Updates and Outtakes
Oct. 12th, 2004 01:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookWell, I finally got an all-in-one-page version of Dirty Back Road up and formatted on the Just Stake Me site; the fanfiction section there also has a couple of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
toysdream's ficlets and some of my older stuff. One of these days, I'll get myself motivated to format Bad Trip and work with Toys on the DVD commentary track. Be good motivation for getting back to working on Bad Eurotrip.
Meanwhile, here's a little outtake ficlet from "Dirty Back Road," taken from an earlier version of the ending in which I was planning to go a little heavier into the cheerless sex of Season 6. I was originally going to post this formagista's birthday, but tech troubles have kept me from doing much by way of file moving and big posts. Sigh.
Anyway, rated R, set during "DoubleMeat Palace."
Buffy got a job. She couldn't really avoid it anymore, not with her money situation. Took the first thing she could get, in no mood for even trying to bluff her way through a real interview, making up qualifications she knew she didn't have. So, fast food. After all, Xander had gotten plenty of those jobs. How hard could it be?
Plus she got a free uniform. And free food, while she was working. Bonus.
It was honest work. Good, honest work. Boring, sure, but honest. There was a certain amout of general creepiness and grease, but hey, that was why she was getting paid.
Her feet hurt a lot.
Her friends stopped by, on her second day, all big with the support. That was nice, really--even with the balancing factor of them seeing her standing behind a counter in her dorky polyester clothes. It was just... good to have someone to talk to that she knew. Who understood why she needed to do this.
Except for... oh, speak of the devil.
Spike found out where she was working. It took him no more than two days, which made her wonder about how much he was still following her, or her friends, or whether Dawn still talked to him--she'd have to ask about that. But however he'd managed to find out, obviously he had to make an appearance too, smirking and smiling and asking about the menu while wearing a nice sweater, just what she didn't need. Apparently, this was what she got for agreeing to work night hours. The universe probably figured it served her right.
So, sure, even Spike had to see her wearing this dumb uniform. Worse, because it was him, he didn't even bother trying to put a nice shine on the job sitch like the others had, but went straight for the puppy dog eyes and a argument of what are you doing here, you're better than this. Again, just what she didn't need. Although he would know, wouldn't he, having seen better days himself. And now he wasn't the only one on the decline anymore, was he? God knew her next epitaph probably wasn't going to be as good as her last one.
She sold french fries a lot.
Hearing him say it, though--you're better than this--that kinda made it worse.
So she told him to leave. Made him go away.
Only he stopped by again later that night. Stopped by and... looked at her.
She nearly tripped over herself rushing to meet him out back.
She was just so... bored with everything--herself, the place, and he was there. He was Spike, all that was huge and important in her life in one package. How could she not want that, not want something that made her feel, if only for a moment, like she was better than this.
And he was so willing--god, was he ever, willing to let her fumble with his clothes and her own, and then do her right there in the back alley, pressed up against the wall like their first time, the rough bricks scraping against her bare ass. At least like this she was worth something. Something to him, anyway.
But she wasn't getting off. Not this time. Because he was right, she was better than this, they both were. It wasn't the place or the moment, the fifteen-minute rush or the grease smell that clung to her skin, it was...
They were better than this.
This wasn't them. Not... sad and miserable and quiet. They should be... loud and passionate and rough, because that way was strong, that way was fighting, that was... being alive.
This wasn't... this wasn't what she needed from him.
Her break time was up. She loosened her legs around his waist, tried to slip away.
Spike tightened his grip. He'd been distant for the last few mintues, silent. Not looking at her--inside her, but still faraway. She hadn't been able to look at him either, just clung to his shoulders and hid inside the folds of his coat, feeling tiny and somehow safe.
"Not yet," he whispered, a low rumble like a growl. He slipped a hand between them, and she wriggled.
"Not now--I have to go," she whispered. "Fifteen minutes... my break--"
"Not yet," he said again, one hand pressed between their bodies, one hand cupped under her, holding her up. His fingers caressed her, ruthlessly.
"I have to go," she insisted.
"No." His fingers, stroking. Lips on her neck now. "You're not ready yet."
"I--I'm--I can't--" And then he sucked on her neck hard, like he had that other night, and she clutched at his shoulders harder, feeling something leap inside her. He had her pinned, against the wall, mouth at her throat, and she... oh god...
She felt like the victim in some cheesy vampire movie, in thrall. Her clit burned.
