands on it and bowing my head.
"What am I gonna do now?" I question myself aloud. "What am I gonna say to him? How can I tell him that I'm sorry and should never've left? That I still love him..." I realize as I replay our conversation from earlier about his so-called shower that he was what I was missing all that time that I sat staring out that window. His lithe body walking itself up my front walk and onto my porch was exactly what I was looking for. But the only question was, how was I supposed to tell him all that without sounding like a right...how would he put it...a right ponce.
I sighed again and closed my eyes, trying to think when the shrill whistle of the kettle protesting its hot temperature bashed itself into my awareness and dragged me, kicking and screaming, out of my thoughts. I wasn't completely out of them yet because I tried to pick up the kettle without the mitt and wound up with a very scorched hand and boiling hot water on the floor, curses streaming from my mouth. I didn't sense him come in until he was standing me up from my crouch on the floor where I was trying to pick up the pieces of the kettle and leading me over to the sink.
"You total half-wit. You coulda burned your blasted hand off," he said, trying and failing to be the unconcerned stranger as he gently held my hand under the cold water.
As he runs a finger over the burn in the middle of my palm, a whimper forces itself out of my throat before I can stop it. Damnit, you ninny. Get yer arse in gear. It's just a burn. You've gotten worse. It's true, but I'll be damned (again) if I'll admit it. He hears the whimper and leans down to check the burn, looking it over.
"You'll be fine. Just be more careful, next time. What were you brooding about, anyway?" he asks as he wraps up my hand with a dish towel.
As usual, my mouth operates faster than my brain and I answer him, "Why I left." Then my brain catches up with me and my mouth opens up again except it's only forming a wide 'O' of surprise.
His expression mirrors mine and I try and stammer an excuse, but he won't let me. Putting a finger to my lips, he silences me and then begins to speak, "Oh, really? You've finally figured out why? After what, six, seven years? Took you long enough. So, tell me, oh wise one, why didja leave then?"
As I open my mouth to talk again, he says, "But! If you don't tell the truth, I will walk out of here so fast, not even you'll see me."
I nod and he moves his finger away. Okay, here's your chance. Tell him you love him, that you're sorry you got scared of where you were going with him and left and that you want him to stay with you, my little inner voice gives me a pep talk and I open my mouth to say something but only air comes out. My little inner voice is now ready to kill me.
He looks like he's ready to walk out any second. I close my mouth and my eyes, take a deep breath through my nose, open my mouth again and..."Iloveyou,I'msorryIleft.Pleasestay."
He blinks at me. "What?" he asks, cocking his head to the side.
My little inner voice now has the chains set up and the holy water in a basin next to them.
I take another deep breath. "Spike, I am so sorry that I left. Honestly, I am. I just...I realized that morning...the morning that I left that I was in love with you. More than I ever was. Even more than I was with Buffy. I was so happy when I realized it but then my brain kicked in and reminded me of my little happiness clause and I...I didn't want him coming out and...hurting you again. I didn't want you hurt again so I did the only thing I could. I left," I say all of this slowly to him as if trying to find my words. I keep my head down so I don't see the looks flitting across his eyes.
I finally look up into his blue eyes when he puts a finger under my chin and I'm surprised to see they are filled with tears again. I take this the completely wrong way and start to stammer an apology. He just laughs softly at this and stops me from speaking with his own lips. I gasp softly in surprise. I thought he was mad at me. Guess not. Well, I'm not objecting, seeing as his tongue enters my mouth when it opens and I give a soft sigh to him, a soft sigh of contentment. Not perfect contentment because that's just too risky, but it's pretty damn close.
When he pulls away from the kiss, I smile at him as he rests his forehead on mine. Then something occurs to me and I look out of the window. It's still raining and I move over to sit on the window seat, looking out of the glass.
Spike comes to sit next to me and I pull him close with a smile.
It's always raining, but everything's changed.
sexymermaid! Enjoy, darlin'!Title: It's Always Raining
Pairing: Spangel
Rating: PG-13 (maybe)
Summary: It's always raining here and nothing ever changes. But then, during one particular rain storm, everything does.
