Dear Lullaby

By Elka

Title: Dear Lullaby
Author: Elka
Email: [email protected]
Post Date: 02-01-99
Rating: PG13
Part: 1 of ?
Distribution: The regulars.
Disclaimer: Joss makes me happy as a clam.
Spoilers: Season four. Spike is unbitey. Oz has left Sunnydale,
but they never had sex. Willow's pure. Giggle.
Feedback: I'll give you a cookie.
Author's Notes: Someone (requested to stay anonymous) suggested
I take my 'Believing Again' idea (where Willow read Spike's
journal) and make a few adjustments. I thought about it and
here's what I came up with. Hmm. Let's see how many times Elka
can say the word 'penis' in her fics today.

- All my fic is quick drying and water resistant.

-----

'Sometimes I think being with Oz was a waste of time and emotions.
I all I wanted from was to hold me. I didn't need an all powerful,
life-shattering committment. Just a simple embrace. But he
had to go find himself. Or whatever the excuse was.

I think I'm getting better. Sure, in the very beginning all
I wanted to do was cut off his penis and put it on my shelf
as a reminder of how evil men are, but I'm dealing. Now, anyway.
 

But the loneliness is still there. Constantly. Screaming at
me, explaining in not so many words how I drove my first love
away. First love that loved me back. I'm not even going to
start on Xander.

I feel so unfulfilled. Buffy's off with her dish of the week,
telling me all about it and then there's Willow, virginal and
pure. I'm practically wearing a white veil. It's frustrating.
I want to know what sex is like, just like any other girl.
But I also want meaningfulness (word?) but not too much.

I don't know what I want.

All I know is I'm sitting all alone in footie pajamas. Tucked
under the covers with hot chocolate and my journal.

Tonight starts a full a week living in Giles' apartment, all
by lonesome. Except that pesky man-killing-bloodlust-torturing
Spike. But he shouldn't be a problem. He was so busy watching
television, he barely noticed me when I came in.

I'm a pushover.

Looking in those eyes shouldn't be too hard...

Did I just write that?

My eyes are closing. Time for sleep. I can't stop thinking
about this dream I had the other night. I woke up and I was
laying in a bed full of red rose petals. I was naked and I
could feel a cool hand running up my leg. Then I woke up. It's
always that way. I never get to the good parts. Grumble. Grumble.'

He set down the journal, a glimmer in his eye. He glanced down
at Willow's sleeping form, her head resting in the crook of
her bent arm.

He smiled.

-----
Part 2:
-----

Willow shifted from her dream state to consciousness. She felt
so comfortable, almost like sleeping on a cloud. Her dreams
had been filled with wonderful images of sweet smelling roses
and cold shadows. And the feeling of someone watching her sleep.
She remembered the way soft hands had removed her clothing,
but she couldn't see them. As if her eyes had remained closed
the entire time.

Willow became more aware as she felt a cool sensation on her
ankle. It was like a late fall breeze sneaking in the window,
hitting her exposed ankle with a kiss. It glided up her leg,
past her knee. She was almost afraid to wake up. The hand snaked
up her thigh, sliding off her warm flesh before it made contact
with her hip.

"Write more." Came the barely audible whisper. "You haven't
got to the best part yet."

She opened her eyes with a start. Again, she was alone in her
bed.

A bed of red rose petals.

-----
Part 3:
-----

Willow leaned over turning the faucet, watching as the hot
water crashed into the porcelain tub. She stared absently at
the rising steam. Imagined it swirling around her and lifting
her to the stars.

She sighed, assuming a position in front of the mirror. She
peered at her features, pausing to wipe away a sheen of mist
on the glass. Average. All average. Boring. No wonder Oz had
found wolf girl so sniffable.

Her shed robe fell to the floor in a pile. Willow shivered
once as the cool air hit her nude body, before stepping to
the water. She sunk into her own little heaven, letting the
soap bubble surround her. Her head rested on the edge. She
closed her eyes.

-----

Spike pushed the door back to it's shut position, not letting
the tumblers click and alert the unknowing girl. He leaned
against the wall in the hallway, trying to talk an erection
down.

