Spuffyficathon, Part 4
Sep. 3rd, 2004 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookOkay, perhaps I'm working the metaphor a little hard here, but... as we pause, to watch the sunrise... (this part is still PG)
Dirty Back Road, Part Four
----------
Spike and Buffy rode the cycle in silence.
The fight with the Kendruns had been... tough, Buffy thought, but nothing they couldn't handle. It had been--
a blur of violent motion, like when Spike and I fought in that building
--kind of liberating, in a way, to just let herself go, have nothing on her mind at all except getting through the next opponent and then the next and the next. She'd been almost sad when it was over, when they'd managed to make it to the motorcycle to get away. Although duh, getting away was certainly a good, obviously she realized that. Definitely better than losing or getting caught.
Only... it had been... amazing, in a way, how smoothly she and Spike had worked together. How they'd fought side by side, with no need for signals or cues, just their own internal rhythyms, natural, perfect. Even their retreat from the battle had been absolutely in sync; leaping on the cycle together just ahead of a last horde of reinforcements, Spike kickstarting the bike while Buffy fended off the last of the Kendruns trying to assault their backs, half-standing on the motorcycle seat and spin-kicking one last demon as the engine roared to life and they screeched away, clouds of dust flying in their wake. She'd dropped into the seat behind him as the rear wheel spun on a dime, her hands locking around his waist just before the acceleration snapped her head back, laughing out loud with sheer, unadulterated joy.
That had been about an hour ago. Since then, her adrenaline had more or less evaporated. Buffy was thoroughly tired, worn out and sore. The steady drone and vibration of the cycle had long since become monotonous. Her head throbbed. Her stomach ached. Her butt really, really hurt.
And they weren't going to make it back to Sunnydale on time.
She'd been watching, for the last several minutes, the sky in the east growing brighter with a feeling of sickening dread. All that fighting, and her passing out--hours gone from the schedule. She thought back to the ride to the farm--forested area, long stretch of highway. They were still on the highway.
They weren't going to make it.
Oh, Spike had tried, she had to give him that. In fact, he kept driving until the sky was nearly orange, pushed it as far as he could. But eventually he was forced to stop, turning the bike around in a screech of wheels. He shot off on a new trajectory then, bulleting off the freeway at an exit advertising gas, food, lodging. Spike pulled into the first driveway available, launched himself off the bike and into a motel office with the sunrise licking at his heels. No more than seconds to spare.
Buffy kept her seat on the bike, just breathing in the sudden quiet, the cooling tick of the engine as the first rays of sunlight spilled across the road. They were in the parking lot of some trucker motel, one of those cinderblock places without a courtyard or a pool, just rows of parked big-rigs, the shady overhang of some trees, the morning light painting the whole thing in gold.
She didn't know what she was going to do.
Because this--this wasn't spur-of-the-moment gropeage in a hayloft. This wasn't a heat-of-the-moment decision while her adrenaline was pumped up, a choice between kissing him or killing him. This was checking into a motel together.
She wasn't even going to kid herself about that.
They'd have sex. Probably a lot of it. Probably all day. Her sore muscles were yearning for a bed, and wow, the picture just drew itself from there. Maybe there'd be taunting, some kind of banter, and she'd complain about her aching butt, and he'd...
make her forget all about it
Really not too likely that they'd spend the whole day not looking at each other and staring at the TV.
The office door opened, and Spike emerged holding a key. Stared across the sunny parking lot toward her and frowned. Rolling her eyes, Buffy got off the bike, pushing it toward the shady area in the back. He edged along a rusty cement sidewalk to join her, carefully skirting around interruptions in the shade where the sidewalk was broken up by a protruding newspaper box or soda machine. It was the first time she'd actually watched him do that, dodge sunlight, leaping from one shadow to another like a little kid playing hopscotch.
Step on a crack, break your mother's back.
"Got us a room," he said, holding up the key.
"Right," she heard herself say. His cheek was scuffed, a bloody scratch right on the sharpest point, and there was a ugly bruise near his forehead that didn't quite manage to look like a hoofprint. She wondered if people who got beaten up by Kendruns liked to claim they'd fallen in a horse pen and gotten trampled.
They walked together in silence, Buffy still pushing the motorcycle. Their room was tucked securely into the corner of the building's "L" shape, shielded from the sun by two intersecting overhangs. The room's door was metal, and made a protesting screech as Spike keyed the door open and swung it wide.
