'Stoned in the morning light
I feel no more '
When she wakes up she's not alone and the feeling is so unfamiliar that she has to fight down the urge to run away. His arm is tight around her and their limbs are still entwined. She doesn't move at all, terrified of waht might happen if she changed just one aspect of their embrace. Nervously, she lets him nuzzle against her, watching the occasional rise and fall of his chest. Reflex, she reminds herself, but it doesn't seem to matter.
The grey dawn light seeps into the room from under the curtains. The room is cold and she shivers, causing him to move closer to her, murmurring her name into her hair. She feels a small, brief pang of happiness that he knows who he's sleeping with but it's followed by a wave of guilt when she remembers that w she knows who she was with too and that she forgot to be haunted.
Spike stirs beside her and before she knows it she's looking into his face as he pins her to the bed. She can feel him hardening and a flush of arousal spreads through her body. He gives her his trademark smile and the dips down his head to capture her mouth in a kiss. Her eyes drift closed and she can feel his hands in her hair and on her breasts and stomach [ c e n s o r e d ].
I need a smoke.
The words surprise him and he tilts his head as a confused look forms on his face. Without offering an excuse she exits the bed and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Spike hears the sound of running water through the paper thin walls.
By the time she emerges he's pulled his jeans and is sitting at the table, smoking in the semi-darkness. The sunlight seeps into the room through the bottom of the curtains and for the first time in a while, she itches to feel it on her skin. Unsure of what to say to him, Buffy mvoes quickly past him to the door. He doesn't speak, just watches as she picks up her pack of cigarettes and heads out of the room.
She doesn't come back until half the day has passed away. She carries a small shopping bag and he looks at it curiosly. She shrugs and reaches into the bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and tossing them carelessly to him, "I thought you might need these."
He nods his thanks and places them in the pocket of his duster. She bought herself a new pack too and a little bit of food and he watches her intently as she unwraps the deli sandwich and takes a bite.
She's ready to go by the time the sun sets. He pays the bill and leads her to the car, his voice is a whisper in her ear when he says, "I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?"
He doesn't reply as he turns into the darkened street, leaving her alone with only the warmth of the DeSoto. When he comes back he doesn't mention what he did and she doesn't ask because she already knows. Some part of her screams for her to kill him and her figners itch to dig out the stake that she has hidden in her duffel bag and dust him. Another, deader part of herself, whispers for her to forget about it and concentrate on the feel of the night air on her face.
She listens to the second voice.
They drive all that night and well into the next day. By the time they stop they've crossed three state lines and heat is practically unbearable. Buffy jumps out of the car at the first chance she gets while Spike refills the gas tank. The night sky sparkles above her with millions of stars and the air is heavy and humid. To either side of her is land, stretching as far as she can see.
When they get back in the car she asks, "Where are we going?"
"New Orleans", he replies, his voice calm against the pounding music.
She chuckles, "A little cliche don't you think?"
He gives her a small smile, "Only if I was a soul-filled poofter like your ex."
The mention of Angel knocks the breath out of her and for a moment all she can do is stare numbly at her hands. His face softens and his hand touches her arm tenatively, "I'm sorry, love."
She nods but doesn't say anything. She just turns her gaze out the window focusing on the land that's passing them by. The air is thick with moisture and she sweats, barely even noticing the tear that rolls down her face and hits the pavement that they whizz by on.
I feel no more '
When she wakes up she's not alone and the feeling is so unfamiliar that she has to fight down the urge to run away. His arm is tight around her and their limbs are still entwined. She doesn't move at all, terrified of waht might happen if she changed just one aspect of their embrace. Nervously, she lets him nuzzle against her, watching the occasional rise and fall of his chest. Reflex, she reminds herself, but it doesn't seem to matter.
The grey dawn light seeps into the room from under the curtains. The room is cold and she shivers, causing him to move closer to her, murmurring her name into her hair. She feels a small, brief pang of happiness that he knows who he's sleeping with but it's followed by a wave of guilt when she remembers that w she knows who she was with too and that she forgot to be haunted.
Spike stirs beside her and before she knows it she's looking into his face as he pins her to the bed. She can feel him hardening and a flush of arousal spreads through her body. He gives her his trademark smile and the dips down his head to capture her mouth in a kiss. Her eyes drift closed and she can feel his hands in her hair and on her breasts and stomach [ c e n s o r e d ].
I need a smoke.
The words surprise him and he tilts his head as a confused look forms on his face. Without offering an excuse she exits the bed and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Spike hears the sound of running water through the paper thin walls.
By the time she emerges he's pulled his jeans and is sitting at the table, smoking in the semi-darkness. The sunlight seeps into the room through the bottom of the curtains and for the first time in a while, she itches to feel it on her skin. Unsure of what to say to him, Buffy mvoes quickly past him to the door. He doesn't speak, just watches as she picks up her pack of cigarettes and heads out of the room.
She doesn't come back until half the day has passed away. She carries a small shopping bag and he looks at it curiosly. She shrugs and reaches into the bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and tossing them carelessly to him, "I thought you might need these."
He nods his thanks and places them in the pocket of his duster. She bought herself a new pack too and a little bit of food and he watches her intently as she unwraps the deli sandwich and takes a bite.
She's ready to go by the time the sun sets. He pays the bill and leads her to the car, his voice is a whisper in her ear when he says, "I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?"
He doesn't reply as he turns into the darkened street, leaving her alone with only the warmth of the DeSoto. When he comes back he doesn't mention what he did and she doesn't ask because she already knows. Some part of her screams for her to kill him and her figners itch to dig out the stake that she has hidden in her duffel bag and dust him. Another, deader part of herself, whispers for her to forget about it and concentrate on the feel of the night air on her face.
She listens to the second voice.
They drive all that night and well into the next day. By the time they stop they've crossed three state lines and heat is practically unbearable. Buffy jumps out of the car at the first chance she gets while Spike refills the gas tank. The night sky sparkles above her with millions of stars and the air is heavy and humid. To either side of her is land, stretching as far as she can see.
When they get back in the car she asks, "Where are we going?"
"New Orleans", he replies, his voice calm against the pounding music.
She chuckles, "A little cliche don't you think?"
He gives her a small smile, "Only if I was a soul-filled poofter like your ex."
The mention of Angel knocks the breath out of her and for a moment all she can do is stare numbly at her hands. His face softens and his hand touches her arm tenatively, "I'm sorry, love."
She nods but doesn't say anything. She just turns her gaze out the window focusing on the land that's passing them by. The air is thick with moisture and she sweats, barely even noticing the tear that rolls down her face and hits the pavement that they whizz by on.
