Title: As They Lie Sleeping (3/19/04)
Season VI - could have happened when we werenÕt looking.......
Word count - 527
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be
Distribution: You can have it, if you want it. Just let me know
Notes: A very, very short peek at a private moment for each of them.
AS THEY LIE SLEEPING
The man gazes at the sleeping girl, an expression of satisfaction on his face as his eyes travel from her kiss-swollen lips, down her sweat-slicked body to her sprawled legs. (I did that to her) he thinks proudly. (I shagged her into exhaustion.) He waits a few minutes to be sure she is deeply asleep, then indulges himself in a few stolen moments of the kind of attention she wonÕt permit when sheÕs awake.
He gently runs a finger down her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin; he runs his fingers through her silky hair, nuzzles her neck inhaling her unique scent. Planting light, butterfly kisses all over her face, neck and shoulders, he murmurs, ÒI love you, Buffy Summers. My golden girl, my Slayer, my love. IÕll never leave you. I will love you forever.Ó
He freezes for a second as the sleeping girl stirs, but she just turns toward his body and snuggles into his side with a contented sound. The sight and feel of her cuddling up to him makes his eyes prickle with unshed tears as he carefully wraps his arms around her, pulling the blanket over them so she wonÕt be chilled by his cool body while he basks in her warmth.
ÒLove you, Slayer,Ó he murmurs again as he succumbs to the heavy dawn-induced sleep that has crept up on him. He fights the sensation for a time - wanting to stay awake and enjoy the sensation of Buffy sleeping in his arms, but eventually his eyelids fall shut and he sleeps, his head resting on the SlayerÕs golden hair.
Cautiously, the blond girl opens her eyes and waits to see if Spike is really sleeping or just lying still as only a vampire can. As soon as she is sure he is in the daylight-induced deep sleep that will keep him almost unconscious for several hours, she indulges herself in the things she would never do if he were awake. She runs her fingers down his chiseled cheekbones, gently touches his soft lips, traces the scar on his eyebrow. Running her hands over his face and body, she is committing to tactile memory everything she can about him.
She somehow has convinced herself that as long as he doesnÕt know that she wants this gentle contact, that she craves his nearness, it is somehow not real and she doesnÕt have to admit to him or to herself that he has become so important in her life. She plants light kisses on his chest and shoulders, buries her face in his neck and inhales his scent. She idly notes that he has covered them up with the blanket he doesnÕt need and smiles at his thoughtfulness. As she snuggles closer and curls her body around his, she murmurs, almost to herself, ÒI love you, Spike.Ó
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