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Title: Playing the Dangerous Game
Author: Diana
E-mail: mikonoda@bellsouth.net
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Timeline: Up until Angels change in S2. Right before Passion.
Spoilers: General plot spoilers for S2.
Synopsis: Sometimes we all want a taste of the forbidden fruit.
Distribution: I follow a strict "want, take have" policy. Just tell me where it's going.
A/N: Started with the title in my head and a basic idea. I wrote it in a span of maybe two hours, while I waited for MadTV and SNL to start. It hasn't been beta-ed, because, frankly, I'm afraid if I look back over it I'll realize what a piece of crap it is and lose my nerve to send it.
Feedback: I want to meet the person who puts "I'd rather not have any feedback, please" here. SEND FEEDBACK!!
Rating: R, for language.
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It went the same almost every night. It was repetitive, predictable, without variation. It was safe. It was something to be counted on.
Act one, scene one: the home.
Shes in her room, dressing for the coming night. It is dusk. She changes from her comfortable school clothes into something more hip. Black leather, high heeled shoes; daring, provocative. A silver cross is around her neck.
Then her handbag, slung over one shoulder. Hiding? One stake, one bottle of holy water, and one miniature dagger. Small. Lethal.
She is dressed to kill.
Act one, scene two: the walk.
The friends approach, knock on the door, expecting her. Call her down with laughter and jokes. Simple. Something to lose herself in.
Forgetting? Easy.
For the moment.
Say good-bye to mom. Of course shell be back around one, yes, shell be careful. Mom worries too much; she values it. Would her friend like something to eat? No, they'll just go.
The walk takes only ten minutes. Laughing, playing around with each other. Telling funny stories. What happened today? Oh, in study hall I was really bored and so I.
Approaching destination. It is dark now. Already? Yes. The vampires are out, hunting.
Act two, scene one: the Bronze.
Its a full house. Everyone is there. Waving to school acquaintances. Smiling.
Would she like to dance? Not yet.
Get a drink, smile at the bartender. ID? Just a coke. She has a pretty smile, he notices.
And so does another.
The Bronze is as dark as the night outside. There are strobe lights, pulsating music, a strong beat. Does she want to dance now?
Maybe later.
She finishes her coke. The friends are smiling at her. How's patrol been?
Its been pretty empty out. They wonder why. Maybe they'll ask in the morning. The Watcher will know.
One more dance, says the friends. How about it? She declines. Tonight shed rather just talk. They succumb to the music, and herd out to the dance floor without her.
She smiles at her friends on the dance floor. They are being silly for her. They make her laugh; she needs it.
Would you like to leave now? They have to return home. Curfew, with slightly ashamed looks. They are way too mature for curfews.
Its safer, she explains to them. There are vampires out.
Oh, yes, now they remember why they aren't bothered with the curfew as much. Would she like to leave with them? Her mother expects her home by one.
Not yet. She tells them to go, get some sleep. She'll do a patrol afterwards. She'll sneak in her window if it gets too late. Mom never checks anyway.
They leave, with promises to meet up in the front of the school tomorrow morning.
Act two, scene two: she waits.
The Bronze is still in full swing, despite being void of her friends. She watches the teenagers dancing.
More like mating. Who said that? Shes forgotten.
Already?
Yes.
The live band leaves. Now the Bronze is beginning to empty out. Shes finished her third coke, and is sipping a water.
A cute guy, college age, tall, black hair, passes by. He stops at her table. Smiles invitingly. She's not interested, but smiles anyway.
Would she like to dance? The floor is almost empty. Its a fast song.
No, thank you. She smiles at him again. Polite, unreachable.
The college boy leaves. She relaxes. The Bronze is no longer pulsating with teenagers. She gets up, and leaves.
He follows.
Act three, scene one: they meet.
Her patrol. She does this every night. Despite it being rather dangerous, she finds solace and safety within the tried and true routine.
She hums. Passes the time. Two fledglings, easily dusted. Its almost too easy. One more pass and then shell go home.
And then he steps away from the tree.
He smiles at her, tells her she looks fetching tonight. She frowns at him, steps away.
Doesn't he have anything better to do?
What's better than taunting a slayer? He is quick with comebacks, and they hurt more than she wants them to show.
She wants him to leave her alone, shes busy. She can retort with the best of them, but she chooses not to. She's tired tonight.
He grins. Coldly, maliciously. He cant do that, sweetheart.
She groans. Tries to walk away. Its hard to walk away, even now. He wears the face of her lover, he uses it against her. Even though she knows it, he can make her forget.
The need is still there. She wants it to go away, but it pounds in her head, flows in her veins, a reminder of what she had, what is gone.
How about a dance? He gives her a lewd grin. She tells him to go fuck himself and turns to walk away.
Big mistake; she exposed her back to the enemy. She can't wrap her mind around that: enemies. Even now, its so hard to accept.
He snarls at her. He'd rather fuck her, thank you. A second later his arms embrace her, pinning her own effectively to her sides.
Vampire speed, she thinks. She wasnt' even ready.
She tries to free herself. It doesn't work, hes strong, hell keep her locked in his grip as long as he needs.
Is she scared yet?
No, but shes getting annoyed now. Always has a witty remark; she knows he hates it. The key is to keep her emotions in check.
But a part of her likes it. Craves it. She suppressed it, shuts it out. Its about concentration. Don't let him see her fear.
He mused to himself aloud, wanting her to hear. Would she like it? Of course. It would be hard, and long and sweaty. She'd love it.
He wishes. She sounds disgusted. But he doesn't know its more geared to herself. He's right, she would love it.
She'd enjoy being dominated, he says, leaning forwards and taking her left earlobe between two razor sharp teeth.
Would not. She tries to move away again, but hes still got her in an iron grip. His tongue caresses the earlobe, and she almost relaxes, letting her back lean against his chest.
He bites down. Hard. She gasps with the pain, and struggles even harder.
He's a monster; she sounds bitter. The tears are close, right behind her eyelids. What she wouldnt give to let them fall.
Good call, Slayer. He chuckles. He sucks at the blood falling from her earlobe, and it makes her shiver.
In pleasure. She hates herself in that moment.
Evidently boring of her, he flings her away, and laughs at her mockingly. She is facing him again.
He raises his eyebrows innocently, then turns and strolls away. He whistles as he disappears.
Act three, scene two: she goes home.
She is racing through the streets. One more sweep of the cemetery be damned. The tears are free to fall, and fall they do.
She didn't know she had any left to cry, but she does. She scrubs angrily at her face, trying to make that evidence of her weakness go away.
Why is she so vulnerable to him? Run harder, faster, she wants to get away from herself.
In her neighborhood, and then at her house. The lights are off, mom is asleep. She climbs up the tree and hops in her window. Its habit.
She changes out of her club clothes and into a large t-shirt that reaches her knees.
She pulls back the covers and shuts off her beside lamp. Mr. Gordo is nearby; she reaches for him and hugs him close.
Her ear aches, but the wound has closed. She sniffles, and buries herself deeper in her haven of covers.
Almost three minutes later, exhausted and unhappy, shes asleep.
He smiles at her. He has walked through the front door, sensible. He sits on the edge of her bed, and stares at her.
And then, with an eery glow in his eyes, he pulls out a notepad and begins to draw.
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