Disclaimer: Not mine. But my kind-of-a-decoration scheme for the room should land me a job on Trading Spaces.


He’s not there. I can feel him, deep inside me, as I pump my hips back, sliding him in and out of me, every slick slide of flesh, every twitch and moan is real, tangible, but when I open my eyes, there is only me; sweat slick hair brushing against my half-lidded eyelashes, damp, reddened hue of exertion on my cheeks as I thrust back again and again, quick, steady movement back and forth, pushing back harder into him over and over. I know he’s behind me, and that he’s thrashing within the ropes fastening him to the high bed posts, because I can see those ropes moving, seemingly of their own accord, in the large mirror I’ve fastened to the headboard of the bed. What I can’t see in the mirror is him.

I know he’s there, and I know why I can’t see him. When you fuck your vampire lover in front of a mirror, you’re not going to see his reflection, because he doesn’t have one.

I can see myself in the mirror, writhing against Spike, fucking myself on his thick, hard cock. His whispered moans inform me that he finds the sight erotic. I find it lonely.

Maybe if he were the one alone in the mirror, I would find it erotic. Even just the thought of him in my place, writhing against thin air, but feeling me, the way I’m feeling him, is hot. But it doesn’t break through the lonely sight before me.

So why don’t I stop, and remove the mirror, and let him fuck me, where I can see him? Why don’t I make a point of seeing him, so that I’m not lonely here anymore, despite his cool erection embedded deeply inside me.

Why don’t I change it?

Because it wouldn’t make a difference. I would still be alone. Not alone here in this bed, or this apartment. Alone in my heart.

I know that Spike is here for sex. He comes every night, just to come. Anya taught me a hundred different kinky things to do, and he enjoys them. He enjoys me.

But he doesn’t love me. He’s here, and he comes to come, and he even spends the night most nights, until he has just enough time to get back to Buffy’s basement before he’s missed, but he always leaves.

I know I have more invested in this relationship than he does. I know that I’m the one with the hope and the love and the idiocy of a teenage girl with her first crush. I know that I’m liable to get hurt, because I fell in love with a demon who will never love me back, soul or no soul.

I stop pushing back, and he howls in protest. I pull myself from him, his slick cock pulling out with a slight hop. I almost wish I had set up two mirrors, so that I could have seen my asshole stretched from having him in me. Next time. For now, I want to fuck my vampire.

I slide off the bed and stand behind him, my fingers already slick, slipping into him, preparing his asshole for me. Then I slide inside, and watch the mirror in fascination as my cock pushes in. I can see it, but it appears to be fucking empty space. He’s tight around me, but when I look into the mirror, he’s not there.

They used to say that your soul reflected in the mirror, projecting your image. Apparently they never thought about inanimate objects and souled vampires when they were making that comparison, but there you go. But maybe it explains why Spike’s not visible in my mirror. His heart, his soul, aren’t in this. His body is here, but he’s not here because he loves me. He’s here because I let him. Because I tie him to my bed posts and fuck him in front of a mirror.

So why the mirror?

They also used to say that mirrors hold the real truth. That what reflects in a mirror is the way things truly are, with no fantasy, no pretending. Cold, calculated, scientific truth.

In the mirror, Spike is absent. I look into the mirror, and my body is moving, fucking, being fucked, and eventually coming harder than with any other partner I’ve had, invisible muscles crushing my erection as Spike comes, too, but I’m alone.

In the mirror, Spike isn’t here. He’s not here in heart, and he’s not here in soul, so why should he be here in body? I’m alone in my feelings, so why shouldn’t I be alone in the mirror?

I continue to thrust into him, hard and fast and deep, my hips bucking against him, and staring into the mirror, at my cock, my hips, my body. But never my eyes.

I hope Spike is too enthralled with my cock twitching inside him to see the look in my eyes.

It’s enough for me to know that I’m alone, without him knowing that I know it.

And it’s lonely enough seeing myself alone in the mirror, without having to see just how alone I really am by the look in my eyes.


**BTW, the decoration scheme if you missed it? Hot blonde vampire tied to bed, and mirror. Mm.


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