As I promised to speakr2customrs.
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favourite or most intriguing sentence so far, but what you choose is entirely your discretion. Mention the title (and genre) if you like, but don't mention anything else -- this is merely to whet the general appetite for your forthcoming work(s).
I am, of course, ignoring all that and giving you all a bit more.
Untitled (BtVS during Sleeper)
At first he’ll give these girls the brush off, rejecting their advances with a resigned shrug. Then he seems to go into himself, and the girl, drawn to those sad eyes will buy him a drink or bum a cigarette. They’ll go off together by the end of the evening, to what she thinks must be an empty, inconsulate fuck and he’ll be back again the next night to do it all over again with someone else.
Spike on a bike (the unfinished story I started about those pics of JM on the bike)
He looks sure of his own sexiness she thinks, until she notices the nervous way he twirls the leather cords lashed to the handlebars between his fingers, then she knows that that it's all unconscious, that he's ridiculously unsure of himself. He's trying hard for her, while not entirely believing the illusion.
I love her, I hate her (Sequel to Bronzed, BtVS season 5)
He has a routine. Sundown and he’s out, picking up enough fags to last the night. From there he’ll try the Bronze or the parties on the college campus, anywhere he thinks he might be able to engineer a chance encounter. If she’s at the Magic Box, then stay outside in the shadows, unseen, before following her out on patrol, clearing out the stragglers before they can get to her and keeping an eye on her back. Before she turns for home, he’ll reveal himself, casually saying his hello with an acerbic comment or two, conveying I love you with his eyes and hoping she’ll notice. The resulting blow to his nose feels like a kiss and he’ll return to the crypt invigorated enough to shag Harmony until she’s tried enough to sleep the sleep of the dead. Then it’s up and out again to take his position under the tree to watch out the night.
Vegas or Bust (The back up fic I started for the first Spuffy ficathon, but never finished as the ex left me during it)
His cock feels cool in her mouth, alabaster velvet, firm and strong. Swollen, meaty, she curls her tongue around it, tracing to the tip along every vein. One hand on the steering wheel, his other rests on the back of her head, rubbing the back of her neck gently, affectionately, his fingers lazily ranging through her hair.
Inertia (The infamous sequel to Tattered Valentines, BtVS during End of Days)
Oh god, he’s impulsive and needy, annoying and sarcastic, but also so strong, with such courage. He’s tangle of contradictions that change with perspective like a hologram.
Pull on the Line (The sequel to Kiss Chase)
He looks incongruous on the bed, a hard, monochrome monster against the rich jewel colours of the velvet throw. Evil in sweetness, leather and punky bleach, somehow a vampire's head should not rest against a pink, fuzzy, fake fur cushion, but he's made himself at home there, as if he belongs.
Scooby Do, Scooby Don’t (This is waiting for the plot to arrive)
"Spike!" She tried to get his attention in a whispered hiss, hoping his advanced hearing would pick it up, and that 25 years of blasting punk music into his ears hadn't ruined them for good.
She saw him furrow his brow and sniff. Yes! He would smell her.
Instead, he reached into his pocket for a cigarette and lit up. She rolled her eyes, with that stink going on he'd never sense her.
As he began to puff away in the middle of Reception, a couple of orderlies appeared to challenge him and there was a small altercation when he protested. She put her head into her hands, praying that he wouldn't show them his game face - he couldn't be less subtle if he tried.
Eventually, the dispute was settled and the cigarette was put out in the compost of the planter. This was her chance to get his attention while he was close.
Christmas Mourning (A Spara Xmas fic, that may or may not happen)
"Christmas was always tough for us." Tara sighed. "Mom and I never quite fit dad's idea of perfect Christians."
Spike smiled. "I can imagine."
"What do vampire's do at Christmas?"
"The usual, visit the family, go carol singing, pass out in front the telly."
"No. I mean really."
"We eat people, Luv. Evil doesn't really understand the spirit of Christmas."
Working My Way Back to You
“That would certainly explain why The First appears to have been lying low since the Hellmouth was cleared.”
“It certainly does.” Said a voice behind the group. They turned to see Eve framed in the doorway, standing as prim as an oriental schoolgirl in Chinese silk. “And now we have a problem.”
Sometimes she’d hear songs that remind her of him on the radio. Love songs with lyrics that cut close to the bone or trashy punk tracks she knows he’d have loved.
She turns them off.
She doesn’t want to remember him like that, just nostalgia tied to a few passing bars of a song. She wants to remember how fierce he was, how cruel he could be - because if she remembers all his dimensions, the man he became for her, how sweet and loving he was, she’d fall to pieces never to be rebuilt.
And a bit of Spuffy, just to prove we’ll get there in the end:
She'd tasted young love, remorse, hopeless longing and all too often, despair, but this kiss was in another class. Elation like a supernova, the same intense passion there had always been but the pain replaced with the pleasure of knowing that the love tightening inside was mutual and returned. The kiss lingered, past passion into just a touch, a connection between them that they didn't wish to pull apart.