Willow had questioned him about the flowers. 125 years of lying
had gotten him easily out of the situation. She believed him,
but was a bit disturbed. She hadn't said anything about her
journal.

Spike glanced down at the little book in his hands. He turned
to the next entry.

'...Not all fantasies are sexual, though.' She had written,
he skimmed the page quickly. 'I had this fantasy once, about
a year ago, of being blindfolded and...'

The vampire snapped the book shut, glancing once at the closed
bathroom door before heading quietly out of the Watcher's apartment.

-----

Part 4:
-----

Willow felt the gentle tapping on her head. Her sleep-filled
eyes opened slowly, focussing on a piece of paper held in front
of her face.

'Do not turn. Do not try to run. Do not speak or ask questions.
I will not answer. If you must say something, I will only nod
or shake your head to indicate the answer. Your wrists are
bound, but you're not in danger. Trust where I lead you. I
will not hurt you. I only wish to do what you have said.'

Willow flinched as she finished reading. Before she could react,
a soft blindfold was dropped over her eyes, tied firmly, but
not tightly. She felt gloved hands pull her off the bed and
out the door. Crying to Spike for help would do no good, he
preferred to stay out at nights, refusing to spend anymore
time in the Watcher's apartment then necessary.

When they reached the top of the small stairway, strong arms
enveloped her, carrying her down. He wore a thick top, obviously
trying to keep his identity unknown to her.

"Do I know you?" She whispered as he set her down on the floor,
grasping her arm until she regained her balance.

He lightly shook her head back and forth with two fingers,
indicating no. After a moment, he nodded her head.

"In the middle?" She asked.

Nod.

He led her across the floor, pushing her gently to the floor.

Willow felt him drop down next to her, a non-threatening seated
position. She relaxed a bit, relieved she wasn't leaving the
familliar apartment.

Something pushed at her mouth, something cold, moist. She opened
her lips to recieve the treat, biting down into the softness.

Strawberry.

-----
Part 5:
-----

Willow almost collapsed from the pleasure she felt. She never
imagined food to be such an erotic experience. It had felt
like hours since he had began feeding her. Everything from
strawberries to cheese.

He had silently given her whipped cream from a leather bound
hand, swirling the cool cream around in her mouth, pushing
and pulling his finger in and out of her lips a few times.
She had bit down lightly, a smile forming aorund the glove.
It gained a muffled chuckle, but she still couldn't identify
who it was.

Now, as she started to sink deeper against the couch, trying
to resist the sleepiness that was slowly falling over her,
he slowed down. Feeding her less, stroking the side of her
face more. He loved to touch her flesh and hair, let the red
locks slip along the soft animal skin.

He forced Willow's mouth open gently with a hand around her
jaw. She heard shaking liquid and felt the stream of cool sweetness
run down her throat. A tangy, but wonderful wine dripped slowly
into her mouth. She shook as the tiny, intoxicating droplets
delighted her taste buds.

She closed her mouth, swallowing the liquid, letting more of
the wine run down her chin. A tiny pink tounge darted out of
her mouth to lick it up.

"Spike..." Willow sighed.

He froze, keeping her in the dark about his identity was pertinent
if he wanted her as much as he did. And now, seeing the liquor
dripping from her lips, a dab of whipped cream on the tip of
nose, he wanted her more than ever.

He silently stood and crossed the room. He opened the door
noiselessly and slammed it shut, removing the gloves and pocketing
them.

"Eating blindfolded?" Spike stared down at Willow. "Interesting.
And with your wrists bound? You know, I know a guy I can fix
you up with. If you're really that lonely."

Willow looked to the sound of his voice. "Spike? Where is..."
She looked perplexed.

Spike dropped to his knees next to her, removing the blindfold,
quickly untying the bindings on her hands. "Getting over a
loved one is hard. Of course we all do it in different ways.
When Dru left me, I never blindfolded, tied myself food, and
poured ine all over myself, but whatever gets you through the
nights."

"Nights?" She looked at him, her eyes adjusting to the light.

"It's morning, luv." He strode out of the room as she glanced
out the window.

"Morning." Willow repeated quietly.