Still fumbling with the cycle's kickstand, Buffy peered inside. Typical ugly room. Mud-brown carpeting, cheap furniture, small TV. Stale air sighing from a battered air conditioner. Floral print bedspread in garish yellow and orange.
King-size bed.
Spike stepped over the threshold, tossed the keys on the nightstand. Shrugged out of his coat and threw it over a chair. Hands still on the handlebars, the bike parked in the sun, Buffy shivered as if she were frozen.
"Buffy? C'mon love, come inside. Make yourself at home."
God, look at him sitting there, all still with the bed hair--no, tufty, that was it, mussed up from the fight--unlacing his boots on the edge of that big bed like the whole thing was a foregone conclusion. That she'd be all, sure, honey, why don't I just come on in? And then with the--
being cooped up in a room with him for hours and hours with nothing else to do but get with the hot monkey sex
It just seemed so... premeditated.
"Nothing with two beds, huh?" She winced even as she said it. A smarter question might have been whether or not they could get two rooms.
He widened his eyes a little, then bit his lip in that cute way he sometimes did, slowly shook his head. Bounced a little as if to say, Umm, comfy. Feel the quality of that box spring.
Buffy still couldn't bring herself to move.
God, how did she get herself into these situtations, anyway? He'd said one night. One night, and then they'd be back in Sunnydale, no harm done. That had been the original plan. To roll back into town at dawn, so she could climb the stairs to her own cozy bed, lie there in the sunlight and sleep soundly from a night of righteously enjoyable adventure.
It wasn't part of the plan for her to be standing here, on some sidewalk halfway between Sunnydale and Bakersfield, listening to the drone of sixteen-wheelers while her vampiric sidekick tried to lure her in to share his dark and secret den.
Her mind ran through the possibilties again. She'd come inside. The door would shut. She'd stay there, at the door. Not trying to be seductive or anything. Spike would get up and he'd walk toward her with that pantherish prowl. Door and curtains closed, the room would be dark. He'd be a shadow, nothing but glints and highlights--his bright hair, his eyes, the reflections from his jewelry. He'd started to wear those rings recently, she didn't know why, but they were kind of weirdly exciting. Distracting. Then he'd lean in, brace his arms against the wall on either side of her face. She'd see the rings glittering out of the corners of her eyes. Then he'd pin her body with his, and--
There was no way she could do this.
"Buffy?" His voice sounded a little puzzled now. He was still sitting on the bed. "C'mon inside, will you? Time for a nice rest." He smoothed a hand across the bedspread, gave the space next to him an inviting little pat.
She let her hands drop from the handlebars. She hadn't even realized it yet, but the sun was already getting hot; her hands were sweaty from gripping the warming metal. She walked up to the door. Stood there, just outside the threshold, in a warm patch of sun.
Inside, he tilted his head at her, face open and blank. He did that sometimes--too often, really--looked at her like he was reading her mind, like he could see right inside her. Her worst fears generally revolved around him opening his mouth and saying those things out loud.
What are you afraid of, pet?
With a single swift motion, she put one foot across the doorway, then scooped up the room key from the nightstand, stepped backward through the door and pulled it shut. Stood there panting on the border between light and dark.
----------
On the other side of the hotel there was a coffeeshop. Beige vinyl and chrome, country music on the jukebox. Bustling and loud, especially for this time of the morning, stuffed to the gills with truckers getting their cholesterol on and fueling up with coffee for a big day on the road.
Buffy ordered breakfast. Tried not to notice the waitresses in their polyester uniforms, or think of the time when she'd been one too. Shivered in the blasting air conditioning, shoveled in eggs and coffee. Looked out the window at the sunlight and traffic and tried to figure out what to do.
Anywhere else she could go to spend the day? Not really. Even if there was another room available she had no money. There was nothing else much in the area either, nothing but fast food places and gas stations, and even negotiating the distance between those places seemed like too exhausting a task. The heat, even this early in the morning, had astonished her. The night air had been blissfully cool, the sky a carpet of stars. That same sky was now a merciless blue, all that open space nearly taken up by the blazing sun. Just walking to the coffeeshop along the side of the road, trying not to flinch at the constant gusting motion of the passing trucks, had been enough to leave her drenched in sweat. She'd dived into the low glass building like a sanctuary, shuddering gratefully at the first blast of frigid air.
