Never Be Enough
Title: Never Be Enough
Author: Katya Starling
Dedicated To: To the one of whom I will never have enough, and who actually read this right after I finished writing it last night <3 He's going to learn to like Spike yet! LOL
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge: Short Fics 20: The Difference Between Want and Need
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,445
Date Written: 11 May 2019
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
She looked at him with such desire filling her beautiful, green eyes that it tore at his heart. He wanted so badly to be able to fulfill her every desire, her every wish, but he knew what would happen in the morning or, at least, when their wild sex was once again over for the night. She’d run from him again. She’d turned from him once more in hate and revulsion.
He wanted more. He needed more. He was tired of all these single nights and weary to his very . . . to his very heart, he supposed, of how much she hated him when she didn’t want to fuck him. Everything inside of him was so very exhausted of the way she turned from him every time after they made love, how she always pretended to hate him, how she couldn’t even look at him.
He yearned to fill those beautiful eyes with so much more than desire, and not just temporary desire. He wanted to fill them with passion, joy, and most of all, with love. He didn’t want her just to want him. It was no longer enough. If he was honest with himself, it had never been enough, just as he’d never really wanted to kill her even though he should, she being the Slayer and all. He’d tried so many times to lie to himself -- he still did nightly --, but it was never going to be enough.
Spike turned from her and fled into the night. These single nights with Buffy were never going to be enough. It was a vicious cycle, and if he didn’t break it soon . . . He’d break, he realized, gulping down emotion. He’d break and shatter a million times over. He feared sometimes that all it would take for him to go as crazy as Dru was for her to look at him with disgust in her eyes one more time.
He couldn’t take it. He might not deserve it -- he would never deserve her --, but did he really deserve such hatred? Such revulsion? He was a creature of the night. He was a Demon. But he couldn’t help that. He’d made that decision long ago, and he tried with everything in him every bloody night to become better than the evil bastard he was. She made him want to be better. She made him want to be better in every day, to do better, so that maybe, just maybe, when he looked into her eyes again, she wouldn’t hate him quite so much. She wouldn’t look like she both wanted to kill him and puke at the thought of allowing him to touch her.
It wasn’t fair, he thought, but then his life had never been fair. Still, he knew damn well of her feelings for the Great Poof. Angel was a Demon, too, but he was a Demon with a soul. Spike stopped in his tracks, his blonde head lifting. That was what he needed! That was the one bloody thing Angel had that he lacked: a bloody soul!
He wondered, for a moment, if he could find the curse that had cast the hated soul upon Angel. Red could enact it, and she’d jump at the chance to do so and “force” him to be good. Spike sniffed. Why couldn’t they just bloody well accept that he was good, or at least as good as he could be with a Demon still in partial possession of him? It didn’t have him completely, he assured himself; he proved that with every good deed he committed, with every miserable, human life he bothered to help save, with every bit of love he felt every damn time he looked at or even thought of Buffy.
He was not evil, not any more, damn it! He just didn’t have a bloody soul, and no matter what he did without one, she didn’t want to believe that he was every bit as good as the Poof, if not better. He was better, he thought indignantly to himself, because where Angel had only gone good because he’d been cursed and forced to stop being evil, Spike himself had been fighting for years to become a better man.
And no matter how much he wanted to blame all of the changes in him and his life on the bloody chip in his head, he knew better. It wasn’t that he liked humans. He’d never like those bloody dolts; most of them would never be much better to him than a bunch of shagging, free Happy Meals on legs. But there was one among their kind that made everything better. There was one among their kind that made him want to be better, and secretly had been doing so since the first time he’d helped her to save the world, long before the bloody government had ever started putting chips in Vampires’ heads.
He was better because of her. He had already pretty well turned good because of her. He was fighting every bit of evil inside of him because of her. Yet she still couldn’t see it, or at least, she refused to accept it. He’d never be as good as the great Angel, because he didn’t have a bloody soul. But if Gypsies could curse Vampires with souls, Spike surmised, there had to be other ways, too, that a bloke could earn his soul back.
