Something I Can Never Have
Written by: June
Summary: very short fic set in season 6. Spike ponders what he wants to do with Buffy.
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Disclaimer: all’s the genius that is Joss and Mutant Enemy!!
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I already got more than I ever hoped for. I got to kiss her, taste her,
fuck her, hold her, love her. Even got to play some of the kinks. I knew
she’d like those. She kept it up for quite a while y’know, the prim and
proper act. But that’s all it was really, an act. Bloody stupid act of
denial. Denial of what she is, what she feels. I knew that all along. Just
wasn’t sure how to bring it out in her. Turns out I didn’t have to.
She gives me a run for my money half the time, too. And God, she’s good.
Makes me beg as much as I make her scream. And vice versa and in any and
every position two supple people can work out. And she enjoys it, hell,
that’s obvious. What’s more, I think, she’s slowly beginning to accept it.
To accept that she enjoys what I do to her, what we do to each other. To
accept her screams that echo in my crypt when I make her come, and the
silent stolen kisses when her friends aren’t looking. I already got so much
more than I ever dared to hope for, but it’s not enough. I want more, need
more. The stuff we’ve done, the little kinky bits, it’s all been
incredible. A bloody revelation, I told her after that first night, and it
still is.
But this, what I’m going to do now, I know she isn’t ready for. It’ll be
too much for her and she’ll freak. Probably gonna yell at me again, she is.
How I have the nerve, how I don’t understand, how she doesn’t want to touch
me or see me ever again. But despite all that, I have to try. Have to see
if I can convince her, seduce her, into doing this, with me. Because if she
would, it could be even better than all the stuff we’ve done before. Could
be.
Around the corner, into her street now. Her house smells funny, kinda like
garlic. Makes my nose wrinkle. When the door opens the smell grows
stronger. Maybe she’s cooking something. Her eyes say she didn’t expect me.
She sucks at hiding her smile. I greet her and fumble in my pocket, pulling
out the tickets. Thrust them into her hand, and wait for her rejection.
Insults, sarcasm, panic, whichever form it’ll take, it’s all worth the try.
“Nine Inch Nails?” Wonder in her voice.
“It’s good music.” I shrug. “Thought you could use a little distraction.”
“And you want to take me? Like, on date?” Bloody disbelief. Not a good
thing.
“Look, if you don’t want to—“
Her face lights up. “No, no, I do!” Hesitation for a moment, then, softer,
earnestly: “I’d love to.”
I stare at her. Eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed and a smile, a fucking happy
smile on her face. That I put there. By asking her out.
I want to kiss her now, but I don’t. There will be plenty of time for that
later. “Pick you up at seven?”
She nods and I leave. When I return, the garlic smell’s gone.
The End
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