"D-Don't--" she said weakly. He didn't answer. Just pressed against her harder, her body completely hidden behind his, only her white face visible over his shoulder. She looked up at the sky, shuddering, her heartbeat hammering rapid, a tense pulsebeat in her throat.
When she came back to herself, there were sparks in front of her eyes. These slowly faded into stars--she was still looking upward, at the sky. Her toes were curled inside her shoes, and her thighs were trembling, drenched and slick.
Feeling dazed and numb, she uncoiled her legs and lowered her feet to the ground.
"Come see me later," Spike whispered then, lips at her ear. He was close to her now, no longer far away, liquid eyes staring right into hers. His thumbs brushed her cheeks. "Come to me, Buffy," he murmured. "Come see me. We'll finish this right." Soft kisses on her eyelids--first one, then the other. "Come see me."
"I--I--" Buffy panted, caught her breath. Wet trails were running down her legs. Little disadvantage to the whole experience of having sex standing up. She tried fruitlessly to smooth her wrinkled pants, plotted an immediate course to the bathroom once she was back inside.
God, what am I doing out here?
It still shocked her, the intensity he could bring out in her, even a quick, dirty little encounter like this. She had no idea how it was even possible, the way she could just let herself go...
"Come see me, Buffy," Spike said again. Pulled her close, kissed her breathless. The rough scrape of polyester against her skin faded as a sensation; only the press of his body against hers mattered. Her skin felt hot.
She clung to his arms, hands shaking, let him kiss her.
"I'll be there," she whispered when he pulled back from her. She got her hands in between them, made him give her some distance, smoothed her hair with trembling fingers.
Yes, she wanted to finish this. Yes. Lay down on his bed and feel the rest of him, feel his tongue, kiss that mouth some more. The silk of his skin and the softness of sheets.... oh yes, she wanted it. And... she'd already told Dawn and Willow she'd be working overtime. They wouldn't expect her home until late.
She pushed at him then, with her hands, made him back away. "Go on, go home. Just go. Go. I'll see you at--at your place. Later."
"Later, alright. See you then," he said softly, and melted back into the shadows just beyond the tacky motivational poster pasted to the wall, ironically right above the dumpster. Teamwork.
With a tired sigh, a warm glow in her belly at the thought of what they'd do together later, she turned around and went inside.
The door slammed behind her with a metallic clang, sealing her in.
toysdream's ficlets and some of my older stuff. One of these days, I'll get myself motivated to format Bad Trip and work with Toys on the DVD commentary track. Be good motivation for getting back to working on Bad Eurotrip.Meanwhile, here's a little outtake ficlet from "Dirty Back Road," taken from an earlier version of the ending in which I was planning to go a little heavier into the cheerless sex of Season 6. I was originally going to post this for
magista's birthday, but tech troubles have kept me from doing much by way of file moving and big posts. Sigh. Anyway, rated R, set during "DoubleMeat Palace."
Buffy got a job. She couldn't really avoid it anymore, not with her money situation. Took the first thing she could get, in no mood for even trying to bluff her way through a real interview, making up qualifications she knew she didn't have. So, fast food. After all, Xander had gotten plenty of those jobs. How hard could it be?
Plus she got a free uniform. And free food, while she was working. Bonus.
It was honest work. Good, honest work. Boring, sure, but honest. There was a certain amout of general creepiness and grease, but hey, that was why she was getting paid.
Her feet hurt a lot.
Her friends stopped by, on her second day, all big with the support. That was nice, really--even with the balancing factor of them seeing her standing behind a counter in her dorky polyester clothes. It was just... good to have someone to talk to that she knew. Who understood why she needed to do this.
Except for... oh, speak of the devil.
Spike found out where she was working. It took him no more than two days, which made her wonder about how much he was still following her, or her friends, or whether Dawn still talked to him--she'd have to ask about that. But however he'd managed to find out, obviously he had to make an appearance too, smirking and smiling and asking about the menu while wearing a nice sweater, just what she didn't need. Apparently, this was what she got for agreeing to work night hours. The universe probably figured it served her right.
So, sure, even Spike had to see her wearing this dumb uniform. Worse, because it was him, he didn't even bother trying to put a nice shine on the job sitch like the others had, but went straight for the puppy dog eyes and a argument of what are you doing here, you're better than this. Again, just what she didn't need. Although he would know, wouldn't he, having seen better days himself. And now he wasn't the only one on the decline anymore, was he? God knew her next epitaph probably wasn't going to be as good as her last one.
She sold french fries a lot.
