The Madness of My Muse


It began when they did; new Slayer, new Watcher, same old duty. But this one was different, this one not only ignored traditions and propriety, she mocked them. They’d all but abandoned the Council, turning their backs on their authority when trials and hard questions came into play. Giles refused them their test, refused them their answers and stood by her side, the side or right, or at least right now. She brought out the worst in him and he hated himself for loving it.

He could hear her marching down the empty school halls, coming for him. With a kick, she sent the library doors swinging open and her eyes lock on him, shady and ravenous.

At first, they were partners, then they were friends, now they were little more than whores. He didn’t intend this to happen. He didn’t intend to lose his way. But darkness has a way of creeping up on you, little by little until you open your eyes one day and there is no more light left, only a hollow, black existence. Better than not existing at all, or at least that’s what he told himself when he shoved himself inside her.

He knew what she wanted before she did. It was routine now, when she came to him hungry, every night after the hunt, never satisfied by the work. Her body craved something more, like a junkie needing a fix, and she always found what she was looking for in him, her Watcher. Little did he know that he would be both teacher and student, teaching her how to stay alive while she taught him how to die a little each day. The hardest lesson was the first, that there was a new set of rules, taught to him thrust by powerful thrust as she fucked him into the next dawning day.

Crossing the open space, the echo of her thick tread boots barely able to mask the pounding of her heart, she moved swiftly to him. He prayed she’d spare his new suit from her wrath. She would tear, sometimes scratch, his skin marked and inflamed by her ruby red nails as she ripped his shirt away like a tissue irritation.

But not this time. This time she went below the belt. He fought to keep her from shredding the stitching of his zipper as she revealed him, exposed him to the chilled air, the only part of him that mattered. Her jaw dropped as did her body, sinking to her knees and taking him without warning, without asking, without permission.

He was nothing more than an instrument played to perfection by her clever tongue. His cock danced to the quick changes of her tempo, conducting his desires with her able lips. She drew out new and glorious sensations he’d never suffered before. Soon, he wanted depth, unhindered. To penetrate the dark reaches of her soul, but he held himself back, caging his anger from entangling his fingers in her brunette strands and dragging her closer, forcing her to take him further, deeper still. Swallow him whole.

It wasn’t his choice but he could never bring himself to beg her not to. It was her, always her, sensing his weakness, his loneliness. The excruciating thirst only she could quench, only she would quench. She heard and answered, eager fingers crawling along his pants, promising to quiet the aching, eyes never leaving his. Dark, coffee eyes plead her regretful gratitude as she sucked his soul from him, one stale drop at a time.

Shallow and delicate, teasing licks and gentle strokes, bringing him so close but never far enough, always on the verge of that sweet insanity. It’s what made her happy, knowing that she owned him, that she commanded him. In those naked moments, he gave up himself to her, enslaved by her wicked mouth, all moist and hot and dangerous. She spoke to him, lips slick along engorged flesh. A dialogue with no voice but that moved him more than any words could.

Giles knew the game. She would set him up, building and building upon the flames only to leave him burning until blue, no release until she was ready.

But then, with a single tender touch, it all changed.

Grazing the hot skin of his shaft with dull teeth, she began to pump him, her stiffened fingers kneading him.

Humming to pulsing.

Breathing was just another exercise in frustration as she took him deeper.

Pulsing to throbbing.

There was nothing other than the boiling like hot tar within.

Throbbing to screaming.

He came, hard and fast, almost choking her unprepared throat with his seed. The only evidence of her assault, the invisible stains found inside, consuming him from within her.

She pulled away, eyes widened, suddenly blessed by an innocent light as he gazed down into the face of his fallen angel. So young, so troubled, so deadly, and Giles felt perhaps she was the only one in all the world who knew loneliness as he did.

“Is it what you needed?” He spoke sharply, his tone setting a challenge as he labored to catch his breath.

“No, it’s what you deserved.” A smile, plain and sweet.

She rose slowly from the floor, straightened her white tank top, her black jeans, her black leather belt. After running her fingers through her hair, she dipped her hand within her jeans to retrieve a cigarette. The flicker of a sterling silver Zippo lighter sent a flame dancing, toasting the cigarettes end and her clever mouth worked the smoke alive as she’d done to him moments before. She looked at him, a different kind of look, one that hinted at sorrow and made him want to follow as she turned and marched the same path she’d come from, as if trying to hide within her own footprints. Stopping at the library doors, she glanced back with a coy smile curling the edges of the worn crimson lips. “Thanks Giles, for everything.”

He tucked himself away, tidying up after the storm. “Where are you going?” He cared, damn him.

“Nowhere, somewhere. Anywhere but here.” With a final exchange of glances, concerned green to repentant brown, she stepped out the library doors and out of his life. With Faith, he’d lost another Slayer. With Faith, he’d lost his nerve.

And he could not bring himself to know another.

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