LUST ~ Blue Room (Prologue)

Nov. 12th, 2012 at 12:51 AM

I'm finally posting a translated fanfic!
Of course, I have to thank slaymesoftly because without her advices and suggestions I wouldn't have done it so correctly. I really wanted to translate The Queen, because it's like my personal Season Eight (And Nine and Ten...), but it's still too difficult for me so I settled with this fic. Shorter chapters. *w*

DISCLAIMER
All the characters belong to Joss Whedon. I use them just for fun.

Title: LUST, Blue Room

Summary: All Humans. Two strangers meet in a room every Tuesday at the same time. They don't know their identities or their real names. They respect a mutual agreement, until something change forever.

Pairing: Spike/Buffy; I hope I make both IC, even if this is an AU story.

Rating: Mature. I know it's called "Lust" but this story is plotted and not so much with the porny. The rating is mature because it's still a fanfiction about passion and eros. Also warning for issues of mental health, suicide, depression and death.

Notes: This fic is my love gift for Spike, Buffy and Spuffy. When I started shipping this pairing I read some anti-Spuffy opinions: basically some fans think that Spike and Buffy shared a relationship based only on sex, on lust, and they had nothing more. I don't think so. In fact, when I think or write about Spuffy, I hardly imagine kinky sexy scenarios, while I'm mostly interested in their relationship, in that particular way to comunicate to each other that make them so complex and fascinating to me. Isn't all about sex and isn't generally about "romance" either. Even in this fic the characters already have a sexual relationship and they deal with some pretty un-romantic stuff. So, not pwp or romance in traditional terms. My goal is to portray their relationship in Season Six and see how it goes in the "real world."

Feedback: Yes, please. Especially because it's my first translation and I would like to know if there is something wrong about my writing.

Tuesday, 2:30 pm.

He woke up startled by the vibration of the phone. He was dreaming. Cursing softly, he rubbed his temples and slowly opened his eyes in a vain attempt to get used to the harsh light of the day. His lips were dry and he grimaced in disgust.

With an imperious gesture, he shut the phone and stood up slowly, feeling incredibly cold. He was wearing just a shirt and old jeans. Xander’s blanket was on the floor.

He ran a hand through his hair, cursing again.

The room’s walls were covered in ivory wallpaper, while the furniture was antique and almost black. He remembered the day she chose those colors, he remembered how she loved the contrast between light and darkness. He also remembered the need to clean his house more often; his bed seemed covered in dust.

2: 35 pm.

Rubbing his frozen arms, he went to the bathroom and opened the shower jet. As soon as the steam in the room was dense, he entered the box and began to wash himself conscientiously. His hair, freshly cut and dyed, didn’t require shampoo.

He turned off the shower, wrapped himself in a towel and took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. His face was very pale. He shook his head and went into the kitchen, suddenly thirsty. The clock was ticking.

3: 00 pm.

He rushed into the bedroom to get dressed, perfecting his look. He would never miss an appointment.

An icy northern wind was announcing the arrival of snow. He muttered a curse and squeezed his body into the black coat. The languid afternoon sunlight was shining on the streets, on buildings’ windows. Beside him, clumsy businessmen were running, terrified of losing some useless second, and beautiful women on heels were ready to pick up kids from the schools.

He smiled at himself secretly. Sadly.

Street musicians began to tune their instruments; a feminine, warm voice sang the first word of a famous French song.

He walked along the main road, turning at the first crossroad. Then he looked at the impressive ancient building in front of him.

Blue Room, only for special guests.

He opened the door, and the smell of violets, dust and mildew hit his nose. The walls all around him were covered in old dirty wallpaper, cut off in the corners, turquoise and blue. The room was divided in two parts: the small entrance, completely empty except for a table and a wooden chair, and the part with the bed and a large window. He never looked outside, not even once.

He closed the door and laid the coat on the chair. For once, he arrived first. Playing with the keys, he fought the urge to light a cigarette.

She was the one usually waiting for him. She wouldn’t like the smell of tobacco.

Rubbing his temple, he sat on the bed, closing his eyes. Outside people were running, inside everything was peaceful and still. Silent.

He bit his lips, suppressing the desire to rummage his pockets. The he heard. The slow ticking of high heels, the shrill cry of the key in the lock. A scent of vanilla.

The front door slammed once. He smiled.

She was near the wooden chair. Mute, busy struggling with the buttons of her silky shirt. He had to bite his lip, hearing her skirt’s zipper, her little feet naked on the floor. Her panties and bra came off.

Desire was growing strong in his veins. He had to close his fists and ignore his arousal until something hard sank into the pile of soft clothes: her watch.

He smiled seductively and opened his dark blue eyes.

She was there, next to him. Beautiful and harsh as always. Nude, as always. Staring at him with impenetrable green eyes, waiting for a movement.

He grinned and walked towards her.

His most important appointment of the week. His beautiful stranger.

Current Mood: productive
Current Music:Edith Piaf - La vie en rose

Comments

( 6 comments — Leave a comment )

slaymesoftly

Nov. 12th, 2012 12:55 am (UTC)

Excellent job with the intro stuff. I think it clears everything up. Couple of quibbles with word choices, but I'll email you. I like it, though. Let's see what the world thinks. :)

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kikimay

Nov. 12th, 2012 10:37 am (UTC)

Thank you! I fixed the words! :D

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batheart83

Nov. 14th, 2012 03:59 pm (UTC)

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I loved the Italian version and I love this one too. You are a hell of a woman, you are the one Kiki.

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kikimay

Nov. 14th, 2012 05:04 pm (UTC)

Thank you so much! You're so kind!

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istar

Apr. 15th, 2013 06:49 am (UTC)

I really like this story so far. The slow passage of time that only seems to affect him, the absent-presence of her in everything, the hinted-at rules of this assignation, which could speak to a compassionate power exchange or a deeply unequal relationship. Looking forward to the next part!

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