Warnings: Slash m/m, language, and slight angst
Spoilers: None
Author's notes: This is a birthday prezzie for the wonderful and talented
sexymermaid. Happy birthday, darlin'! Also, I've never done a first person fic before, so any constructive criticism on the voice or anything really would be most welcome.It's always raining here and nothing ever changes. I always sit here beside this window, drinking my lunch and wondering what might have been. I can still remember the look on his face when I told him I was leaving for good this time. I can still remember how he just looked at me, fighting the tears that I could both see and smell. I remember how I turned away from him, grabbing my suitcase and walking away from him one last time.
When I had arrived in Ireland after so many years of not setting foot on this Emerald Isle, I remember a soft peace settling over my troubled soul and I felt as if I was finally home. I went to the house that I had bought before coming here and unpacked, looking the place over and trying to let it feel like home. It did after I took a shower and curled up around a pillow, my hair spiking as I tried to get comfortable on the cold, lumpy bed.
But just as I was about to fall asleep, I reached over to put my arm around my lover's waist only to realize that he wasn't there. I realized then that this place was never going to be my home. Without him here, it just doesn't feel like anything other than a place to weather out the storm, wait it out and then go back to where I belong.
But I wouldn't do that, not this time. I had been through too much, I'd said to him as I'd left. I'd been through too much and couldn't go on doing it anymore. He'd asked me what I meant but it was too late, I had already gone.
I had already walked away and, in doing so, had sealed myself into this monotonous fate of drinking my lunch behind a rain blurred window in an unforgiving country that was no longer my home, even after the seven years that I'd inhabited it.
Now, though, as I look out the window one last time before I go wash out my cup, I see a figure walking through the rain. Sounds clichéd, I know, but it's true. There's someone walking up my front porch. Well, may as well go see who it is. Downing the last of my lunch, I set the red-stained mug aside and open the door just as my visitor had raised his hand to knock.
I know that I should have expected this visitor, know that I shouldn't be gobsmacked, know I shouldn't be letting him stand out in the rain getting soaked to the bone while I stand in my house with my jaw on the floor, but I am.
A polite clearing of his throat has me opening the door wider and standing back so he can come inside. He doesn't need my invitation and so comes in on my unspoken request. Shrugging off his wet rain coat, he just looks at me, completely silent. That in itself is as unusual as the beautiful creature before me.
He is still beautiful in my eyes. His own are still as deep as ever but his hair is changed. It's longer now, less harsh than it used to be last time I saw him. It's tickling the top of his cheekbones and is just begging to be brushed out of the way, behind his ears. I try and drive myself away from that path of thinking and clear my throat to ask him why he's here but he beats me to it.
"We both know why I'm here. I need to know why," he says softly.
"Why what?" I ask, even though I know the answer.
He just gives me a look that seems to be telling me that he can see right through me and I have the decency to look down in shame. I can hear a soft snort coming from him and look up. He's smiling that little rare smile that he used to give only when he was really happy and my lips can't help but quirk up in return.
I look him up and down quickly and then realize that he's dripping into my carpet and give myself a little mental smack 'round the head. "Did you want to take a shower or something and warm up? I can make some tea," I say, trying to be the considerate host.
He just gives me that little smile again and says, "Tea'd be nice. Don't need a shower, though. Just had one outside. Minus the soap."
I laugh as I go into the kitchen and take my mug with me, rinsing it after I put the kettle on. While waiting for the water to boil, I realize I have no idea what to do. I've wanted him here with me for so long, have replayed our reunion over and over in my head so many times that now, when it all comes down to it, I can't do anything that I'd planned. I sigh heavily and lean against the counter, bracing both of my hands on it and bowing my head.
"What am I gonna do now?" I question myself aloud. "What am I gonna say to him? How can I tell him that I'm sorry and should never've left? That I still love him..." I realize as I replay our conversation from earlier about his so-called shower that he was what I was missing all that time that I sat staring out that window. His lithe body walking itself up my front walk and onto my porch was exactly what I was looking for. But the only question was, how was I supposed to tell him all that without sounding like a right...how would he put it...a right ponce.
