Girl's Night Out - Too
by Exiled-Too
Part Five
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Part Five
The Slayer.
As I stand there in shock the bond changes from gold and light blue to a deep rich navy--yet it feels the same—so I guess it's not really something different. It's confusing to me that all the ties and connections are intact, as they were with Buffy, only now they have changed in color, not in texture. They appear different as I look down at them and I'm not getting the feedback from the Slayer I was with Buffy. The Slayer has total control of what she releases through the connections, Buffy does not.
I watch the Slayer as she stands there, her hands relaxed at her sides, and I feel a wary watchfulness through the bond. There is no internal fight within the Slayer. She is ... like a state of being, she's alive for only this moment.
Some of my biblical training comes back to me and the words 'I am what I am' float through my stunned mind. Not that the Slayer is God. No, she's more like a panther, a hunter, and a protector of the people that she loves. She also has the predator's focus and control.
I feel like I am her prey.
My mind keeps trying to label her. To put into words something that is untouchable; because if I don't then it's free to conjure up other things, other images. Other thoughts like ... what would her skin taste like? Would it be silky smooth with the steel corded muscles under it?
I have to close my eyes and clench my hands by my side just to keep from taking the two steps necessary to find out. After, I don't know how long, I trust myself enough to open my eyes.
The Slayer hasn't moved, thank God. She's been waiting for me to gain some control because now I feel pure love pouring through the ties... love that has no agenda. Love not tainted by the wants of the flesh, it is pure, innocent.
It steals my breath away and heat rises up from my center because she might not have an agenda but my body does. My skin becomes hyper-sensitive to the point where the air brushing against it is a caress. No, it's not the air, she's caressing me ... through the bond. I see the colors around us change and sparkle as this intense need runs out from me in answer to her touch. I watch as she takes it in .... She holds it within somehow so that it doesn't bounce back.
And the part of my mind that has to label things is once again impressed at her control.
The other part of me, the part that I keep hidden, the part I force down and only let it come out at night in my dreams, cries out in disappointment. I want an excuse to repeat what we did this morning. I want to be able to let her have me.
My harsh breathing fills the air, and the urge to go to her, to let her take me in her strong arms is so overwhelming that I have to turn my back on her. I ache, I literally ache with the need to have her warm lips touching mine, to have her powerful arms wrap tightly around me. I need to surrender to her, let her totally consume me in anyway that she wants, anyway she desires ....
I take deep breaths to calm my pounding heart. I see the T-shirt that I sleep in bundled up on the bed and grab it. I hope that by putting it on I'll have some armor against my own hunger.
I know what's she's doing, what the Slayer is doing. She's stalking me with my emotions. The Slayer feels my desire through the connection, she knows all she has to do is wait. And when I go to her, when I let her have me ....
The Slayer has total control over her side of the bond; she won't let it run wild like this morning.
I walk around to the other side of the bed, placing it between us.
And another bit clicks into place. I try to grab onto the thought before it slips away. It wasn't the Slayer that made love to me this morning, it was Buffy. I know this because I was hurt and worried about Buffy dying, while she was hurt and worried about me. The two emotions melded together, we fed them back to each other—we got caught up in a feedback loop. The Slayer has control. Buffy does not.
I feel a tiny questioning touch in the back of my mind; like someone tapping me on the shoulder. So I turn around to see the Slayer standing right next to me. I hadn't heard her approach, nor did I feel her through the bond that we are still sharing. Her closeness startles me.
Buffy's words echo in my mind. "She's not safe." That's true, but you aren't totally safe either Buffy.
The Slayer is just so strong, so golden, I have no control as I reach my hand out to run it through silky blonde hair. Something very old and dark is trying to break free from me. Terror wells up inside at what I feel uncurling deep in my mind. She leans into the caress so I use my thumb to trace the fine line between her jaw and neck. I see the shiver that my touch causes run down her back. I am less than a second away from tasting her lips, from letting her have me, just so I can get lost in her warmth, in her ferocity.
I look into her eyes, and ... I see fear?
I'm drowning in her love, in my passion, my need, and I still see fear in her eyes.
Not the wild Hunter that is in total control.
I find Buffy staring out at me. Not the Slayer ... I just don't understand.
I blink trying to comprehend, to reconcile what I see, and I'm able to find her terror within the bond. She is hiding it, no...no she isn't. She is incapable of hiding ... anything.
But her eyes are blue! The Slayer, the Hunter, the Panther's eyes are blue!
Buffy's eyes full of fear that I'll reject her or is she afraid I'll reject the Slayer?
I want to stop my mind from working, I want to go back to the place I was just a few moments ago, I can't because the labeling part of my mind has taken over my thoughts. I feel paralyzed as my hand freezes in place and I start to study her expressive face. And yes, there is the feral stillness of the Slayer, there is also the innocence of the 15-year-old from my dream and over it all is the perception that is uniquely Buffy.
I'm finally able to drop my hand and take a step back from her as I quickly run through everything I've seen and felt the past few days: it all comes down to a dual nature, a separate personality between Buffy and the Slayer. Only I know what I'm seeing now, as her eyes look away from mine and she turns her back to me, crossing her arms in a purely defensive and completely Buffy way.
Now that I'm calming down I can observe her and I wonder if all my assumptions are wrong. Maybe the Slayer doesn't have better control over the bond than Buffy, maybe she has just shut her emotions down?