He turned, walking backwards, and looked back in the shadows of the warehouses where he’d left the Slayer offering him, for one more tryst, every physical thing she had. But the physical wasn’t enough, not with her, not any more. It never would be. He wanted her to love him, and if she was ever going to actually love him, if she was ever going to look at him as anything more than a disgusting, vile, evil Demon, he had to give her a reason to think he might at least be half the man Angel was.
He growled, his fangs flashing in the dark night. He was more of a man than that bloody Poof would ever be! But he was going to have to show her, he thought as his black lips pulled back away from his sharp, deadly teeth. He was going to have to show her he was the better man and show her all the reasons. He was going to have to prove to her that he was no longer evil, and the only way she’d ever let him do that was if he somehow got a soul.
Spike squared his shoulders underneath his trench. His fangs and jaw set in determination. That, he realized, was what it was going to take. He was going to have to get his soul back somehow and prove to her that he was a man worthy of loving and being loved in return. Otherwise, this cycle, as passionate and sometimes great as it was, was never going to end. Otherwise, she’d never look at him, when she wasn’t just too bloody horny, as anything more than a Demon.
Otherwise, she’d never let him in, and he’d never earn the happiness and love he so desperately wanted. He could go back to her right now and fuck her brains out for the rest of the night, but it wouldn’t be enough. Meager desire and passion with that brave, beautiful, and passionate woman was never going to be enough. Sex was never going to be enough. Laughter barked abruptly out of him.
He threw his head back and was still grinning when the laughter finally subsided. That was proof enough that he was a better man than he’d ever been before, even as a mortal! It was proof too that yes, he bloody well was in love with the girl. He sighed, his resolve hardening. There was nothing more for it. He didn’t just want the girl; he needed her. He loved her with everything inside of him. He was still love’s bitch, and he was never going to be whole if he didn’t have the one woman who could complete him to love him.
And the only way he was ever going to convince her to give him a real chance was if he could prove to her that he was a better man. Without a soul, he didn’t stand a chance of doing so. “I’m going to come back to you, Slayer,” he snarled, ignoring the pain between his legs. “I’m going to come home to you, and when I do, by bloody Hell, you’re going to admit I am the better man.” He turned and left, his trench coat flapping along his legs.
The End
Author: Katya Starling
Dedicated To: To the one of whom I will never have enough, and who actually read this right after I finished writing it last night <3 He's going to learn to like Spike yet! LOL
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge: Short Fics 20: The Difference Between Want and Need
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,445
Date Written: 11 May 2019
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
She looked at him with such desire filling her beautiful, green eyes that it tore at his heart. He wanted so badly to be able to fulfill her every desire, her every wish, but he knew what would happen in the morning or, at least, when their wild sex was once again over for the night. She’d run from him again. She’d turned from him once more in hate and revulsion.
He wanted more. He needed more. He was tired of all these single nights and weary to his very . . . to his very heart, he supposed, of how much she hated him when she didn’t want to fuck him. Everything inside of him was so very exhausted of the way she turned from him every time after they made love, how she always pretended to hate him, how she couldn’t even look at him.
He yearned to fill those beautiful eyes with so much more than desire, and not just temporary desire. He wanted to fill them with passion, joy, and most of all, with love. He didn’t want her just to want him. It was no longer enough. If he was honest with himself, it had never been enough, just as he’d never really wanted to kill her even though he should, she being the Slayer and all. He’d tried so many times to lie to himself -- he still did nightly --, but it was never going to be enough.
Spike turned from her and fled into the night. These single nights with Buffy were never going to be enough. It was a vicious cycle, and if he didn’t break it soon . . . He’d break, he realized, gulping down emotion. He’d break and shatter a million times over. He feared sometimes that all it would take for him to go as crazy as Dru was for her to look at him with disgust in her eyes one more time.
He couldn’t take it. He might not deserve it -- he would never deserve her --, but did he really deserve such hatred? Such revulsion? He was a creature of the night. He was a Demon. But he couldn’t help that. He’d made that decision long ago, and he tried with everything in him every bloody night to become better than the evil bastard he was. She made him want to be better. She made him want to be better in every day, to do better, so that maybe, just maybe, when he looked into her eyes again, she wouldn’t hate him quite so much. She wouldn’t look like she both wanted to kill him and puke at the thought of allowing him to touch her.