The sun streamed through the slit in the drapes.

-----
Part 6:
-----

'It can't be Spike. I know it can't. Just thinking about practically
sends me reeling. I can't deal with that right now.

It's so hard to write anymore. I know that everything I say
will be turned around and used against (?) me. If you call
it that. I've enjoyed the little games so far, but it's just
weird. What if it's someone trying to kill me? Maybe believing
it's Spike is a comfort.

Do I even want to know who it is? I think deep down, I know.
I'm trying to reassure myself it's not who I already know it
is. Or am I? All these thoughts. It's confusing.

I could have whatever I want. I could ask for a night of unending
pleasure or just a night of sex. It's what I want is it? But
now that I have the chance, it doesn't seem like what I really
want. I just want to be held, to be loved. But that's not something
just anyone can give.

I always thought it would be fun to be romanced, truly romanced.
Meet my knight in shining armor. Or something like that. Dance
like the dancers in a musicbox. Candlelight dinner. Maybe a
walk under the moon. A truthful confession of love.

I'd like to see that come true. Maybe my dreams have come to
an end. Maybe it's time to wake up.'

-----
Part 7:
-----

Several days passed and no mystery man. Willow wrote faithfully
in her journal each and every night, but nothing happened not
since the wonderful evening of food. She began to dismiss it
only as a practical joke. Played on her probably by Xander.
It was the kind of thing he would find amusing.

She climbed the stairs tiredly to the room she was staying
in. She'd be leaving tomorrow, moving back into the dorm as
Giles would return. She had kind of liked living with Spike.
He had kept mostly to himself. Only the occasional snide remark
or vamp face scare while he enjoyed a cup of O positive.

Willow turned the thoughts over and over in her head. Dismissing
possible explanations for what had happened. So, alright, one
night of food. She thought to herself. And a bed full of rose
petals. Not an everyday, but not something to get worked up
about.

Sigh.

She pushed the door open, the room was completely dark, only
the stars twinkled through the window. Willow stopped. Faint
music played on the bureau. She walked slolwy to the musicbox,
a soft smile crossing her lips.

In the box, two people danced, one a girl in a beautiful flowing
gown, just like the one she had always dreamt about. Just the
night before she had written about how much she loved the tale
of Cinderella.

With the little girl figurine, waltzed a tuxedo-clad blond.

With a speck of red on smiling lips.

-----
Part 8:
-----

Willow smiled at the melody floating out of the small musicbox.
Something sitting beside the box attracted her attention, a
piece of paper folded in a neat square. Her name was scratched
across the outside. She opened it curiously.

"W - You know. You have to. Come to the Bronze, there's something
hanging in the closet for you to wear. Come to me, love."

Inside the closet, hung a beatiful dress, like the girl's in
the musicbox. Gauze and satin in the palest shade of pink.
When she put it on, the material flowed around her, drifting
and swaying with every step. She spun in front of the mirror,
feeling like a princess.

-----

The Bronze looked nothing like usual when Willow stepped inside.
The lights were all off, hundreds of candles littered tables
and chairs, their flames setting the dancefloor aglow.

"Just like Cinderella." She whispered, approaching a table
in the middle of the room.

Another note, with her name on it, sitting next to an identical
musicbox playing and a single red rose. She tilted the letter,
making out the words in the cnadlelight.

'W - Turn around.'

Willow spun around, her gown falling into place around her
tiny frame.

"Spike." She murmured breathlessly.

He stood smiling at her, looking a bit awkward in a tuxedo
and cumberbund. He held another rose out to her.

They met in the middle, his arms encircling her waist.

"I..." Willow opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped with
a finger to her lips, silencing her.

Spike took her right hand in his, her small, thin fingers entwined
with his cool ones.

"You know how to waltz." She said quietly.

"For you. Joyce taught me."

Willow giggled at the image of Spike getting dancing lessons
from Buffy's mother. She rested her head on his shoulder with
a sigh.

"I knew it was you."

"I know you did." He breathed in the scent of her shampoo,
her soft hair tickling his face.

"What's next?" She whispered.

"Anything. Anything for you, my dear lullaby."

-----