Disclaimer: If I owned it, would I be writing fan fiction?
Timeline: Sixth season. After "Smashed" but before "As You Were".
And Love Said No
There were times in his long existence where Spike felt like throttling himself within an inch of his immortality, to beat some nice fucking common sense into his brain. This was unfortunately one of them.
She pressed into him, trailing kisses down his cold skin, and he groaned in delight before kissing her with equal passion, his lips conveying the love he so desperately tried to forget in his stronger moments. He ran his hands through her blonde hair and she wrapped her legs around him, clutching him as a baby might, and he collapsed onto the silk sheets of his bed.
It was all downhill from there…
Hours later, he lay quite still on his back, sheets hiding his nudity, and dark eyes following the petite blonde woman as she ran around his crypt, picking up articles of her scattered clothing. She dressed hurriedly, securing her stake and cross, and without turning back to spare him a glance ran for the entrance.
"Buffy," he called, voice barely above a whisper.
She glanced back for an instance, her face betraying the combination of utmost guilt and self-loathing, before blanking into a beautiful mask. Next second she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her, and only the lingering scent of her perfume to every prove she had really been there.
With a deep sigh he sat up in the bed, sheets puddling in his lap to expose his pale, smooth chest, and he rested his head in his hands. Such a bloody git…
What was he complaining about? He had gotten what he had wanted: the Slayer. She was his; he only had to reach out to her in the night, feel her warm skin under his cold fingers, and press his lips to hers to know that. And more importantly she came to him of her own free will; she wasn't one of those airheads, such as Harmony, that would wait around for him to get them.
He could definitely one-up Angel there.
And yet, at times such as these, when Spike was all alone in the dark and his mind was finally free of her intoxicating aroma, did he realize that Angel had had the better deal. Sure his "sire" couldn't be with Buffy the way Spike could, but Angel had her soul.
He wasn't the one Buffy had deep meaningful conversations with, the one she sought out first for advice, and she didn't rush off to tell him a joke she had just heard or an accomplishment. No, he was just someone she could fuck on a daily basis and not have an emotional tie with.
Spike could sleep with her, have her body under his, but he couldn't hold her hand, or go to the Bronze with her, or even really talk to. Though it didn't seem like it all the time, Spike wasn't an idiot especially not where she was concerned.
Buffy wanted, no, needed him now, but when her despair left her, when she could smile and really mean it, she would stop coming. He dreaded that moment with a hopelessness that he had never before felt; he didn't want to be without her.
Ironically he already was.
Author's Notes: Okay that sucked. I'm sorry that this wasn't any better. This is my first attempt at a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fic so please be gentle in your reviews.