Only now, breakfast finished and nursing a big glass of iced tea, she was actually feeling cold. She couldn't stay here--she couldn't take up a whole booth for the entire day just drinking coffee, for one--and the chill of the air conditioning was actually becoming something of a problem. Too hot or too cold, there never seemed to be anything in between.
Well, actually... there was. She stared out the diner's big front window into the shimmering heat and all she could think of was going back to that ugly room and crawling under the covers of that big bed. It sounded like... heaven.
So why don't you? an internal voice asked her. It's not like you know anyone here. No one's going to recognize you. You're in the middle of nowhere in a no-tell motel, why do you even bother to care?
She didn't really know. Well, some part of her didn't. What difference did it make, really, if she added another day to her list of sexual memories with Spike? Because yeah, he'd probably let her sleep before they got to the sex part, but it would happen, she knew that. He'd make it worth her while too--spread her out in the middle of that big bed like she was some precious jewel, give her sore and vibraty muscles a massage if she asked him to. Spend the whole day getting her to make cooing sounds.
What's stopping you?
It wasn't guilt that was stopping her, that certainly wasn't it. She didn't feel guilty about anything they'd done together--invisible Buffy had thought going to his crypt for sex was a fine idea, ditto slamming him up against a wall and tearing open his shirt. Not much point in pretending to be a prude.
No, it was the frequency of this thing that was getting to her. One time was one thing. Literally. One thing. Or rather, a lot of one things in one night, but same idea. Twice was... something else, a little harder to excuse, but she could do that, excuse it. She'd been invisible, giddy. And yeah, she'd gone a little nuts with it, dived on him like he was a tasty treat. But that wasn't a habit. That was impulse, like bingeing on a carton of Ben & Jerry's you just happened to find in your fridge.
But going back to that room now, knowing what would happen... that would be like...
Like being his girlfriend or something. Oh, Spike, sweep me into your manly arms and take me now!
She shook off the thought, drank some more iced tea. Outside the window, fields stretched in every direction. On the other side of the highway, there were a few weeping willow trees. She remembered a strong smell of onions in the air.
But it didn't have to be that way, she thought. She didn't have to act like some blushing, swoony girl who couldn't take her eyes off his cheekbones--that wasn't her. She was the Slayer. She was in charge here, not him. And she wasn't going to turn all melty over his blue, blue eyes or his yummy deep voice--she was tougher than that. She was Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, and she'd be damned if she'd let herself be turned into some joke about not being able to keep her hands off the merchandise.
She stood up. A couple of the cowboys in another booth were looking at her funny; she didn't like it. Not that she couldn't have handled them if they'd tried anything, even as tired as she was, but having to deal with creepy leers first thing in the morning? That was a bit much.
He gives me that tongue-between-his-teeth thing, and I'm gonna knock him across the room.
She pushed open the glass door, stepped back out into the baking heat. Gasped as the hot winds stirred her hair, and slowly made her way back to the room.
He'd be sprawled out on the bed watching TV, of course. She paused at the door.
Couldn't keep away from me, could you? Knew you'd come back.
She set her jaw firmly, pushed in the key, and opened the door.
Dirty Back Road, Part Four
----------
Spike and Buffy rode the cycle in silence.
The fight with the Kendruns had been... tough, Buffy thought, but nothing they couldn't handle. It had been--
a blur of violent motion, like when Spike and I fought in that building
--kind of liberating, in a way, to just let herself go, have nothing on her mind at all except getting through the next opponent and then the next and the next. She'd been almost sad when it was over, when they'd managed to make it to the motorcycle to get away. Although duh, getting away was certainly a good, obviously she realized that. Definitely better than losing or getting caught.
Only... it had been... amazing, in a way, how smoothly she and Spike had worked together. How they'd fought side by side, with no need for signals or cues, just their own internal rhythyms, natural, perfect. Even their retreat from the battle had been absolutely in sync; leaping on the cycle together just ahead of a last horde of reinforcements, Spike kickstarting the bike while Buffy fended off the last of the Kendruns trying to assault their backs, half-standing on the motorcycle seat and spin-kicking one last demon as the engine roared to life and they screeched away, clouds of dust flying in their wake. She'd dropped into the seat behind him as the rear wheel spun on a dime, her hands locking around his waist just before the acceleration snapped her head back, laughing out loud with sheer, unadulterated joy.
