Fic; Ten Reasons to Change or Simply Stay the Same; NC-17 overall

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It’s my day so here is my offering. I’ve been really enjoying what’s been going on here. And thanks to all those who make this place possible!!

Title: Ten Reasons to Change or Simply Stay the Same
Author: lillianmorgan
Setting: the aftermath of As You Were really, although it’s setting within canon could go right the way up to Normal Again.
Rating: NC-17, but only in bits and pieces
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Disclaimer: Not mine, such is the woe. Or, possibly, woah.
Author’s Notes: Ten one-offs as to why and why not the Spike/Buffy relationship works and has possible potential to work some more. Started off as drabbles, but there was too much to say, and I decided not to be so restrictive on myself. First person POV, shifting between Buffy and Spike.
Thanks so much to yourlibrarian  for all her time and effort on the beta work, really, really appreciated. Plus there was some last minute tinkering – any mistakes are therefore mine.
Written for seasonal_spuffy

Ten Reasons to Change or Simply Stay the Same

Catullus 85
Odi et amo, quare id faciam fortasse requiris?
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
I hate and I love. You ask why I do this?
I don’t know, but it happens and I am pained.


The End

I called him William. Not that there was much to break up over, it had all just been sex. And a bit of feeling, maybe.

I finally realised what it meant to treat him not as a monster, but as a man. That this thing between us was hurting us both. I couldn’t trust him, because when I touched him all I felt was fire and how can you ever live up to that? If someone loves with this burning kind of passion and it’s like all that he ever, ever wanted was me, and it was so intense for him and you don’t feel the same way, what can you do? Really?

Besides, he only saw me. I had other things to worry about. So, the thing between us never affected him. Not like for me. He had the easy out, he’s the demon. I’m just somewhere, undiscovered, in between.

He looked so sad when I said his name and it took so much to push the name past my lips. But I did it and walked away.

To where I’m not really sure.


She called me William. Brought all the bleeding memories of that stupid ponce flooding back. After all, that name had only been used as a term of derision – sires, elders, so-called friends, women floating so high as if they were on Icarus’ flight plan. And now her, added to the list of pain.

Should have said something, anything to crawl back a bit of respect. For her to use that name in that moment. Bloody Slayers – always would get the better of me, as too oft protesting sires had claimed.

William. Bloody ponce. Another hurt to add to the liturgy of my distress.



There’s no denying how good he was in bed, no matter how much the level of wig. If I deny it, it’ll only mean I’ll give in and find myself outside his crypt door. Again. For in denial lies the madness.

The things he could do, the things he taught me, the things I bared to him. When I was alone with him all the passion that was trapped inside just came spilling out of me. And that made such a big difference to every other day facing the passionless, monotony of being alive. Not saying good or better, just … different.

He made me feel special, wanted…passionately needed. And I should thank him for that. I really, really should.

But I won’t.


Taught the Slayer a thing or two about carnal matters. Only right that it be so. She’s just legal in some states and I’m steeped in experience. But if it were only one-way, well where’d be the fun?

She was insatiable; more so than any human I’d ever fucked. Must be the demon essence inside her that spurs her on to suck the way she did. Then swallow. Beautiful, copious amounts down her willowy neck, undulating and exposing the curve and line and…

That’s gone now of course. Her passion. The thing that lit up the room when she let all instinct and thought fly from her body.



It always sorta confused me how I wanted the fire, and Fate gave me him. He was anything but fire – he was cold and dead and like the grave.

But, then, whoever controlled these things probably knew, like I do, that that was only skin deep. Like that thing he could do with his tongue; not just the touch, the scraping and licking, the mixture of soft and sweet and hard and raw, and the way he spoke too, the things he said, how his accent lulled me or drove me wild to hysterical distraction.

That was his fire. And because I was never cold in those moments, I could never combat it. I always surrendered to his flame.


She liked my candles, I think. Used to pass her dainty, little fingers across the top of them, sometimes in my crypt, when the light they gave off was guttering so against the wall, and her eyes would get that glazed look and I’d speak or touch and receive a ‘Come hither’ crooked finger or a back-handed slap.

For a girl who spent her best times in the dark, she was enamoured with the fire. Was it the light? Or was it the deepest, darkest things that only existed at the centre? The wild things that made her soar and shake from pleasure.

For myself, always displayed candles ‘cos I’m a Victorian gent. And maybe kept using them because she liked them. But don’t go whisperin’ that little secret, right?



The thing with Spike was that his beauty came from contradiction – he looked like this weird punk guy from the ‘80s, hard and brittle, who’d either snap you in two or lick your…you know… if he wanted to. But he also didn’t want to be in control – he wanted to be controlled, because sometimes he was soft and pliant and beautiful at the hard edges.

