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More Than a Feeling

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Missing Scene

Was this real? Spike could feel Buffy’s arms, held tight in his hands, his lips parted and wet at the flick of her tongue, but it couldn’t really be happening… could it?

He didn’t dare hope. But then, damn, there it was of its own accord anyway: hope, strong as anything. Buffy gasped against his mouth and Spike drank it down, his chest heaving with need.

It ended all too soon, of course; Willow coming out to check on Buffy and Buffy pulling away so as to not get caught.

Spike wanted to murder the witch. For ever hurting Buffy. For interrupting. For wanting to make sure she was “okay” and expressing horror that she’d hurt her, without actually apologizing. He noted the lack of that little ‘s’ word all right.

Fuck, his bloodlust was baying and Buffy was stood there, making small talk, like the whole world hadn’t changed; but he could feel the slight quiver in her flesh. Could hear her heart hammering. She wasn’t as unaffected as she made out.  

His hands were too empty. But what would she do if he tried to hold her again right here, not waiting for Willow to bugger off again? His nostrils flared, practically preparing itself for the broken nose.

No. He wouldn’t push her. Not yet, at any rate. But god how he wanted to. He’d push her against a bloody wall and shag her senseless. Really make her feel as entirely lost and completely found as he did. But right, yeah. Not pushing. He could wait. He promised himself he could wait, though he knew deep down he wasn’t the most patient person. 

How could he be? He didn’t know how he had any self-control in the first place, when she looked like that and was still close enough he could smell her arousal. 

Where he lacked the inclination to leave things, it was amazing to him the way Buffy could let him go with such ease. There was a spark of anger in his blood until his brain caught up and he realized it was the first bit of ease she’d had since crawling from her own grave.

So he let her have it; let her go on her merry way with those so-called friends of hers, resisting the urge to chase her down and try catching her lips up with his again, no matter how much his blood howled.

If she had even a little less suffering than before, it was something more than he could have imagined giving her. And he could be glad of that, at least.