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I was going to post this sooner, but my husband distracted me with oral sex and Wendy's. (But not oral sex at Wendy's.)
Again the poems are by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
xionin cuz she's the greatest.
The little red notebook sometimes disappeared from the shelf. The first time it happened, Buffy panicked. Had he figured her out? Did he hide it from her? Or did he just move it and forget to put it back? Probably the latter. If Spike had found out what she had done, he wouldn’t just quietly move the book. Feeling better, she had reached for a different book. This one was blue and battered, obviously older. Each page was full of writing, some of it made sense, some of it was completely incoherent. Again, none of it was dated.
The first few times Buffy had read his poems, she was curious about what was going on in is head, what made him tick. She wanted to know what he thought of her, and maybe what she could do to make things better for him. She wanted a shortcut into his heart, reading much easier than actually trying to talk to him about it. But the more she read, the more that began to change.
Spike had shown her repeatedly that poetry—even if it wasn’t your own work—was a priceless way to communicate. He had told her once that good poetry should never be taken for granted, and that if she ever found one she loved to hold onto it, use it, make it a part of her life. It seemed rather silly to her…and honestly, she didn’t remember if he had said that in class or in a private conversation. She never understood what he meant.
Until now.
It gave her an undeniable thrill to know the poems were about her. She loved to see herself reflected in them, and in his thoughts, even if it wasn’t always flattering. It was an honest portrayal, and once she got past the initial shock and hurt, she could appreciate that. But there was another level to his work now, it began to mean something else to her. For the first time, she got it. Poetry became something beautiful and tangible, rather than something frightening and abstract.
Buffy started writing. Silly little lines. She knew she wasn’t very good, but it was rather cathartic. She used a notebook as a sort of diary or journal, keeping her thoughts in order and filling in the blanks with poems. Spike didn’t know about it, she only wrote it when he wasn’t home and she kept it carefully hidden. It was far too new, far too raw to even dream of sharing it.
She started keeping it the night sexual harassment case was heard. Three weeks later, it was nearly full. She had no idea that she had so much to say, and it surprised her how many pages she covered with her random and odd thoughts. Every time she ran out of inspiration, she snuck into his office and borrowed some of his. But she didn’t know why or how it worked.
There was one section in the blue notebook that she had read several times when she couldn’t get a hold of the red one. It had a few of her favorite poems, all clumped together on one or two pages. She went to those the most often when she was feeling empty or unsure of what to do. They invoked countless, nameless emotions in her, making her ache for him, making her love him more.
love me, lover
love me whole again
broken down, tired little man
share your sunshine, darling
give me your spring
help me breathe
i've nearly choked on my discontent
lover, love me over and over
turn me like sea glass
smooth my edges until i am worthy
to be held in your soft hands
She didn’t know if she could help him, but God, she wanted to. It broke her heart and made her wish she could respond. She tried to respond to him, though he didn’t know it. She wrote back though she didn’t think he would ever see it.
ah love
i've come undone
wrap me in your warm flesh
your velvet sighs
i am water in your cupped hands
handle me briefly
make still my shaking form
cradle me softly
i've wandered far and seek the solace
of your warming smile
don't leave me wanting
Even his love poems held a strong trace of longing, as if she was just beyond his grasp even though she was his. So she wrote poems that declared her love and assured him that he didn’t have to be afraid that she would slip through his fingers.
And the more she wrote, the more confident she became. She felt comfortable expressing herself to him because she already had her thoughts sorted. And he noticed it too—he must have. She wanted to tell him…but she never knew how and so she kept everything to herself, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. And so she told the only safe outlet she had—Tara.
“Buffy do you think that’s a good idea?” She asked as soon as Buffy revealed her secret.
She snorted. “No.”
“Then why do you keep doing it?”
“I can’t resist it, Tara.”
“Buffy, I really think you should stop, like, right now. I don’t think Spike would understand why you go through his stuff.”
Buffy sighed. “I don’t think he’ll get it either…but Tara, have you ever found a poet or a writer or something that you just couldn’t get enough of?”
“Are you reading his work for its literary value, or because you want to know his secrets?”
“A little of both. I mean, I love knowing what’s going on with him, but I think he’s really good. And besides, lately it’s the closest I’ve been to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve both been really busy. His writing has really kicked into gear, and he’s working on two books right now. I’ve started my senior project…you know how school is. Between everything we’ve just been too busy to talk…”
“I see. Have you been spending any time with him at all?”
“We’ve both been really busy,” she repeated.
“Buffy I do understand why you are doing it, but I just really think it can be a disaster if he finds out.”
”A disaster? What do you think will happen? I mean, I expect he would be upset, maybe yell and scream a bit, but then he’d get over it.”
“He might feel that it’s a pretty big violation of his privacy and trust, and not something that he can just forgive or get over.”
“No…Spike loses his temper, but he gets over it.”
Tara shrugged. “You know him better than I do, but I really think that this might be a ‘deal breaker’ for him.”
“Deal breaker?”
“I heard it on Oprah. But you know what I mean. Or maybe you should tell him.”
“What?”
“It might be best if you come clean before he finds out on his own.”
“You still think he’ll be upset though.”
“Yes, I don’t think you can get away from that no matter what you do.”
“I don’t know what to do, Tara.”
“Well, if you do tell him or if he finds out, and he does get upset, you’re more than welcome to stay with him if you need too…”
“Why would I need to?”
“In case you need a place to hang out until he calms down…”
“I don’t think it’ll come to that.”
“You never know. I’m saying just in case.”
“Well, thanks for your help, Tara. I have to go now…promised I would make dinner tonight.”