I sighed again and closed my eyes, trying to think when the shrill whistle of the kettle protesting its hot temperature bashed itself into my awareness and dragged me, kicking and screaming, out of my thoughts. I wasn't completely out of them yet because I tried to pick up the kettle without the mitt and wound up with a very scorched hand and boiling hot water on the floor, curses streaming from my mouth. I didn't sense him come in until he was standing me up from my crouch on the floor where I was trying to pick up the pieces of the kettle and leading me over to the sink.
"You total half-wit. You coulda burned your blasted hand off," he said, trying and failing to be the unconcerned stranger as he gently held my hand under the cold water.
As he runs a finger over the burn in the middle of my palm, a whimper forces itself out of my throat before I can stop it. Damnit, you ninny. Get yer arse in gear. It's just a burn. You've gotten worse. It's true, but I'll be damned (again) if I'll admit it. He hears the whimper and leans down to check the burn, looking it over.
"You'll be fine. Just be more careful, next time. What were you brooding about, anyway?" he asks as he wraps up my hand with a dish towel.
As usual, my mouth operates faster than my brain and I answer him, "Why I left." Then my brain catches up with me and my mouth opens up again except it's only forming a wide 'O' of surprise.
His expression mirrors mine and I try and stammer an excuse, but he won't let me. Putting a finger to my lips, he silences me and then begins to speak, "Oh, really? You've finally figured out why? After what, six, seven years? Took you long enough. So, tell me, oh wise one, why didja leave then?"
As I open my mouth to talk again, he says, "But! If you don't tell the truth, I will walk out of here so fast, not even you'll see me."
I nod and he moves his finger away. Okay, here's your chance. Tell him you love him, that you're sorry you got scared of where you were going with him and left and that you want him to stay with you, my little inner voice gives me a pep talk and I open my mouth to say something but only air comes out. My little inner voice is now ready to kill me.
He looks like he's ready to walk out any second. I close my mouth and my eyes, take a deep breath through my nose, open my mouth again and..."Iloveyou,I'msorryIleft.Pleasestay."
He blinks at me. "What?" he asks, cocking his head to the side.
My little inner voice now has the chains set up and the holy water in a basin next to them.
I take another deep breath. "Spike, I am so sorry that I left. Honestly, I am. I just...I realized that morning...the morning that I left that I was in love with you. More than I ever was. Even more than I was with Buffy. I was so happy when I realized it but then my brain kicked in and reminded me of my little happiness clause and I...I didn't want him coming out and...hurting you again. I didn't want you hurt again so I did the only thing I could. I left," I say all of this slowly to him as if trying to find my words. I keep my head down so I don't see the looks flitting across his eyes.
I finally look up into his blue eyes when he puts a finger under my chin and I'm surprised to see they are filled with tears again. I take this the completely wrong way and start to stammer an apology. He just laughs softly at this and stops me from speaking with his own lips. I gasp softly in surprise. I thought he was mad at me. Guess not. Well, I'm not objecting, seeing as his tongue enters my mouth when it opens and I give a soft sigh to him, a soft sigh of contentment. Not perfect contentment because that's just too risky, but it's pretty damn close.
When he pulls away from the kiss, I smile at him as he rests his forehead on mine. Then something occurs to me and I look out of the window. It's still raining and I move over to sit on the window seat, looking out of the glass.
Spike comes to sit next to me and I pull him close with a smile.
It's always raining, but everything's changed.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-17 05:08 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing it.
*hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-17 05:54 pm (UTC):hug:
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-17 06:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-17 06:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-20 07:50 pm (UTC)And good.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-04-20 08:42 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked this, darlin'. Feel loved 'cause you're like the only Durandite who I've allowed to see my stories so...Yeah. Hehe.
(P.S. The icon on here will explain why I write Spangel, hun. *smirk*)