Hearing him say it, though--you're better than this--that kinda made it worse.
So she told him to leave. Made him go away.
Only he stopped by again later that night. Stopped by and... looked at her.
She nearly tripped over herself rushing to meet him out back.
She was just so... bored with everything--herself, the place, and he was there. He was Spike, all that was huge and important in her life in one package. How could she not want that, not want something that made her feel, if only for a moment, like she was better than this.
And he was so willing--god, was he ever, willing to let her fumble with his clothes and her own, and then do her right there in the back alley, pressed up against the wall like their first time, the rough bricks scraping against her bare ass. At least like this she was worth something. Something to him, anyway.
But she wasn't getting off. Not this time. Because he was right, she was better than this, they both were. It wasn't the place or the moment, the fifteen-minute rush or the grease smell that clung to her skin, it was...
They were better than this.
This wasn't them. Not... sad and miserable and quiet. They should be... loud and passionate and rough, because that way was strong, that way was fighting, that was... being alive.
This wasn't... this wasn't what she needed from him.
Her break time was up. She loosened her legs around his waist, tried to slip away.
Spike tightened his grip. He'd been distant for the last few mintues, silent. Not looking at her--inside her, but still faraway. She hadn't been able to look at him either, just clung to his shoulders and hid inside the folds of his coat, feeling tiny and somehow safe.
"Not yet," he whispered, a low rumble like a growl. He slipped a hand between them, and she wriggled.
"Not now--I have to go," she whispered. "Fifteen minutes... my break--"
"Not yet," he said again, one hand pressed between their bodies, one hand cupped under her, holding her up. His fingers caressed her, ruthlessly.
"I have to go," she insisted.
"No." His fingers, stroking. Lips on her neck now. "You're not ready yet."
"I--I'm--I can't--" And then he sucked on her neck hard, like he had that other night, and she clutched at his shoulders harder, feeling something leap inside her. He had her pinned, against the wall, mouth at her throat, and she... oh god...
She felt like the victim in some cheesy vampire movie, in thrall. Her clit burned.
"D-Don't--" she said weakly. He didn't answer. Just pressed against her harder, her body completely hidden behind his, only her white face visible over his shoulder. She looked up at the sky, shuddering, her heartbeat hammering rapid, a tense pulsebeat in her throat.
When she came back to herself, there were sparks in front of her eyes. These slowly faded into stars--she was still looking upward, at the sky. Her toes were curled inside her shoes, and her thighs were trembling, drenched and slick.
Feeling dazed and numb, she uncoiled her legs and lowered her feet to the ground.
"Come see me later," Spike whispered then, lips at her ear. He was close to her now, no longer far away, liquid eyes staring right into hers. His thumbs brushed her cheeks. "Come to me, Buffy," he murmured. "Come see me. We'll finish this right." Soft kisses on her eyelids--first one, then the other. "Come see me."
"I--I--" Buffy panted, caught her breath. Wet trails were running down her legs. Little disadvantage to the whole experience of having sex standing up. She tried fruitlessly to smooth her wrinkled pants, plotted an immediate course to the bathroom once she was back inside.
God, what am I doing out here?
It still shocked her, the intensity he could bring out in her, even a quick, dirty little encounter like this. She had no idea how it was even possible, the way she could just let herself go...
"Come see me, Buffy," Spike said again. Pulled her close, kissed her breathless. The rough scrape of polyester against her skin faded as a sensation; only the press of his body against hers mattered. Her skin felt hot.
She clung to his arms, hands shaking, let him kiss her.
"I'll be there," she whispered when he pulled back from her. She got her hands in between them, made him give her some distance, smoothed her hair with trembling fingers.
Yes, she wanted to finish this. Yes. Lay down on his bed and feel the rest of him, feel his tongue, kiss that mouth some more. The silk of his skin and the softness of sheets.... oh yes, she wanted it. And... she'd already told Dawn and Willow she'd be working overtime. They wouldn't expect her home until late.
She pushed at him then, with her hands, made him back away. "Go on, go home. Just go. Go. I'll see you at--at your place. Later."
"Later, alright. See you then," he said softly, and melted back into the shadows just beyond the tacky motivational poster pasted to the wall, ironically right above the dumpster. Teamwork.
With a tired sigh, a warm glow in her belly at the thought of what they'd do together later, she turned around and went inside.
The door slammed behind her with a metallic clang, sealing her in.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-12 09:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-13 03:35 am (UTC)Thank you. : )