Title: Last Night
Characters/Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Rating/Warnings: M for language and adult concepts
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own the rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and profit from it, not me.
Word Count: 231, give or take a few
This is a drabble based on the next to last episode of Season 7, "End of Days".
Last Night
I hold her in my arms. Her body is warm, not cold, unlike mine. Even a soul can't warm this flesh I wear.
In the past it would have been torture to hold her so close to me and not to touch the rest of her, not to bite and mark and fuck and hurt her. Not to want - no, need - more.
I was blind. I didn't care, or care to know, that all she was doing was numbing the pain. All that mattered was that I got my fix, I wanted her so badly. I loved her with a blind passion.
Now the passion's not so blind. It's not gone either but I know this is what she wants. This is what she needs. Being a better man means giving her what she wants and needs, not taking what I want and need.
This is how we are now. This is who we are now. Not-quite-lovers but not exactly brother and sister either, we care deeply about each other. She proves that every time she protects me against outside interference because she's afraid of what will happen if I try to defend myself against them.
Besides, now, with all the uncertainty and the likelihood that the world will end tomorrow, wrapping a comforting arm around her seems more important than spending the night doing things with her that I don't even know how to spell.