Lovers' Heartaches

I hope you will enjoy reading and commenting it.

I am trying to write Riley for the first time and the voice might not be good yet, but I truly believe that the emotions are there, with him, throughout his time in Sunnydale.

Part of the summer contest at Whedonverse and Beyond found here:
http://www.whedonverseandbeyond.net/forum/showthread.php?t=3521

Prompt: Here I am in tiny pieces; Mood prompt: rejected; Word Prompt: Heartache.
BtVS - Riley's pov - Pg



Thank you for the Nomination AND the incredible WIN at Round 7 of Running with Scissors Awards!
http://community.livejournal.com/rwsawards/31409.html#cutid1


Lovers Heartaches by Pat (July 2009)



Your lover was here. In Sunnydale. Not that it makes a difference; in a way, he is always here! I see him in the faraway look you have sometimes when we walk the dark path of some godforsaken cemeteries. I see him in the extra bounce your gait has when you get closer to the Scoobies and Giles when they discuss matters related to him. I hear him in the pitter-patter your heart makes when people mention his name around you. I see him in the oppressed breath you try to release when you fear for his life, and I also see him in the possessive way you talk about your vampires, your city, your friends, every single day.


I have always been around his shadow; I just did not want to face this painful realization. I couldn’t put words to the emotions chocking me since the day we met. I wouldn’t, simply because I did not know what it meant, couldn’t fathom how it changes you from the inside out, couldn’t understand how to learn to live with something so foreign and yet so omnipresent in your own fucking heart!


In my mind, love was something set neatly aside for the future; that elusive time when the world would be a better place, our society safe from devils known and unknown, guided by intelligent and dedicated rulers; in short a world were directions are clear and easily followed.


As all well oiled plans do, mine had a cog: you!


I love the luminous gaze you have when you fight along my side. I can’t describe how my whole being is burning alive when I am close to you. Anything you wear is imprinted in my mind, everything you say is cataloged in my brain, and everything you think becomes the most important thing to me. I’ve fallen, like so many mightiest men before me. I am utterly in love with you.


The rejection is not one of these facts of life you just take in and move on. It is a live wire consuming everything in its path. I know that when you smile at me, it really is just for me. I know you cherish the private moments we share, the validation I represent, the companionship created by our two strengths fighting the good fight along each other. I also am learning to live with the ghost you will not acknowledge: your memory of Angel.


I cannot be your first love; I cannot be a larger than life figure that will dwarf anything. I cannot erase your heartache and now that I am conscious of mine, I cannot negate it either.


I want to offer you a bright future, made of shiny fighting moments and exploding sexy retreats. I want to walk side by side with you in the glorious, sad and heartbreaking steps our journeys will surely lead us.


Tonight, I am a broken man. Here I am, in tiny pieces, trying to offer you the dream of a grown man. While I am simply a shell that can only be made complete by your love. Take anything from me, and I will stand by you, I will learn to live with your scrapes, I will try to be the invisible support you need, because I sure know I cannot be him.


All the man I can be will never be large enough to fill the void he left, to fight the longing I discern in your eyes and the dreams you are afraid to visualize or the hopes you denie yourself having. Still, I accept the rotten deal, Buffy, please, just take me!


~*~*~


The end (615 words)



Thanks for the nomination of round 1 Hellmouth Awards!

the-hellmouth-awards.dreamwidth.org/2538.html

Thank you for reading and to whomever nominated this story at Round 25 of Sunnydale Memorial

A Bittersweet Longing

07-24-2009, 04:18 PM

A Bittersweet Longing Mood Prompt: Bittersweet Word Prompt: Rejected Expression Prompt: Here I stand like an open book, is there something here you might have overlooked? Part of the summer contest at Whedonverse and Beyond found here: www.whedonverseandbeyond.net/forum/showthread.php A Bittersweet Longing, by Pat BtVS, Willow PoV, PG (July 2009) Every morning I waited for him to saunter off his house, and every time he hurriedly joined me; chivalrous and content, he always proposed to carry my lunch box, and made me believe in the tales of old of princess with their prince charming. Going to school with Xander was the highlight of my days, listening to him describe the latest Scoobidou television adventures to me, compensating for the fact that my dear parents wouldn’t allow a tv set anywhere in their precious little home was the highlight of my lunch hours. Having him teasingly work along me on our homeworks was of course a little bit wasted in terms of time and efficiency but oh so entertaining… Today we still joke. Last night we had pizza. Tonight, we have to meet at the Bronze. Tomorrow we will have a research session. The entertainment is now provided by seeing my knight in a not so shining armor fumbling around the slayer, slave to Cordelia’s desire, earnest in being a part of this group of misfits we became almost without notice, one little fight at a time. For the last few years I have grown, my body filling, my hair floating in the breeze with much more volume, my fingers long and lean itching to dance on his skin, my lips fuller and eager to be ravished. And with every passing week, it appears that what I could offer him will just be overlooked lost in the rubbles of life, buried behind the needs of the world, the hormones riding him so hard. I’ve lingered for so long just to realize what I was waiting for; I’ve delayed telling Xander because I did not know how to distinguish between my so comforting friendship with him, my late hero worship of the boy, my newfound love for the man. If I must suffer through this turmoil then I want him to do so with me. I want to understand while Xander Harris wouldn’t see me, the real me, the caring me, the one that loves him and wish he’d love me back. The End (350)

