William Fic, Part 4
Jan. 25th, 2005 12:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookContinuing the trend for short chapters. This one with more dialogue! Previous parts here.
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
William Blake, The Tyger
The Center, Part 4
The dark man pockets his device and begins to pace the room. His motions are circular, his eyes unmoving. Like a wolf, or a jungle animal. A predator.
"So," the dark man says. "A hex. All you had to do was meet up with this witch, and somehow you ended up getting her mad enough to put a hex on you." The man sighs, throws up his hands. "Tell me, Spike--is there some rule that says you just can't do something simple without getting it all screwed up?"
There's no denying the feelings of alarm now. The man is clearly showing signs of being unbalanced, and if his situation is indeed not a dream....
He clears his throat uneasily. Obviously, the situation will require careful handling. "I beg your pardon?" he says calmly. "I don't... believe I know what--"
"I mean, I had a plan here. A good plan." The man continues ranting, pacing. "All you had to do was go out there and be yourself. Except for the part where you being yourself screws up the plan." The man approaches him, and there's a real air of menace now. He backs away on reflex.
"So what did she do to you? Amnesia spell?"
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, sir."
"Of course you don't." The man shakes his head, and stands opposite him with his hands on his hips. "Deepest desire," he mutters to himself. "Okay, let's figure this out. I'm Spike. What's my deepest desire?" Then the man sighs again. "Buffy. Of course it's Buffy."
"Again, I'm afraid I have no idea what you're--"
"Although... given the last time you saw her--hm." The man is studying him now, arms folded. "Maybe that's a little too close to the surface. If we're talking about your deepest desire. Maybe it's something a little more... sublimated."
Edging for the open door is starting to look like the best idea. He squares his shoulders, tries to be unobtrusive about it. "I-I am very sorry for your difficulties, sir, but I fail to see how this has anything to do with m--"
And then the man is right in front of him, so quickly that he didn't even witness the move, and he can't quite manage to supress a gasp.
"You can stop it now with the escape attempts. I'm not going to spend the whole day knocking you unconscious, and you're not going anywhere until we figure this out. Get used to it."
His patience breaks, and he explodes. "You have no right to keep me here, sir! I must insist you let me go!" He pushes against the wall of chest in front of him; the dark man doesn't even budge.
Instead, he gets a chuckle in answer. "Ah, Spike. Some things never change. Even without your memory, still as annoying as ever." There's an indefinable expression on the man's face then, something that could be curiosity or perhaps pride, and there's a strange glitter in his eyes.
And all of a sudden there are hands around his face, cupping gently, and he's almost too stunned to react. "You know, it occurs to me," the man murmurs, "That maybe there's something else you've always wanted. If we're talking about your deepest desire. You think so?"
Then the man keeps talking, says other things. At first, they could be the words of a father, about approval and pride. Then, about... friendship and bonhomie. Trust. An expectant silence follows, a pause in which the man is clearly waiting for him to make some response.
He can't speak. He doesn't know this person, what's expected of him. What the rules are.
The dark one leans forward.
Rough lips on his, and... not a kiss of family or friendship either, but--oh! Tongue in his mouth. He pushes back, violently.
"Don't--don't touch me!" he pants. He's fallen into the hands of some... some...
Well, he's heard tell of such things, but... And he's never been in a fight in his life, at least not one that he can remember, but he's prepared for one now. His fists clench and his body tenses, and he's resolute that he will hurl this man away should he try to force his desires on him again.
"You--You will not presume to--to--whatever ideas you have regarding me, I suggest you abandon them now, sir! I am not... not..." He can't finish. His mind is reeling. Kissed me. Called me friend. The man's dark eyes had been soft, and--dare he even think it? Loving.
Faced with the full force of his outrage, the man just chuckles.
"Should've guessed you wouldn't have that many layers," he says. Then he plucks the shell-like device out of his pocket again and pokes at it, shaking his head once more. It makes chirping sounds as he does so, and then he is talking, turned away as if he doesn't want to be overheard.