It wasn’t fair, he thought, but then his life had never been fair. Still, he knew damn well of her feelings for the Great Poof. Angel was a Demon, too, but he was a Demon with a soul. Spike stopped in his tracks, his blonde head lifting. That was what he needed! That was the one bloody thing Angel had that he lacked: a bloody soul!
He wondered, for a moment, if he could find the curse that had cast the hated soul upon Angel. Red could enact it, and she’d jump at the chance to do so and “force” him to be good. Spike sniffed. Why couldn’t they just bloody well accept that he was good, or at least as good as he could be with a Demon still in partial possession of him? It didn’t have him completely, he assured himself; he proved that with every good deed he committed, with every miserable, human life he bothered to help save, with every bit of love he felt every damn time he looked at or even thought of Buffy.
He was not evil, not any more, damn it! He just didn’t have a bloody soul, and no matter what he did without one, she didn’t want to believe that he was every bit as good as the Poof, if not better. He was better, he thought indignantly to himself, because where Angel had only gone good because he’d been cursed and forced to stop being evil, Spike himself had been fighting for years to become a better man.
And no matter how much he wanted to blame all of the changes in him and his life on the bloody chip in his head, he knew better. It wasn’t that he liked humans. He’d never like those bloody dolts; most of them would never be much better to him than a bunch of shagging, free Happy Meals on legs. But there was one among their kind that made everything better. There was one among their kind that made him want to be better, and secretly had been doing so since the first time he’d helped her to save the world, long before the bloody government had ever started putting chips in Vampires’ heads.
He was better because of her. He had already pretty well turned good because of her. He was fighting every bit of evil inside of him because of her. Yet she still couldn’t see it, or at least, she refused to accept it. He’d never be as good as the great Angel, because he didn’t have a bloody soul. But if Gypsies could curse Vampires with souls, Spike surmised, there had to be other ways, too, that a bloke could earn his soul back.
He turned, walking backwards, and looked back in the shadows of the warehouses where he’d left the Slayer offering him, for one more tryst, every physical thing she had. But the physical wasn’t enough, not with her, not any more. It never would be. He wanted her to love him, and if she was ever going to actually love him, if she was ever going to look at him as anything more than a disgusting, vile, evil Demon, he had to give her a reason to think he might at least be half the man Angel was.
He growled, his fangs flashing in the dark night. He was more of a man than that bloody Poof would ever be! But he was going to have to show her, he thought as his black lips pulled back away from his sharp, deadly teeth. He was going to have to show her he was the better man and show her all the reasons. He was going to have to prove to her that he was no longer evil, and the only way she’d ever let him do that was if he somehow got a soul.
Spike squared his shoulders underneath his trench. His fangs and jaw set in determination. That, he realized, was what it was going to take. He was going to have to get his soul back somehow and prove to her that he was a man worthy of loving and being loved in return. Otherwise, this cycle, as passionate and sometimes great as it was, was never going to end. Otherwise, she’d never look at him, when she wasn’t just too bloody horny, as anything more than a Demon.
Otherwise, she’d never let him in, and he’d never earn the happiness and love he so desperately wanted. He could go back to her right now and fuck her brains out for the rest of the night, but it wouldn’t be enough. Meager desire and passion with that brave, beautiful, and passionate woman was never going to be enough. Sex was never going to be enough. Laughter barked abruptly out of him.
He threw his head back and was still grinning when the laughter finally subsided. That was proof enough that he was a better man than he’d ever been before, even as a mortal! It was proof too that yes, he bloody well was in love with the girl. He sighed, his resolve hardening. There was nothing more for it. He didn’t just want the girl; he needed her. He loved her with everything inside of him. He was still love’s bitch, and he was never going to be whole if he didn’t have the one woman who could complete him to love him.
And the only way he was ever going to convince her to give him a real chance was if he could prove to her that he was a better man. Without a soul, he didn’t stand a chance of doing so. “I’m going to come back to you, Slayer,” he snarled, ignoring the pain between his legs. “I’m going to come home to you, and when I do, by bloody Hell, you’re going to admit I am the better man.” He turned and left, his trench coat flapping along his legs.
The End