Broken

For the summer contest found at Whedonverse and Beyond:
www.whedonverseandbeyond.net/forum/showthread.php

*****

Expression: I wouldn’t set the sun at night ‘till everyone was treated right.
Mood prompt: Betrayed
Word prompt: Reflections


Broken, by Pat
Supernatural, Sam PoV, PG-15 for language


For two days it’s been Bobby and me, mopping around his shack. Seeing Dean being torn apart, alive, kicking and screaming was obviously too much for me. When I came back to myself, Bobby was there, tears running unchecked on his burly face, I was shocked and unresponsive. I still am. My big brother, my protector, my confident, my best friend, the closest person I have ever been to is not by me anymore. His grin that I thought was immortalized in my brain was replaced by the painful expression frozen in that last moment. Can I even ever listen to classic rock again? Gee all my musical education has to be shoved down a drain; from now on it ought to be NPR radio all the time. I cry; Again. There were tears left to be shed?

It’s always in times like those that the worse memories come to plague my conscious moments. Dean giving me the Christmas present from hell: a Barbie; my sibling checking my homework; Dean giving me my first wedgies; Dean teaching me to drive the Impala. Good and bad moments, all cherished, all lost forever as the only person I could share them with is gone, left me to face the world, alone.

I knew it could happen, I prepared for it, I just can’t live through the absence! Fuck the world, why brings us in it? To fight? There isn’t enough fodder out there?

I remember so well his dibs, he was so sure I was the good brother, the one that cared about the world, the innocents. I just wanted to understand what it was that dad was disappearing for, I wanted to know how much of a risk Dean was taking, I wanted to kill whatever took mom out before I had a chance to grow-up with her. Caring for the world came later, in my teens, only after I assured myself that we were all equipped, mentally and physically, to deal with the various hunts. I even had the misguided impression that what we did would change the world that I could make sure that everyone was always treated right, was safer if not happier at the end of a gig.

Dean would usually get the girl and I would scoff. Today I am reeling. Where were any of these people we saved? For years, we sacrificed, hurt, and had no lives for people that simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time or made the wrong decisions. None was there for us. None picked up for dad, none offered to help Dean, and none stood by me.

I hate them all! They can all rot in hell for all I care. The world is not a safe place, it’s not a caring place and I refuse to carry its weight.

I want my brother back… I don’t want to be nice to people, to reassure them, to defend them. I want to be reassured, protected, happy and it can never happen again.


The End (words: 504)

What Doesn't Kill Us Makes Us Stronger

For the summer contest at Whedonverse and Beyond found here:
www.whedonverseandbeyond.net/forum/showthread.php

AtS, Wesley PoV, PG13
Word prompt: Complications
Mood prompt: Haunting
Expression: There is no comfort in the truth


sunnydawards.dragonydreams.com/nominees.html

What doesn’t Kill us makes us Stronger , by Pat (July 2009)



Do we really need the complication? I guess we are too jaded to care. I wanted to believe that I was better than Lilah Morgan that I will never stoop so low. As the head of the Wolfram and Hart division that poisoned our lives for the past couple of years, I've always seen her as a cold and evil bitch, that just happen to be disturbingly beautiful.

Complications, of course.

I fell of my high horse eons ago, learned to become part of the team, learned to lead a team, even learned to lose my team. Yes, no more high horses, no more prissy Wesley, no more know-it-all watcher Wyndham-Pryce. Facing this truth is the worse. No comfort can be had in any of the difficult memories built through the experiences I survived or the memories created as days pass by.

Lilah body was never cold, not when it was molding itself to mine. Her conversations were always challenging; for all the said and unsaid things that make our lives so unnatural. Her stunning body inspired quality wet dreams the likes I couldn't recall ever have.

So, I am a traitor, my perception of things is just one truth, not even a pretty one; just enough of a truth to create their own sets of complications I guess. Well I face my fears, my limitations, my mistakes and even my weird expectations, I’ll make Lilah happy. I already crave her body, and I will stand by her over the distrust our arrangement initiated, the conceit surrounding our failures, the vicious attacks always sent the way of those already bloodied and battered.