"Hello, Buffy?"
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
William Blake, The Tyger
The Center, Part 4
The dark man pockets his device and begins to pace the room. His motions are circular, his eyes unmoving. Like a wolf, or a jungle animal. A predator.
"So," the dark man says. "A hex. All you had to do was meet up with this witch, and somehow you ended up getting her mad enough to put a hex on you." The man sighs, throws up his hands. "Tell me, Spike--is there some rule that says you just can't do something simple without getting it all screwed up?"
There's no denying the feelings of alarm now. The man is clearly showing signs of being unbalanced, and if his situation is indeed not a dream....
He clears his throat uneasily. Obviously, the situation will require careful handling. "I beg your pardon?" he says calmly. "I don't... believe I know what--"
"I mean, I had a plan here. A good plan." The man continues ranting, pacing. "All you had to do was go out there and be yourself. Except for the part where you being yourself screws up the plan." The man approaches him, and there's a real air of menace now. He backs away on reflex.
"So what did she do to you? Amnesia spell?"
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, sir."
"Of course you don't." The man shakes his head, and stands opposite him with his hands on his hips. "Deepest desire," he mutters to himself. "Okay, let's figure this out. I'm Spike. What's my deepest desire?" Then the man sighs again. "Buffy. Of course it's Buffy."
"Again, I'm afraid I have no idea what you're--"
"Although... given the last time you saw her--hm." The man is studying him now, arms folded. "Maybe that's a little too close to the surface. If we're talking about your deepest desire. Maybe it's something a little more... sublimated."
Edging for the open door is starting to look like the best idea. He squares his shoulders, tries to be unobtrusive about it. "I-I am very sorry for your difficulties, sir, but I fail to see how this has anything to do with m--"
And then the man is right in front of him, so quickly that he didn't even witness the move, and he can't quite manage to supress a gasp.
"You can stop it now with the escape attempts. I'm not going to spend the whole day knocking you unconscious, and you're not going anywhere until we figure this out. Get used to it."
His patience breaks, and he explodes. "You have no right to keep me here, sir! I must insist you let me go!" He pushes against the wall of chest in front of him; the dark man doesn't even budge.
Instead, he gets a chuckle in answer. "Ah, Spike. Some things never change. Even without your memory, still as annoying as ever." There's an indefinable expression on the man's face then, something that could be curiosity or perhaps pride, and there's a strange glitter in his eyes.
And all of a sudden there are hands around his face, cupping gently, and he's almost too stunned to react. "You know, it occurs to me," the man murmurs, "That maybe there's something else you've always wanted. If we're talking about your deepest desire. You think so?"
Then the man keeps talking, says other things. At first, they could be the words of a father, about approval and pride. Then, about... friendship and bonhomie. Trust. An expectant silence follows, a pause in which the man is clearly waiting for him to make some response.
He can't speak. He doesn't know this person, what's expected of him. What the rules are.
The dark one leans forward.
Rough lips on his, and... not a kiss of family or friendship either, but--oh! Tongue in his mouth. He pushes back, violently.
"Don't--don't touch me!" he pants. He's fallen into the hands of some... some...
Well, he's heard tell of such things, but... And he's never been in a fight in his life, at least not one that he can remember, but he's prepared for one now. His fists clench and his body tenses, and he's resolute that he will hurl this man away should he try to force his desires on him again.
"You--You will not presume to--to--whatever ideas you have regarding me, I suggest you abandon them now, sir! I am not... not..." He can't finish. His mind is reeling. Kissed me. Called me friend. The man's dark eyes had been soft, and--dare he even think it? Loving.
Faced with the full force of his outrage, the man just chuckles.
"Should've guessed you wouldn't have that many layers," he says. Then he plucks the shell-like device out of his pocket again and pokes at it, shaking his head once more. It makes chirping sounds as he does so, and then he is talking, turned away as if he doesn't want to be overheard.
"Hello, Buffy?"