In Her Eyes

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Title: In Her Eyes

Author: blueangelwings

E-mail: goddess_of_writing@hotmail.com

Rating: PG

Classification: Buffy/Spike

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, but someone out there…can I have Spike…pretty please? ;-) Kidding! Anyway, only the story idea is mine. All rights belong to the almighty Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and so on. No copyright infringement is intended.

Spoilers: None

Summary: A two-part Buffy/Spike fic. It’s very fluffy and sweet. In the story, Buffy and Spike are already a couple. This fic is in Spike’s POV.

Status: Finished

Blue, green, hazel, brown, and gray. One can never be sure of it. Her eyes are a mystery, swirling with a mixture of all five colors. They draw you to look into their alluring depths and charm you into staring longer than is proper, longer than necessary, and most importantly longer than you should. And once that’s done, that’s it for you. You’re lost. Gone. Hypnotized. Drowning, drowning, drowning in the colors and emotions in those liquid pools.

She shows everything in them. Love, loss, anguish, pain, strength. She either doesn’t know, or doesn’t admit, that for her, the old adage is true: the eyes are truly the windows to your soul. Not just to the soul, however, in certain cases. One who has experience and has spent time and effort gazing into them, like myself, will know that they not only are windows to her soul, but her heart and mind as well.

The story of her life is hidden in there, protected and sometimes covered by the long, dark lashes that frame them gracefully. Her eyes are a blessing, a gift from a God that I don’t even believe in. But if He made her, and if He created those exquisite eyes, maybe He’s not such a bloody poof after all.

Sometimes, all she has to do is give me a single look, and I know what she’s thinking…what she’s feeling…what she wants. Her eyes can also be fickle. They can betray emotions, and then hide them away just as well. Like concealing precious treasures from a treasure hunter. I admit, I am quite greedy and protective of the treasures that I find there. I cherish each look, and each feeling…and store them away in my mind. She knows, I know, we both know…that her time with me is short. And precious.

Also, they remarkably always find a way to ever-lastingly shift colors and feelings. One moment to the next…as stormy as the sea, as loving as a mother, as lustful as sin, as angry as a wrathful dove.

In her eyes, I can clearly see who she is without the hard exterior. In those heavenly orbs, I see how scared she is sometimes. Her inner strength. The romantic and girlish hopes tucked away. Revealed is what and who she really is. With all walls and defenses down, I see her…naked, in a blinding light. Without anything to hide how she truly is. And the person that she truthfully is…is even more gorgeous than the woman on the outside…and the woman that she tries to be.

She’s captured me with her eyes. Many a lesser man have been caught and hypnotized by them. I pity the poor wankers…sometimes, she doesn’t even know. My kitten that doesn’t bother to sheath her ruthless claws…that she can’t even feel. And that’s part of her beauty. She doesn’t know how she charms so many. How lovely and breath-taking she is. I’m thankful that I lack the breath for her to so carelessly take away.

I’ve taken it upon myself to discover and explore the hidden depths in there. And I’m grateful to her for allowing me. When we’re together, the colors change even more. Bluer, greener, I never know what to expect. She’s so beautiful, there are no words worthy enough to describe her. An aquiline, ethereal, almost angelic beauty. Now I wish I had paid more attention to adjectives in school, when I was a lad.

Whether shooting fiery gold sparks from her eyes, or having the gentle, calm look of a peaceful ocean, her eyes never cease to amaze me. As we’re lying in bed right now, I slowly lift up my hand to turn her face my way. The said eyes open sleepily as she stretches like a contented cat. I look in wonder, with awe, at them, green with gold flecks sprinkled liberally. Before I have had a chance to thirstily drink in my fill of the color, it fades into a quieter hazel. She laughs at my fascination with her eyes and leans a little, her hair falling around her cheek like a curtain, to touch her lips softly to mine. Lips…but that’s another story for another time…I’ve waxed poetic enough to make that sodding Angel even proud.

The End