Inell's Fanfiction Archive

Spike felt a bit weird as he entered the slayer's house. Knowing that she was aware of his relationship with Willow made sneaking in seem a bit odd. Of course, it wasn't really sneaking anymore. She knew and seemed to approve for some ungodly reason that would probably only make sense to her silly little mind. How could she profess to be Willow's best friend and not care that she was sleeping with a monster such as himself? If it had been him, he'd have staked first and never gotten around to asking questions. Guess it was a good thing, then, that he wasn't the slayer. Maybe it was her ability to think before reacting that had kept her alive so long. Not that he would ever admit to anyone that he thought she was capable of thought. Being capable and practicing were too different things entirely. The slayer had the brains, she just rarely used them. When she did, it was usually to help her friends. One of her few good traits, he realized. Her loyalty and love for her friends. Dumb bitch would do anything for any of them. Even if she acted a bit selfish at times, he could see it in her. He hated almost respecting a slayer.

He took the stairs slowly, not sure why he was hesitating. He wanted nothing more than find Willow and sink deep inside her warmth, to hold her as she slept. Yet, he was almost frightened to see her. Last night had been too close. He'd almost blown it, almost admitted that he had feelings for her. Feelings that confused yet pleased him. She'd wanted to talk. Didn't she know that words mean nothing? Action spoke louder than words. He could spend hours and hours talking without actually saying anything. But, with one touch of his hand on her body, she'd hear so very much if she listened. The slayer seemed to think that he loved Willow. How she could know something that he was still scared to admit to himself he failed to understand. He almost wished he had asked her if she could provide some insight into Willow for him. Did the redhead love him? Hell, did she even like him? Had she wanted them to talk so she could break it off? Did she no longer want him?

He knew that he could voice these questions. And she'd answer. String a lot of fancy words together to tell him what she wanted to say, but that wouldn't mean anything. No, the only way he could get his answers would be to look into her eyes, to feel her touch against his flesh, to listen to the sounds that she made when she had lost all control. Those would be his true answers. She could not hide the truth from him. He knew how to listen to her body and eyes with nary a word being spoken. The problem: was he ready to know the truth? What if he realized that his touch disgusted her, that she hated the sight of him, that she only enjoyed the sex and nothing else. He had never been one to worry about such things, having spent most of his years on Earth being second best and never having the love that he had always foolishly craved. With Willow, though, it was different. He *needed* for her to want him, to need him as much as he needed her, to love him.

He was finally at the landing. He could already smell the sweet scent of vanilla and peaches and Willow. She was using new shampoo, peaches instead of a flowery blend of fruit smells. He groaned softly as he hardened just from smelling her scent. He moved towards her door, casting a suspicious glance at the slayer's door, seeing it was closed. He concentrated a moment, realizing that the slayer wasn't yet home. He could hear soft snores coming from Dawn's room, giving no doubts that the youngest Summers was asleep. He leaned his head against Willow's door, knowing that she was awake. He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts before he went inside. He was planning on not giving her a chance to speak. If she was planning on calling their affair off, he wanted one last time fresh in his memory. Damn if he didn't feel pathetic at times. Straightening up, he opened the door. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.