That had been about an hour ago. Since then, her adrenaline had more or less evaporated. Buffy was thoroughly tired, worn out and sore. The steady drone and vibration of the cycle had long since become monotonous. Her head throbbed. Her stomach ached. Her butt really, really hurt.
And they weren't going to make it back to Sunnydale on time.
She'd been watching, for the last several minutes, the sky in the east growing brighter with a feeling of sickening dread. All that fighting, and her passing out--hours gone from the schedule. She thought back to the ride to the farm--forested area, long stretch of highway. They were still on the highway.
They weren't going to make it.
Oh, Spike had tried, she had to give him that. In fact, he kept driving until the sky was nearly orange, pushed it as far as he could. But eventually he was forced to stop, turning the bike around in a screech of wheels. He shot off on a new trajectory then, bulleting off the freeway at an exit advertising gas, food, lodging. Spike pulled into the first driveway available, launched himself off the bike and into a motel office with the sunrise licking at his heels. No more than seconds to spare.
Buffy kept her seat on the bike, just breathing in the sudden quiet, the cooling tick of the engine as the first rays of sunlight spilled across the road. They were in the parking lot of some trucker motel, one of those cinderblock places without a courtyard or a pool, just rows of parked big-rigs, the shady overhang of some trees, the morning light painting the whole thing in gold.
She didn't know what she was going to do.
Because this--this wasn't spur-of-the-moment gropeage in a hayloft. This wasn't a heat-of-the-moment decision while her adrenaline was pumped up, a choice between kissing him or killing him. This was checking into a motel together.
She wasn't even going to kid herself about that.
They'd have sex. Probably a lot of it. Probably all day. Her sore muscles were yearning for a bed, and wow, the picture just drew itself from there. Maybe there'd be taunting, some kind of banter, and she'd complain about her aching butt, and he'd...
make her forget all about it
Really not too likely that they'd spend the whole day not looking at each other and staring at the TV.
The office door opened, and Spike emerged holding a key. Stared across the sunny parking lot toward her and frowned. Rolling her eyes, Buffy got off the bike, pushing it toward the shady area in the back. He edged along a rusty cement sidewalk to join her, carefully skirting around interruptions in the shade where the sidewalk was broken up by a protruding newspaper box or soda machine. It was the first time she'd actually watched him do that, dodge sunlight, leaping from one shadow to another like a little kid playing hopscotch.
Step on a crack, break your mother's back.
"Got us a room," he said, holding up the key.
"Right," she heard herself say. His cheek was scuffed, a bloody scratch right on the sharpest point, and there was a ugly bruise near his forehead that didn't quite manage to look like a hoofprint. She wondered if people who got beaten up by Kendruns liked to claim they'd fallen in a horse pen and gotten trampled.
They walked together in silence, Buffy still pushing the motorcycle. Their room was tucked securely into the corner of the building's "L" shape, shielded from the sun by two intersecting overhangs. The room's door was metal, and made a protesting screech as Spike keyed the door open and swung it wide.
Still fumbling with the cycle's kickstand, Buffy peered inside. Typical ugly room. Mud-brown carpeting, cheap furniture, small TV. Stale air sighing from a battered air conditioner. Floral print bedspread in garish yellow and orange.
King-size bed.
Spike stepped over the threshold, tossed the keys on the nightstand. Shrugged out of his coat and threw it over a chair. Hands still on the handlebars, the bike parked in the sun, Buffy shivered as if she were frozen.
"Buffy? C'mon love, come inside. Make yourself at home."
God, look at him sitting there, all still with the bed hair--no, tufty, that was it, mussed up from the fight--unlacing his boots on the edge of that big bed like the whole thing was a foregone conclusion. That she'd be all, sure, honey, why don't I just come on in? And then with the--
being cooped up in a room with him for hours and hours with nothing else to do but get with the hot monkey sex
It just seemed so... premeditated.
"Nothing with two beds, huh?" She winced even as she said it. A smarter question might have been whether or not they could get two rooms.
He widened his eyes a little, then bit his lip in that cute way he sometimes did, slowly shook his head. Bounced a little as if to say, Umm, comfy. Feel the quality of that box spring.
Buffy still couldn't bring herself to move.
God, how did she get herself into these situtations, anyway? He'd said one night. One night, and then they'd be back in Sunnydale, no harm done. That had been the original plan. To roll back into town at dawn, so she could climb the stairs to her own cozy bed, lie there in the sunlight and sleep soundly from a night of righteously enjoyable adventure.