I’d never admit it but he was beautiful. All sharp, sleek curves and points – he’d say delectable, and probably run his hands over his body and lick his lips and…


I broke up with him why?

Yeah, not because he isn’t good to look at, because he’s most definitely that. Because a vampire never gets old. Retains that beautiful perfection for eternity. Even if he looked sad and lost and skinny as hell from deprivation of love.

I broke up with him … I mean it’s not as if … well, there were other reasons.


To see her in the middle of a fight; to still at the centre point of the turning world, stand back and watch, well, it was fucking magnificence, mate. Swirling symmetry as arms curved for greatest impact, and legs spun and shucked their way through kicks and twists. It wasn’t just the violence, it was the artistry – the way she controlled a fight from start to finish, set the pace, decided when it started and when it most definitely reached its conclusion.

It was beautiful. And addictive. And glorious to behold. Unless you were on the inevitable losing end.

And when she caught you unawares, grabbed you by the ghoulies and took you for a ride you weren’t expecting, well…

Liked her hair though. Beautiful tresses. Used to shimmer when the light caressed them from above. Pity she cut those locks off, really. Was the one time she listened to me, I expect, and look where it got me.



Sometimes, when it was quiet, and I’d lie beside him, and he’d contemplate me, run his fingers through my hair, sometimes whisper sweet profanities, or just be content to be…beside me, I wouldn’t think of anything but him. Those moments were sweet. But seldom.

If it was quiet and he was quiet, my brain sometimes drifted to wonder what would happen if Willow and Xander found out. If they accepted things…or not. They really hate him, don’t they? Or maybe they only mildly dislike him. I could never tell, sometimes. What if they only rolled their eyes, whispered to each other in sarcastic voices in that Xander-Willow-only-club kinda way, ‘She’s got a thing for vampires. They get her hot.’ Like it’s some kind of badge I wear. With honour.

But that night on the balcony was danger and separation and he taught me that the two could never mix.


Those fucking friends of hers. Reason she kept everything hush-hush. More than that, though. Was a reason for the danger, something to make her feel naughty. If she kept everything to herself, it was for herself only, she was being illicit and walking on the dark side with the Big Bad.

Showed her the dark side that night at the Bronze. Watching them prance below in their naïve little way. Still wet for me though, still came gushing and sweeping me up through her divine cunny.

Was it ever about them? Reckon some of it, yes. Truth be told, wouldn’t have wanted to play nice-nice in any case with the two of them, too many hurts on all sides. Liked the quiet between her and me.

Liked to taunt her though. Probably still will. Unless it gets that she hurts me more than I’m hurting now.



He’s one thing or the other, but never in the middle. And so when I became the thing, he never let go, he worked and worked and worked and worked on me, ‘til it felt like I gave up, stood in the middle of the room and said ‘Alright already! Have it your way!’ Except the floor gave way beneath me, and I fell.

He’s devoted, and you’re the only thing that matters to him. He’ll do anything for you – even bury a body that’s long dead. He’ll follow you with his eyes as you walk from one side to the other, making sure you don’t falter. He’ll listen without interrupting to anything you say, no matter how toxic.

He’ll make you do all sorts of things you never thought you’d do – kiss as though your lips were demanding his touch, savour it when he goes down, show you that going down on him is just as fun, finding out that enjoyment can be power and pain rolled into pleasure.


Yeah so I’m love’s bitch. What’s more to say?



I haven’t felt right since they brought me back. Not in tune with the world. Not able to deal with anything that comes at me. Not ready for the ups and downs, just numb and wanting to stay that way.

He and I used to talk and sometimes that helped. Hearing someone else talk about the things that only went around in my head. But when the talking stopped other things took over, and I got majorly good at repressing.

I told him all the things I’m doing to him that I hated in myself. I’ve turned into this person that’s completely alien from everything I believed in – and part of that’s him, and part of that’s me. The weakness and selfishness tasted so good, but how can I love him … when I can’t love myself?


Yeah, so the Slayer’s mixed up. Confused. Doesn’t mean she’s confused about me – about wanting to be with me. Sex on a stick and she’s got all she needs right here, whenever she feels like it, she can take it. Serviceable. Using me. Everything she ever wanted.

‘Cept it’s not, is it? Told me so. Told me that she can’t love me and she’s weak and she’s selfish. And I was killing her. Awful lot of dying, in the Shakespearean sense, going on before she decided it was bad.

Probably wasn’t right, really. If I think deep down inside, and listen to the quiet voice that’s always out-shouted by the demon. Not what she needs, not really.

But still love her. Can’t change that, can’t change the way I feel about her. The burning consuming passion just to be with her and make her feel that she is the most glorious creature in this entire fucking universe and if she’d only let me, I’d be all hers.



