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N O T  Y O U R S
 

She’d really thought it’d be better this time.

She had been so excited at first. Her Spikey was back - and a bit bad, like he used to be. Pulling her down corridors and evicting some hapless Para-legal from his office just so they could get it on, was thrilling and she couldn’t help giggling with delight. And she didn’t care if he was a bit rough, when he had that lust sparkling in his gorgeous blue eyes and that sexy smile was focused on her, like it was in her daydreams. She never could resist those tingly feelings that turned her belly to goo every time she saw him. Even though she knew he was bad for the independent woman of the world she’d become.

But the excitement had soon worn off. Once alone, Spike ignored her. There would no meltingly good kisses this time. Soft skin she’d kept carefully maintained with expensive skincare would remain untouched, uncaressed, undiscovered under pink cotton. Both still clothed, she was denied the feel of his muscular chest against her breasts as much as he denied her his heart. Instead he’d fumbled with the buckle of his belt, pushing his jeans down over his slim hips - but only enough to free his erection - before hitching up her skirt and pushing her back onto the desk. There was a moment when his hand had slipped between her legs when she’d thought that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. But it was not there to tease her gently to a fluttery orgasm, only to yank her panties aside. She tried to reach for him, to pull him into her arms, but he was too busy getting his aim right. With no foreplay, she wasn’t aroused enough as he shoved inside her and she squealed in discomfort. In and out. In and out. He felt uncomfortably big inside her, stretching and scraping sensitive flesh. For all his determination to feel solid again, to take back his unlife, he was unenthusiastic and despairingly eager to get this over and done with. Urgency replaced seduction, expediency replaced foreplay. Her cries were not all with pleasure.

Harmony clung to her Blondie Bear, as if clinging to his body like she’d always clung to his affections would make this any less awkward. But it didn’t. It was clumsy and uncomfortable, as his dry thrusts rubbed her sore she felt sandwiched between the ink blotter and his weight on top of her. Her back hurt from the rigid plane of the desk and the pen trapped beneath her shoulder, grinding against the bone as it rolled with their movements. His hips pushed his cock inside her with an erratic, off tempo rhythm as he struggled with his position, perched too close to the edge of the desk. He had trouble keeping his balance, as there was nowhere to put his knee. Spike, for all his faults, had always been an exceptional lover and she wondered what had happened to him, how all his skill and technique got traded for the fumbling mess he was making of this. Stupid soul.

He’s not yours, said a voice inside her and she didn’t recognise it as hers. It was accompanied by a pain that shot through her gut like bad chicken from a company barbeque. She tried to tell him to stop, let her go and be sick or whatever, but only managed to open her mouth before he stopped her.

“Don’t say anything.” His penis softened as his concentration wavered, slipping out as the tissues drained of blood and it was a relief. It was then that she knew he wasn’t thinking of her.

Not yours the voice whispered.

He shut his eyes; trying to recreate whatever illusion he needed to maintain his erection. It took a long moment, one where he avoided looking at her, but once he’d recaptured it, he stiffened again and he was back inside her. Quicker this time, pushing hard to a finish neither one of them could wait for.

She couldn’t know what he was thinking of, but she’d bet it was the Slayer. The whore. The boyfriend stealer. The tramp. The one she’d have ripped from her High School Yearbook if she’d been in the stupid thing. Never been yours. For all his pretty words and seductive looks, he’d always been mean to her. A twenty-first century woman vampiress shouldn’t have to accept being used again and again. It made her angry that she couldn’t help thinking about him, or hoping that one-day he’d really see her radiant smile and return it just for her. Couldn’t help aching for him. Couldn’t stop falling for him even as he was crinkling her favourite skirt by taking her on someone else’s desktop. He only ever wanted what was between her legs.

Not yours! The anger bubbled and burst, surging through her on a storm surge of resentment.

“Sp-Spike!” she tried to warn him, but she didn’t know why. She was scared something was happening to her - beside the lousy sex - something else that she couldn’t control.

“Ssh, don’t talk. Let’s not spoil the moment,” he replied.

Duh, like this moment wasn’t spoiled already by him being there.

He grit his teeth and his face pinkened with the effort of maintaining the pace he’d set, ignoring the fear in her voice and her shift into game face. Years of giving everything she had to him, wanting him, crying over him only to be rejected over and over, came gushing to the surface. Loving and hating him at the same time, Harmony would always be his substitute for the one he really wanted. Drusilla or Buffy or some other skanky ho, it didn’t matter to her anymore, because it would always be someone else. He’d rather give himself to women who didn’t want him - Freak.

Never Yours.

Itchy, irritated eyes pool with blood and red trailing tears roll down tracks on her cheeks. She didn’t know who or where she was anymore. The anger had consumed her ego, replacing it with the instinctual id. He’s the enemy, he’s the source of her pain, and he’s not hers and he never will be. Goodbye cheekbones and the melty velvet voice with that accent. She won’t be a convenience again.

She held him close for the last time and she took a bite. 

 

 

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