It wasn't part of the plan for her to be standing here, on some sidewalk halfway between Sunnydale and Bakersfield, listening to the drone of sixteen-wheelers while her vampiric sidekick tried to lure her in to share his dark and secret den.
Her mind ran through the possibilties again. She'd come inside. The door would shut. She'd stay there, at the door. Not trying to be seductive or anything. Spike would get up and he'd walk toward her with that pantherish prowl. Door and curtains closed, the room would be dark. He'd be a shadow, nothing but glints and highlights--his bright hair, his eyes, the reflections from his jewelry. He'd started to wear those rings recently, she didn't know why, but they were kind of weirdly exciting. Distracting. Then he'd lean in, brace his arms against the wall on either side of her face. She'd see the rings glittering out of the corners of her eyes. Then he'd pin her body with his, and--
There was no way she could do this.
"Buffy?" His voice sounded a little puzzled now. He was still sitting on the bed. "C'mon inside, will you? Time for a nice rest." He smoothed a hand across the bedspread, gave the space next to him an inviting little pat.
She let her hands drop from the handlebars. She hadn't even realized it yet, but the sun was already getting hot; her hands were sweaty from gripping the warming metal. She walked up to the door. Stood there, just outside the threshold, in a warm patch of sun.
Inside, he tilted his head at her, face open and blank. He did that sometimes--too often, really--looked at her like he was reading her mind, like he could see right inside her. Her worst fears generally revolved around him opening his mouth and saying those things out loud.
What are you afraid of, pet?
With a single swift motion, she put one foot across the doorway, then scooped up the room key from the nightstand, stepped backward through the door and pulled it shut. Stood there panting on the border between light and dark.
----------
On the other side of the hotel there was a coffeeshop. Beige vinyl and chrome, country music on the jukebox. Bustling and loud, especially for this time of the morning, stuffed to the gills with truckers getting their cholesterol on and fueling up with coffee for a big day on the road.
Buffy ordered breakfast. Tried not to notice the waitresses in their polyester uniforms, or think of the time when she'd been one too. Shivered in the blasting air conditioning, shoveled in eggs and coffee. Looked out the window at the sunlight and traffic and tried to figure out what to do.
Anywhere else she could go to spend the day? Not really. Even if there was another room available she had no money. There was nothing else much in the area either, nothing but fast food places and gas stations, and even negotiating the distance between those places seemed like too exhausting a task. The heat, even this early in the morning, had astonished her. The night air had been blissfully cool, the sky a carpet of stars. That same sky was now a merciless blue, all that open space nearly taken up by the blazing sun. Just walking to the coffeeshop along the side of the road, trying not to flinch at the constant gusting motion of the passing trucks, had been enough to leave her drenched in sweat. She'd dived into the low glass building like a sanctuary, shuddering gratefully at the first blast of frigid air.
Only now, breakfast finished and nursing a big glass of iced tea, she was actually feeling cold. She couldn't stay here--she couldn't take up a whole booth for the entire day just drinking coffee, for one--and the chill of the air conditioning was actually becoming something of a problem. Too hot or too cold, there never seemed to be anything in between.
Well, actually... there was. She stared out the diner's big front window into the shimmering heat and all she could think of was going back to that ugly room and crawling under the covers of that big bed. It sounded like... heaven.
So why don't you? an internal voice asked her. It's not like you know anyone here. No one's going to recognize you. You're in the middle of nowhere in a no-tell motel, why do you even bother to care?
She didn't really know. Well, some part of her didn't. What difference did it make, really, if she added another day to her list of sexual memories with Spike? Because yeah, he'd probably let her sleep before they got to the sex part, but it would happen, she knew that. He'd make it worth her while too--spread her out in the middle of that big bed like she was some precious jewel, give her sore and vibraty muscles a massage if she asked him to. Spend the whole day getting her to make cooing sounds.
What's stopping you?
It wasn't guilt that was stopping her, that certainly wasn't it. She didn't feel guilty about anything they'd done together--invisible Buffy had thought going to his crypt for sex was a fine idea, ditto slamming him up against a wall and tearing open his shirt. Not much point in pretending to be a prude.
