wrod.

Keep it comin', Victor.

A quickie drabble, for the new Open on Sunday challenge, which is Liquids. Might be a skosh lyrical.

Desert Dream

In the arid sub-Saharan night, he dreams of wetter weather.

The shaman, demon, whatever it is, that will give him what he needs, was hard to find. The bushmen of the Kalahari recognised Spike for what he was without a moment wasted. Their memories of the First Slayer are genetic, imprinted in blood and bone. They scattered, clicking out their language in fear. Spike moved on.

Now, weeping and broken and restored, he curls against the brutal rays of sun, and dreams of Buffy, of blood and sweat and tears and the dewy golden Slayer, moist as a June rose.

Damn, victor. This is one of the best fanfics I've ever read.

Gracias. Still a little more ways to go, and very little of it in a straight line.

“Listen,” she said. “To not die is a terrible thing.”

Gods, that line, at that time, to that man ...

I already used, "I wish I'd written that," didn't I.

Gods, that line, at that time, to that man ...

Well, the voice is actually the mystery woman's voice whispering in the back of Amy's head, but yeah, Wesley is definitely the subject.

Is that unclear, though. Should I adjust?

I already used, "I wish I'd written that," didn't I.

Heh. That's OK. Say it all you want. I don't mind.

ETA: clarified that sentence. It's kind of important.

Crap, I misread it the first time, I read it as "To die is not a terrible thing." But "To not die is a terrible thing" is equally powerful. And equally true, when it's time to die and the release is denied.

Anyway, take my usual response as given.

Amazing Victor -- just amazing.

Amazing Victor -- just amazing.

Thanks.

Guess I should kill somebody now, huh?

Is this maybe too twisty for primetime? Wesley/Illyria erotica? For the liquid challenge?

This Body

This body, this body....

Things change, with this body. Attention must be paid. It hungers, thirsts, speaks to the mind within and is spoken to in return, wanting, needing, grinding down into the dirt by this water, this cold lake in the mountains above LA, this body meets Wesley's body. He has the advantage, for his body knows this body and she knows nothing at all.

But she learns, as the sky opens and a brief shower drenches their bucking limbs, her hair splayed across the ground, his naked back. And here is sunlight again, but this body?

Remains wet.

Ack. Yeah, twisted's a word.

I need a cigarette...