I will because what no one understands but her is that we are alike, like rabid little animals, kicked in the gutter and who learned to survive on scraps, to be cunning, to rely on strength nobody knew they developed. We are a surprisingly good fit together; on the opposite side of the tracks, but still the same side of the coin. So easy to miss, so easy not to recognize, so easy to mistrust and even easier to ignore once noticed. After all what do you expect from loners and nonconformists oddballs?

I like what we have with each other; I can live with the complications. None of this will deter me from doing what I believe is right, I suppose I just fail to see what is so wrong about our relationship…


The End (word: 417).

Extasy, BA Style

Yeah! I've been nomiated at Round 25 of Sunnydale Memorial. Let's hope people will like this story!




Extasy, BA style, by Pat (August 2009)
Prompts: Scent * Happiness is like the future, it’s for later * Horny
BtVS - Angel PoV - Pairing: Buffy/Angel - NC-17 for sexual situation and language

For the Summer 09 Contest at Whedonverse and Beyond found here:
www.whedonverseandbeyond.net/forum/showthread.php



~*~*~

Extasy! I thought bedding the slayer was the pinnacle until I almost died.

I had forgotten how it feels to experience your existence slowly fading away; your memories colliding in your jumbled mind faster than you can process them, miss them or try to hold onto. The poison is seizing every one of my muscles, cramping were it shouldn’t, squeezing the life out of me from the tip of my limbs to my sluggishly beating heart. I haven’t felt so helpless since the last beating I got from Father, almost 300 years ago?

A vampire, a Master, a ruthless sucker, dying a slow and painful death, not in battle but in malice… Alone, in a pain I haven’t imagined in ages and suddenly pleasure, untold bliss, the purest blood of all coursing in my clogged-up veins.

It wasn’t about taking a big gulp of air, no, it was about drinking, as fast and as much as my damaged brain cells could order my parched lips to guzzle the nectar of the gods, the blood of my slayer, the juice of life that can save me.

What started like frenzy finally became the sensual ride it almost always is. I could finally think, move, feel alive again. The curves pressed against my thoracic cage at last registered and the pants moving air by my left ear finally reaches my brain. My wits and my erection ultimately join forces to bring me back in the present; fully.

One hand is now strong enough to reach Buffy’s neck and hold her to me. The other sneaks between our bodies and busy itself on the plump nipple standing to attention. A bump and grind later just to give me the parameters of our positions and I align myself a little better to cop a feel. Who am I kidding; I am primed for sex, heavy duty sex. I am hungry on so many levels; Buffy can’t imagine what’s in store for her.

I stop feeding; lick the little drops, kissing the nook of this lithe and beautiful neck, sucking the wonderful earlobe north of it, ending in the glorious mouth that years earlier had transformed me and brought the prospect of finding love and a purpose to my broken soul. It was heavenly. I deepened the kiss and couldn’t seem to get enough of the sweet supple lips following my lead. Both hands went to frame the tiny waist of my slayer and without giving her an option I lined up our bodies, I couldn’t think and tried to undress both of us with eager and weak fingers. It wasn’t quite working but luckily she understood my distress and needs and picked up where I left. Deftly my pants were pushed down, I was never happier to go commando… Her underwear was shoved away even faster. My fingers could now explore the wetness coating her entrance, my whole focus on the sweetest and most precious part of herself, my cock twitching in its eagerness to impale that softness on me. I work the third finger in her body, feeling her riding me, the fluttering increasing in her core and I snapped taking my fingers out and shoving my cock in here. It wasn’t gentle but my whole body was now trembling. The need to be in Buffy, in her warmth, was overriding any thoughts and needs I may have had.

It was like butter! Thrusting in the tight channel was fantastic, not as good as those first swallow of blood few minutes earlier, but the best thing on earth since. I still can’t think straight, so I withdraw and she is holding on, squeezing these wonderful muscles around me, I cave and push back; she raises herself with all the strength of a slayer and slams back on me, now I am in heaven. I hold her there and twist, it’s like her whole body vibrates, and I don’t think I simply raise my head enough to kiss her again, half upright with her on my mid-section, giving herself to me, like I am giving myself to her.

It’s a dance I had practiced often but the slayer is just learning, and what a learner she is. The energy between us is sizzling, she is possessed, I am too. My balls are so tights I know I can’t last but her quivering state is a balm to my splintered psyche letting me know our excitements is reaching its pinnacle. Now I am shoving into Buffy with a driving force only seen when I lose control and come when she falls in my arms spent, closing over my spurting cock. The mind blowing sex saps the last of my oomph and I pass out, so much exercise cannot be so good for my recovery I suppose.


The end (word:801)

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