Is it out of fear that I'll reject her—as Buffy has rejected the Slayer since she was Called?
Then it hits me, it hits me so hard that I nearly double over and would have if I didn't know that Buffy could feel everything. I am such a damn idiot sometimes, for supposedly being so smart I am so dumb. The insight literally burns me from the inside out and I watch The Slayer turn back to me, her face a mask of confusion and shock. I realize that she doesn't know what I'm thinking, the bond only allows for emotions.
I nearly cry out in relief because what I just figured out must remain my secret--The Slayer doesn't exist, or well, it does in the sense of the word like Dawn is the Key. The Slayer is mystical energy, period.
That's why I couldn't figure out what was going on with my dear sweet lover, she didn't understand it herself. She was told at15 that she had to save the world and since that moment she has nearly killed herself trying to accomplish that impossible task. The vision of my dream, and of that poor innocent girl Buffy used to be, rushes up to engulf me. I can't stop myself this time from doubling over in grief and pain. Strong arms go around my shoulders to support me, then my legs give out and I start to crumble to the floor like I'm crumbling inside.
She lifts me effortlessly and cradles me against her. The bond opens slightly so that I can feel more of her love. The sense of safety washes over me like warm water taking the grief and remorse away with it. I revel in both the emotional closeness and physical touching. I wrap my arms around her neck as she glides to my bed and slowly, carefully, places me on top of it.
Cherished.
That's a word that I fully comprehend the meaning of right now. That's what I am. I am cherished by Buffy, I savor the experience of being loved this much by such a powerful woman. The desire to pull her down with me, to let my mouth find hers, to let our lips touch like our souls, is nearly overwhelming.
But I don't, I can't.
The incongruity that a part of this incredible woman is mature beyond her years is offset by what I've just realized. I just figured out that another part of her is still that 15-year-old struggling to keep her innocence intact. She has just given me a gift beyond all measure ... all her strength and intensity is just the outer shell that she shows the world or even that she believes is her true self...when in fact Buffy is that 15-year-old who wants the world to love her in the most childish of ways.
It was the 15-year-old that looked at me with such innocence and recognition when I had asked for the Slayer. We sometimes have to find acceptance in the eyes of others before we can truly believe in ourselves.
That's what Buffy wants, for me to accept the Slayer because then and only then will she finally be able to accept herself.
The Hunter that kills with her hands—a touch sensitive empath that feels each death in her soul—and enjoys it.
I'm brought back from my thoughts by her releasing me. I think she expected me to reach up to her, to pull her down into a kiss because now one tiny piece of the bond closes down and she stands up, backing away from the bed. Gone is the grace of the panther, back are the insecurities of the girl. And I am cursed with my own inadequacies because I know how fragile she is right now and, yet, I am frozen in my own fear of doing the wrong thing.
I don't want to cause her more pain.
There is a popping sound that only I can hear and another tie has been severed while I lay here racked with indecision. She backs up, flees to the other side of the room.... and still I hesitate. All I have to do is send love and reassurance down our heart bond, through the white light that connects us at our most delicate and yet mightiest link.
I can't.
I can't help it, I don't know what to do... I see the defeated curve of her neck and her bent shoulders, and I know that she is taking my confusion for rejection. She thinks that having seen the Slayer I am rejecting it, which means I am rejecting her, too.
"Buffy ..." I start trying to explain my fear of hurting her. Even as I know that my silence causes her more anguish then doing or saying the wrong thing ever could.
The quiet pop sounds as I lose another piece of her to my fright.
I am losing her, I am losing her in a way that is more final than death.
"No Will, it's ok." She says sadly over her shoulder as the last of the fire fizzles out between us. I watch as our soul connection dulls and then the light goes out.
I am left alone.
And this pisses me off! She dumps all this on me and then when I'm not all superwoman with the accepting she's walking out. She's giving up on us, on me.
"Oh, no you don't!" I shout, "not again!"
I don't think, I react. I fly out of my bed and tackle her.
I know I shouldn't knock her down but I do and I roll her over so I have her pinned to the floor. I know the Slayer is about one second away from throwing me off of her. So I do the only thing I can think of: I grab her head between my hands and I kiss her. I force my mouth over hers and then force entrance with my tongue. It's rough, it's hard, and it's born from desperation. She's a touch sensitive empath--well we are certainly touching now.
Then I feel her giving up, giving in, surrendering.... And the slight tingling is back so I grab onto it and force the bond open again between us. I'm not sure if what I'm doing is morally correct and I really don't care, I pour every once of frustration, love, and anger through it at her. I feel wetness on my hands and I pause the kiss long enough to look at her face and see tears streaming out of her eyes. Before I can pull away I'm flipped over onto my back and her mouth finds mine.
"They're not what you think." She whispers between kisses. "I'm happy."
And suddenly I don't care if she's the 15 year old girl, or the Slayer, or Buffy--she's the woman that I love and I'm going to show her just how loved she is at this moment.
"The bed is better than the floor." I tell her and as she stands up I push so hard that she falls on top of it, then I jump on her, straddling her tiny waist.
Again I hold her head in my hands and force the white cord of our soul connection to reform so there will be no doubt about my words. "I love you, no matter what you think you have to be or who you are, no more hiding, no more running....I love you. All of you."
She answers with a nod and the connection between us deepens as we both accept our places, Slayer and Witch, lovers and friends.
The End