still_grrr | Prompt 111 fic Wanting To Scream (Reply)

Title Wanting To Scream

Author Devylish

Rating PG

Word Count 574

Prompt 111 Fav. Episode

Characters/Pairing Buffy/Spike

She was in trouble. Big trouble.

When he spoke, he riled her up; made her edgy and angry. It was easy to walk or run away from him... when he spoke.

But he couldn’t speak now. And neither could she. She couldn’t fling those verbal missiles; those attacks on his character, his form, his being.

They had been forced into a dark hush.

And now, all they could do... is be.

In the silence she was compelled to watch him. Compelled to keep her eyes on the one man… the one thing… she least wanted to view.

Her eyes wandered over his form; the form she normally, so hastily disparaged. Now, in the silence, she had to admit the truth. To admit that he was beautiful.

And, yes, she kept reminding herself that he was dangerous, and evil, and the antithesis of everything she was suppose to stand for, but…, he was beautiful too.

Evil apparently had another weapon in its arsenal. A weapon she was more and more susceptible to. Beauty.

Blue eyes. Angled cheeks. Spikey hair that she just knew – ungeled, unslicked back – would be curly and soft to the touch. Lips… lips that could tempt a saint; and she would never be a saint.

As she stared at his figure, prowling around the room they’d somehow managed to get locked inside, she unconsciously lifted her fingers to her lips. He had beautiful lips; lips so unlike Angels.

Realizing that she was ogling the vampire, she dropped her hand to her lap with a groan. A silent groan.

He needed to get out of here.

Fast.

Being near her was causing his blood to move.

Normally still, his blood flew when he fought. It flew when he was angered. And it moved like lightening when he was aroused. And being near the Slayer was definitely arousing him.

It disgusted him. Or rather it should have disgusted him. And maybe it would have if it weren’t for the witch. The witch and her stupid spell.... Allowing him to hold the Slayer, to touch her… to kiss her. If he’d never done those things, he’d be okay. He’d be able to control the emotional anomaly that described his infatuation for Buffy Summers.

But no. He’d held her. He’d touched the gold fire of her hair. He’d tasted the elixir of her lips. And now, now he was fighting her – quietly, from a distance, without even touching her. Fighting against the temptation she represented.

And now, here they were, trapped together in this bloody hellish silence; this utter, tangible, lack of sound.

His insides roared and his blood stirred.

He wanted her, but he couldn’t tell her.

He wanted to escape, but he was trapped.

He wanted to scream, but he wasn’t able to.

He stopped pacing and turned to face her. I love you poured out of his eyes. It was layered on his skin like cloth.

He took the six steps through the silence that separated them and he grabbed her arms. Pulling her to him, he kissed her.

And it all clicked into place.

The desire to touch and be touched.

The fit of misshapen halves.

The reason in chaos.

The silence was a cocoon; holding them safe from the venom of words.

The silence in their dark little room was a haven from prying eyes; allowing them to simply be: Elizabeth and William, Buffy and Spike, Slayer and Vampire.

It was peace.