Dawn was once in love with Spike. She denied it, but not because he was an evil, soulless fiend, but because she’s a teenager. She was embarrassed I’d discovered her secret, and who shares these kinds of things with your sister? And also because she was carrying a torch for someone whose eyes wandered elsewhere.

Not that I’d ever had experience with the sharing thing, but she used to stand up for him, like some kind of loony, devoted sidekick.

I think, if I’m honest, she’s the one person I’ve avoided all along. The look in her eyes when I tell her. The admission that all I’ve stood for has come crashing down. She’d probably be jealous, she’d cry about how he left her for me (which is true, if you think about it) but most of all she’d look at me with eyes that shriek, ‘You hypocrite.’ And then she’d probably scream and yell ‘Get out’ and it’d be like ‘Yes, totally inadequate sister of the year goes once more to Buffy Summers’ and I’d feel so bad all over again.

Because yeah, Spike makes me feel bad. But in a good way.


Missed the Nibblet since the Slayer came back. Thought I did a job, neither good nor bad, but adequate, of minding her. Didn’t die, did she, on my watch? Always kept my promise. Carrying the weight of all that loss with her, offerin’ a shoulder when it seemed necessary, taking up the strain from the others for taking care of her. Thought we had a bond, a deal sealed between fellows.

Trouble was, and always is, that even though there’re two Summers girls, there’s only ever going to be one, yeah? One girl in all the world who’ll work her way into my affection, root herself in by the pointy heels of her stiletto boots and refuse to leave no matter what I throw at her.

Dawn doesn’t belong in there. She doesn’t need it from a demon. And I don’t need it from a teenage girl.

But, I suppose, there’s always love, isn’t there?


The Dance

He used to call what we did, dancing. Funny that when you stop to think. I’ve called Slaying – fighting and killing and maiming and murdering, but he’s the one that comes up with the poetic and passionate title.

It’s a dance to the death, only we don’t know whose yet.

If he’d never got the chip, would he still be alive? Would we still be dancing? Would he ever have fallen in love with me? Would I have ever stopped to…?

Considering that we’ve never actually danced, in the traditional sense of the word, I guess it makes him different. I’ve danced with Angel and I’ve danced with Riley. And even a little boogie with Poophead Parker.

Maybe that’s where he was going wrong, or right, all along.

I wonder what he’d be like to dance with? Really?


Used to dream of dancing with the Slayer, before all the hot sex came in the way. Dream of taking her out in a fight, mixing in my head with waltzing her round in pretty, satiny dresses.

Intricate complex dance-steps we’d perform, upon great expanses of polished floors, and I’d hold her in my arms and whisper how good she was, how I enjoyed watching her, the pride that swooped up my body just to call her mine.

Dreams can be fickle things.

Always danced with Slayers. Always enjoyed it. The rush of besting a being superior to me. Yeah, I’m a showoff and I know it, so the adulation that followed was probably some of it, but there, in the moment, on my own, just me and her, knowing how to win, how to take a life from something that’s not afraid of me.

Never dance again with the Slayer now, will I?


The Beginning

Ok so this is hard. And this is pain. And I hurt so very much. Again. Because if there’s one thing I know too well it’s pain. But he always made me feel. Makes me feel…

And I don’t know if I will be strong, but I know I must. I have to stay away from him. I have to learn on my own. I have to find the Slayer again.

And I have to find Buffy.

And I need to know how I can learn to find my gift again.

Because even though he’s there, and he’s devoted, and things fall apart, and they don’t mend themselves ever. And even though maybe he makes my tummy, my heart and my head swirl around and around, and I lose my focus and maybe that’s a good thing but now he’s gone, I hope he won’t be gone forever.

And even after all that, I trust you, Spike. And I hope for the future.


Darkness, that’s what’s in store for me. Without her light to guide me, to shine on me and make me see things differently. Fucking hell.

So, if it’s not her it’s back to what? Dastardedly demon of the night? The Biggest Big Bad? Not back to playing with the cute and furries. Like that’d ever happen.

Only, I’ve lived with this feeling in my chest for so long it’s not like I can undo it. Had a bit of experience with that yeah? Know what’s what on that score. Gallons and gallons of alcohol later and things still are the same. So, yeah, what’s left for me, when the whole fucking centre is ripped and all that’s left is an excruciating, eddying void and I’m pulled this way and that? I mean, I’ve changed, haven’t I?

And I may be battered and broken by love, it may rip me to pieces, but somehow I never forget the sodding how of it, do I?

Or the why. Why I love Buffy the Vampire Slayer with everything I’m not supposed to have – a beating heart, an innocent past and a shiny soul.

And still, after all that, the loveliest sight on this dark earth is you, sweetheart, you that I desire.



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