No, it was the frequency of this thing that was getting to her. One time was one thing. Literally. One thing. Or rather, a lot of one things in one night, but same idea. Twice was... something else, a little harder to excuse, but she could do that, excuse it. She'd been invisible, giddy. And yeah, she'd gone a little nuts with it, dived on him like he was a tasty treat. But that wasn't a habit. That was impulse, like bingeing on a carton of Ben & Jerry's you just happened to find in your fridge.
But going back to that room now, knowing what would happen... that would be like...
Like being his girlfriend or something. Oh, Spike, sweep me into your manly arms and take me now!
She shook off the thought, drank some more iced tea. Outside the window, fields stretched in every direction. On the other side of the highway, there were a few weeping willow trees. She remembered a strong smell of onions in the air.
But it didn't have to be that way, she thought. She didn't have to act like some blushing, swoony girl who couldn't take her eyes off his cheekbones--that wasn't her. She was the Slayer. She was in charge here, not him. And she wasn't going to turn all melty over his blue, blue eyes or his yummy deep voice--she was tougher than that. She was Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, and she'd be damned if she'd let herself be turned into some joke about not being able to keep her hands off the merchandise.
She stood up. A couple of the cowboys in another booth were looking at her funny; she didn't like it. Not that she couldn't have handled them if they'd tried anything, even as tired as she was, but having to deal with creepy leers first thing in the morning? That was a bit much.
He gives me that tongue-between-his-teeth thing, and I'm gonna knock him across the room.
She pushed open the glass door, stepped back out into the baking heat. Gasped as the hot winds stirred her hair, and slowly made her way back to the room.
He'd be sprawled out on the bed watching TV, of course. She paused at the door.
Couldn't keep away from me, could you? Knew you'd come back.
She set her jaw firmly, pushed in the key, and opened the door.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-03 07:22 pm (UTC)Great chapter!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-04 02:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-04 02:21 am (UTC)They surprise each other (like another vamp and my heroine do); they always surprise each other and do the unexpected. That's the Spike and Buffy I wanna read about, baby. Even if I wasn't already hooked (no pun intended) I would be NOW. more more more...
I had a hard day...
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-04 03:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-04 05:38 am (UTC)How they'd fought side by side, with no need for signals or cues, just their own internal rhythyms, natural, perfect.
And that's a fact that's seldom addressed. How he could be her match, in all of that. We've seen them fight that way together, depending on the other just knowing what to do, and then doing it. That's something I think she needs, to keep from feeling so alone in all the world, and that's something that Riley could never provide without artificial assistance. No bashing of the big lug intended, just an honest observation. Don't know if all the love in the world can help you cross a big gap like that.
Her worst fears generally revolved around him opening his mouth and saying those things out loud.
Yes, Spike does always have the talent for zeroing right in on the things that bother you the most, doesn't he? Good observation.
I like your self-aware Buffy, and that she's not in denial about who's been initiating the sex, but only not sure if she likes the implied relationship. I think a lot of writers (including some at ME), play her far too much as the victim of Spike's sexual predation - "Why do I let him do those things to me?" Well duh, woman - because you like them, why else? That just makes her sound stupid. Nope, yours is much better. Not so innocent, and not so ignorant.
Now, having said all that, I expect that Buffy is heading back into that motel room where she's going to be calling all the shots...
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-04 05:59 am (UTC)Oh, not so much avoidy as just a slow windup. Never fear. : )
that's something that Riley could never provide without artificial assistance. No bashing of the big lug intended, just an honest observation
I think Buffy and Riley definitely had their moments - in "Hush" and "Doomed" they worked pretty well as a team, I thought, but first she started pulling away and then he did, so it seemed like the emotional storms got in the way of their teamwork. Since for Buffy and Spike never had anything but emotional storms, maybe that factor was simply less distracting. (Although I obviously also hold the opinion that they were particularly sympatico anyway, so whatcha gonna do?)
I like your self-aware Buffy, and that she's not in denial about who's been initiating the sex, but only not sure if she likes the implied relationship.
Ooh, thanky. That's kind of why I picked this moment in their relationship to talk about - it's right between an episode where she obviously initiated sex for fun, and one where she's using it for comfort. Somewhere in the middle there, I figure, she had to have come up with a viewpoint on their "we don't have a thing" relationship.
Now, having said all that, I expect that Buffy is heading back into that motel room where she's going to be calling all the shots...
Oh, I think I can oblige you there... (wink)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-04 12:41 pm (UTC)