“I’ll talk to you later. Let me know what you decide, ok?”
“Will do. Bye.”
Again the poems are by
xionin cuz she's the greatest.The little red notebook sometimes disappeared from the shelf. The first time it happened, Buffy panicked. Had he figured her out? Did he hide it from her? Or did he just move it and forget to put it back? Probably the latter. If Spike had found out what she had done, he wouldn’t just quietly move the book. Feeling better, she had reached for a different book. This one was blue and battered, obviously older. Each page was full of writing, some of it made sense, some of it was completely incoherent. Again, none of it was dated.
The first few times Buffy had read his poems, she was curious about what was going on in is head, what made him tick. She wanted to know what he thought of her, and maybe what she could do to make things better for him. She wanted a shortcut into his heart, reading much easier than actually trying to talk to him about it. But the more she read, the more that began to change.
Spike had shown her repeatedly that poetry—even if it wasn’t your own work—was a priceless way to communicate. He had told her once that good poetry should never be taken for granted, and that if she ever found one she loved to hold onto it, use it, make it a part of her life. It seemed rather silly to her…and honestly, she didn’t remember if he had said that in class or in a private conversation. She never understood what he meant.
Until now.
It gave her an undeniable thrill to know the poems were about her. She loved to see herself reflected in them, and in his thoughts, even if it wasn’t always flattering. It was an honest portrayal, and once she got past the initial shock and hurt, she could appreciate that. But there was another level to his work now, it began to mean something else to her. For the first time, she got it. Poetry became something beautiful and tangible, rather than something frightening and abstract.
Buffy started writing. Silly little lines. She knew she wasn’t very good, but it was rather cathartic. She used a notebook as a sort of diary or journal, keeping her thoughts in order and filling in the blanks with poems. Spike didn’t know about it, she only wrote it when he wasn’t home and she kept it carefully hidden. It was far too new, far too raw to even dream of sharing it.
She started keeping it the night sexual harassment case was heard. Three weeks later, it was nearly full. She had no idea that she had so much to say, and it surprised her how many pages she covered with her random and odd thoughts. Every time she ran out of inspiration, she snuck into his office and borrowed some of his. But she didn’t know why or how it worked.
There was one section in the blue notebook that she had read several times when she couldn’t get a hold of the red one. It had a few of her favorite poems, all clumped together on one or two pages. She went to those the most often when she was feeling empty or unsure of what to do. They invoked countless, nameless emotions in her, making her ache for him, making her love him more.
love me, lover
love me whole again
broken down, tired little man
share your sunshine, darling
give me your spring
help me breathe
i've nearly choked on my discontent
lover, love me over and over
turn me like sea glass
smooth my edges until i am worthy
to be held in your soft hands
She didn’t know if she could help him, but God, she wanted to. It broke her heart and made her wish she could respond. She tried to respond to him, though he didn’t know it. She wrote back though she didn’t think he would ever see it.
ah love
i've come undone
wrap me in your warm flesh
your velvet sighs
i am water in your cupped hands
handle me briefly
make still my shaking form
cradle me softly
i've wandered far and seek the solace
of your warming smile
don't leave me wanting
Even his love poems held a strong trace of longing, as if she was just beyond his grasp even though she was his. So she wrote poems that declared her love and assured him that he didn’t have to be afraid that she would slip through his fingers.
And the more she wrote, the more confident she became. She felt comfortable expressing herself to him because she already had her thoughts sorted. And he noticed it too—he must have. She wanted to tell him…but she never knew how and so she kept everything to herself, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. And so she told the only safe outlet she had—Tara.
“Buffy do you think that’s a good idea?” She asked as soon as Buffy revealed her secret.
She snorted. “No.”
“Then why do you keep doing it?”
“I can’t resist it, Tara.”
“Buffy, I really think you should stop, like, right now. I don’t think Spike would understand why you go through his stuff.”
Buffy sighed. “I don’t think he’ll get it either…but Tara, have you ever found a poet or a writer or something that you just couldn’t get enough of?”
“Are you reading his work for its literary value, or because you want to know his secrets?”
“A little of both. I mean, I love knowing what’s going on with him, but I think he’s really good. And besides, lately it’s the closest I’ve been to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve both been really busy. His writing has really kicked into gear, and he’s working on two books right now. I’ve started my senior project…you know how school is. Between everything we’ve just been too busy to talk…”
“I see. Have you been spending any time with him at all?”
“We’ve both been really busy,” she repeated.
“Buffy I do understand why you are doing it, but I just really think it can be a disaster if he finds out.”
”A disaster? What do you think will happen? I mean, I expect he would be upset, maybe yell and scream a bit, but then he’d get over it.”
“He might feel that it’s a pretty big violation of his privacy and trust, and not something that he can just forgive or get over.”
“No…Spike loses his temper, but he gets over it.”
Tara shrugged. “You know him better than I do, but I really think that this might be a ‘deal breaker’ for him.”
“Deal breaker?”
“I heard it on Oprah. But you know what I mean. Or maybe you should tell him.”
“What?”
“It might be best if you come clean before he finds out on his own.”
“You still think he’ll be upset though.”
“Yes, I don’t think you can get away from that no matter what you do.”
“I don’t know what to do, Tara.”
“Well, if you do tell him or if he finds out, and he does get upset, you’re more than welcome to stay with him if you need too…”
“Why would I need to?”
“In case you need a place to hang out until he calms down…”
“I don’t think it’ll come to that.”
“You never know. I’m saying just in case.”
“Well, thanks for your help, Tara. I have to go now…promised I would make dinner tonight.”
“I’ll talk to you later. Let me know what you decide, ok?”
“Will do. Bye.”