Written for open_on_sunday.
Angel: Season 3
Hand on the door and once again I will walk through it alone. Fourteen boxes filled with trinkets carried over the world for more than two centuries. Every possession labelled only in my mind, memories shared with no one, not even her.
No goodbye, just a waiting car and a midnight chill. Ready to leave her and this basement apartment that whispers of perfect nights and deadly mornings. Scent of lost innocence and rediscovered violence filling vast rooms and coating cement walls.
Shutting out the memories one last time, leaving them locked inside these four walls for good.
Spike: Season 6
The door is open when I ascend the stairs, beautiful girl, staring in the mirror, hot steam mingling with cold night air from below. Once the door is closed though...stifling. Air trapping in moisture and the scent of her blood. Unclothed under her robe, familiar aroma filling my nostrils, stirring me to violence I cannot contain.
Scratched and bruised, bitten and feral, she fights back but only her tears stop me. Punches like foreplay, tears like dry ice to flesh, forcing me from the contained heat of the small room, out into the freezing air of the hated world.