RockStarPeach

nekid_spike

Scenes From a Life

The last thirty years had been the best of Spike’s existence.  And that was saying quite a bit considering the pure amount of time he had been around, and the good times he had seen.

He had once upon a time thought that nothing could beat the feeling of Christmases as a child, the soft glow of candles and the fire lighting the house after they’d come home from church, mother cooking a delicious feast, father smoking his pipe, a younger version of himself ravenously devouring the new books he’d received as Christmas gifts.

There had been a time when he thought he would never have been able to top warm summer nights out hunting and feeding and playing and fucking with Angelus, long lazy days in luscious houses, writing poetry and listening to music and making love to his sweet princess.

He had felt on top of the world when he killed his first slayer, and the elation was even more so with the second.  Both of those experiences paled in comparison with finally beating Angel fair and square over the make-believe cup of nothing, finally showing him that Spike was all grown up and better than Angel and it was no thanks to his big fat self.

And he had once thought that the best day of his life had been when Buffy finally started to love him.  Accepted him, depended on him, needed him. 

But all of that was nothing.  Not compared with these past years, and at this moment Spike thought he would gladly give up any and every of his happy memories over time for just one more day of the bliss he had known.

**

He had come to England shortly after the amulet had brought him back from Hell.  He had been offered a job with the council, and a place in Rupert’s life and he had accepted them both and been accepted in turn.

He left all the book nonsense to Rupert, especially as the watcher started to age, preferring to work directly with the slayers himself.  Training them, teaching them, delighting in having that sort of outlet for his demon, while at the same time knowing he was doing something good.

He liked the Slayers, and they liked him.  He was more fun, better at fighting, easier to talk to and way hotter than any of the other watchers.  They listened to him and respected him and treated him like a person, and it made him feel good to go to work every day.

It was what Spike had always wanted, this life.  He was doing something to help, something he could be proud of, something that was fun and made him happy.  And he had Rupert.

Rupert to make him feel better after a hard day, with talk and sex and drinks.  Rupert to try to cook supper for and not even be really angry with him when the clean up afterward lasted days.  Rupert to take care of and to love and to be loved by.

They both knew why Spike had really come to the council, and they both tried to deny it at first, but working in close quarters in stressful jobs with someone you were desperately attracted to and having few other options for sexual release ensured that they weren’t able to deny it for long.

They snuck around, hid their secret, stole quick, hard kisses in the hall, crept into each other’s rooms at night and fucked furiously, slinking back to their own as soon as they were finished.

Spike slipped up sometime in the first months and fucked one or two of the Slayers, but Rupert had been terribly forgiving.  Granted, his fists and cock and harsh words hadn’t seemed too forgiving at the time, but it had been what they both needed.

After that they didn’t hide anymore.

He knew then.  Knew that what he had at that moment was the best life had to offer, and nothing before or after would ever mean anything to him again.  For about ten years he thought they’d have forever.  Then Rupert had a heart attack.

It was only mild, he was back on his feet in just a few days, and the doctors said he could go back to work in a month, but Spike was extremely apprehensive.  He waited on Rupert hand and foot, wouldn’t let him up expect to use the washroom, refused to let anyone bother him with council business, doted like a mother hen.

It had made Rupert understandably upset and he insisted that he was fine, that Spike let him get back to normal, most importantly that Spike would get back to shagging him.

Spike had a hard time saying no to the last bit, but was so worried that any stress at all would put his lover in danger so he continued to be a pain in the ass for a full six months after.

Eventually things got back to normal, but thoughts of Rupert’s failing body were never far from Spike’s mind.  It was the first time Spike had really thought about something happening to separate them and he didn’t know what he would do when the time finally came.

So he tried to make the most of the time they would share.  Not a day went by that Spike didn’t tell Rupert he loved him.  They touched every chance they got, made love almost every night.  They still fought of course.  Daily.  Usually more than once.  And it was just as heated as ever, but that didn’t stop them from crawling into bed together at the end of the day, holding each other close and promising never to leave.

It was a promise Spike knew that Rupert couldn’t keep, but Spike fully intended to.

In this last decade or so they hadn’t made love much anymore.  Rupert had always been worried about how much appeal he would hold for Spike as he started to wrinkle and sag and his aging bones prevented him from taking Spike with the vigour they sometimes enjoyed.

As he became older, penis sometimes unable to respond at all, he became certain that Spike would leave him.  After all, Spike was still just as perfect as ever, and there were plenty of spry young women around who they both knew Spike had a weakness for.

When Spike found out about his fears he had affectionately called his lover an idiot, and said that he would do all the work from then on, and even if they never shagged again, Spike would be content just to be together.

They were happy again for a while.

**

Now though, Spike felt like someone had reached into his chest and yanked out his heart.  No, actually that would have been more merciful, he thought as he stood on the cemetery grass.

Rupert Giles had died yesterday, and along with him, Spike’s whole world.  Spike had known it was coming of course, had been waiting for it since that first heart attack twenty years ago, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

He felt like the bottom had come out from underneath him and he was falling, part of him desperately wanting to grab hold of something to stop the descent but another part relieved that there was nothing to grab hold of.  He had nothing.  He knew that Rupert would say that wasn’t true.  He had his slayers and the council and a great many friends he had made here over the years.  He had so many reasons to move on and keep living his life, and it was his responsibility to do so.

But Spike didn’t want any of that.  It all reminded him of Rupert.  He would never have known any of it if it wasn’t for a kind and generous man who had taken him in so long ago, and it seemed wrong to go back to it all when that man couldn’t be there with him.

Everything seemed wrong.  Everything but one thing.  He didn’t forget a promise he had made, time and again, to the person he loved above all others, in quiet, comfortable moments between soft sheets.  He’d promised they’d always be together.  And he wasn’t one to break his promises.

He sat staring at the headstone of his lover long after all the others had made their way back to wherever they were going.  He took the few long steps to the grave and shrugged off his ever present duster and draped it over the cold stone. 

He knelt in the dirt and ran his fingers for the first and last time over the engraved name of his true love, head down, body shaking as he sobbed, and waited for sunrise.

END

Continued here