The Last Vampire

"I don't know exactly when it started, only that it did. It always
seemed to be there, ever since I can remember and I can remember a lot.
Being a slayer has that effect on you, it heightens everything around
you. Oz once said it must be like being permanently stoned yet
exquisitely aware. I remember asking him how he would know that and he
blushed, which in itself was strange for Oz, and mumbled something
about Devon smoking pot, but he was right, that's how I remember it, as
if I were constantly in a state of focus but as if it were directed
solely towards him.

I remember all of the taunts,
the fights, the tears, the sweat, the kisses and the sex, not
necessarily in that order though. Scratch that, it usually was in that
order. First we'd taunt each other, revelling in our ability to hurt
with words, then we'd fight, punching and kicking, blood running,
hearts pounding, rage mounting, my tears falling, partly in rage at
myself for allowing him to get that close and partly in pain because
those were heavy boots, as his steel caps made contact with my ribs,
sweat trickling down my already sodden face, my hair in my eyes
constantly.

I remember how we'd stand, in battle
ready positions, facing each other when, I don't really know how to put
it, it was as if his eyes suddenly softened. His head would tilt to one
side and he'd smile almost questioningly, silently asking if that was
going to be the moment when I got fed up and staked his sorry ass, but
of course it never was. Then he'd cross the chasm between us and kiss
me, sometimes tender, sometimes rough.

Oh the feel
of his cold skin against mine, his tongue playing sensually eith mine,
cooling my heat, wasis the most beautiful feeling ever. It's so hard to
put into words the feeling he brings out in me, the way my skin seems
to burn under his touch, my velvety softness being brought to fever
pitch by the merest glance or feathered touch of ice cold finger tips
or tongue. Even the way his hair sticks out at all angles when he first
wakens is enough to make my throat constrict and joy bubble up through
my body, threatening to burst with the sheer delicious agony of loving
someone.

I pause and put my pen to one side for a
moment before continuing you see I'm trying to write this with a
detached air and it's just not happening, just the thought of him near
me, his breath on my hot flesh, his mouth gently licking and biting my
sensitive nipples, making them hard, making me squeal, my skin slick
with sweat, both his and mine. His hand on my engorged, wet clit,
gently rubbing and pinching as he thrusts his hard straining cock on
the top of my thigh with just enough pressure to make me groan at the
thought of what is to come, then when I am at the peak of orgasm he
thrusts hard inside me, his cold flesh filing mine, stretching me as my
muscles clench in pleasure around his pulsing cock, his cries of
pleasure bursting from him as he slams into me. The salty, coppery tang
in the air that is uniquely us.

The sounds of us,
the soft kitten mews, the harsh panther growls, the final lions roar.
The cliches could go on and on, which is uncanny as so can
he.

I smile at what I've just written. Willow was
always the better writer. More academic, less liable to get wigged by
homework. God I miss her, she and Xander were my best friends, they
stuck with me through thick and thin, or blood and guts, whatever you
prefer. It all seems such a long time ago, when we knew the line
between good and evil, before it got blurred, before Angelus, before
Jenny, before Faith. Giles still hasn't recovered from what Angelus did
to him, the scars are still there on the inside. He tries to hide them
but he can't, not from me. Especially since
Willow..

I can't write for tears, falling through
space and blurring the lines. It was such a stupid way to go, after all
we'd been through to get hit by a drunk driver. We held two funerals
for her, cremated in the sun and mourned in the moon, just so they
could come. He turned up with Cordelia and Wesley, Giles could barely
speak to him and Xander couldn't look at her. Me, I embraced them both.
Life's too short.

Giles I am so worried about him.
Will's death was almost the end for him. Who'd've guessed, the hacker
and the watcher desperately in love with each other. I think it was
only the red haired toddler in his arms that kept him from doing
anything to himself. Their daughter, Rachel Elizabeth Giles. It makes
me sad thinking of what I can never have; will never have it just
wouldn't be fair. So I spend as much time as I can being rachel's
favourite Auntie. Giles even smiled at me the other day for the first
time since It was only a half smile and then he turned away, trying to
hide the tears from where I was swinging Rachel around, holding just
her arms. Children amaze me, they give you their trust without you ever
having to earn it, and they love you unconditionally. But still it
wouldn't ever be fair for me to ever have a
child.

It's not that I slay full anymore, oh no,
after Faith's death a new slayer was activated, I never met her and
didn't want to. She lasted a year, and so it goes on, only I'm the
lucky one, I got to side step and start a new life; a relativelt normal
one, talking of which Xander's coming round tomorrow, he wants me to go
"shopping" with him for his new house that he shares with Giles and
Rachel. You know, looking back, it's funny how after Will died, we all
moved away and ended up in the same place. Like an unspoken rule that
we would stay together no matter what.

I can feel
movement, I look down at the face of the man I love, asleep in the bed
next to me, and who loves me with all of his heart and sigh at the
absurdity of it all. He's shifting in his sleep, his eyes opening and
looking straight at me. He smiles and I know I am his forever, no
matter what. He hasn't changed much though it's been 15 years since we
first met. He never will change and deep in my heart I don't want him
to, he wouldn't be him anymore if he did. He's the reason I stopped
slaying. He wanted me around for as long as possible, and I wanted to
be there. I look at the small band of gold that I wear and smile
slightly. He's watching me write, not moving even though I know he's
hungry. He shifts onto his side and props himself up on one
elbow.

"All the better to watch you my love" he
murmurs to my raised, inquisitive eyebrow.

Reaching
down I plant a kiss on his forehead and return to the task in
hand.

Even Xander respects him know, though it is
rather grudgingly. Reading this back I can see how over the years, I
have been affected by him, by his mannerisms and way of speaking,
though, thankfully, not by his dress sense. Xander calls me a wannabe
Brit.

I can fell him staring at me and I know he
wants me to stop writing so that "I can get my rocks off, pet" as he so
affectionately puts it. I can feel him running his hand up my bare leg.
It amazes me that even after all these years just one glance or one
touch from him will set me on fire, no pun
intended.

I turn to
him.

"Spike?"

"Hello
Cutie.."