The Heart of the Bounty
A fanfiction
Chapter 4: Ingrained, ver. 2
It's midnight. The ship has been silent and in sleep mode for a good two hours now. Yet, here I am, stirring about in my bed. My situation is quite bothersome to me. I'm lying awake thinking about Spike. Spike and his mangy hair. Spike and his corny catch phrases. Spike and his pride for his martial arts skill. Spike and his broad, strong shoulders. Spike and the jarred curves of his whole body. Spike and his deep, raspy, cool voice. Spike and his hypnotizing eyes…
What am I doing? Spike is fixated on Julia, whoever this woman is. Spike is arrogant, and stubborn. Yet all I can do, aside from trying to rationalize why I'm still thinking about him, is worry. All I can do is stop myself from slipping into thoughts of those few instances I've seen Spike's body in its natural glory. God, I'm really desperate for a man.
I mean, Spike purposefully keeps himself at a distance. He's hung up on his past. I am, too, only I'm trying to regain it so I can better understand myself. Spike has his identity. I've always envied that.
Good! Normal thoughts about Spike. Ha, who names their kid Spike? Ein should've been named Spike. Oh, brother, there goes Ein again. But, he's nudging at my door. I sigh and open the door.
With a haggard look on my face, I look intently at Ein and ask, "What is it, boy?"
Surprisingly, Ein is quite chipper. Usually at this hour he is out like a light, like the rest of us. Except for Spike on occasion. Ugh, I really have to stop that.
Ein just turns and walks away. I guess he wants me to follow him. I hesitate, propping myself up against my doorway as I gather the strength to go follow Ein. I know he's a data dog, and there's got to be something more to his brain capacity, but this is really nonsensical. He's leading me to the common room. Is there some sort of special edition of "Big Shot" playing? I'm perplexed by Ein waking me for this aimless midnight stroll, when I suddenly realize where I'm heading.
There he is. His hand lays off the couch, now only partially bandaged. Jet must've fixed him up a little to ease the pain in his arm. Even in the darkness, I see so clearly the curves of his fingers, the traditional prominent blood vessel running down the arm as a sign of muscular strength, the smoothness of his skin. I'm perfectly awake and conscious to hold myself up, but I start feeling weak in the knees. Agh, talk about corny! Why am I excited about an arm?
My eye starts to draw attention to his heaving chest. He's breathing. He's very much alive, and sleeping, thank God. This reassurance should only take two seconds, yet I linger on his chest. It's as though his muscular stature ripped through some of the bandages, exposing spots of his clearly chiseled torso. Jet probably unwrapped whatever has already healed itself. Spike sure is resilient. And appealing … when he's not himself. Which is what he is right now. An unconscious, unmoving Spike is by far an anomaly for him.
I snicker to myself at this thought, and my eyes wander to the lower half of his torso. More bandages were removed, exposing his abs and more than half of his pelvic region…
Slap! I really must be losing my senses to fatigue if I'm even going to start wondering about that. Being a woman does suck on occasion, especially with this biological clock nonsense. Although I am way too rambunctious and rowdy to handle a kid of my own, nature sways my heart toward that longing every once in a while. Naturally, this leads to any lustful desires that arise. This is one of those natural lusting occurrences. Nothing more. Right?
I'm snapped out of my thoughts when I hear a faint grunt. Is he awake? I saunter over to him as quietly as possible in case he's still sleeping, and he is. The pain of his limp arm is starting to get agonizing to him. I watch as his eyes wriggle with pain, those sweet eyes. I kneel down beside him, take his arm, and absorb the warmth of his body through my fingertips. His skin is more delicate than I had previously experienced. I gently grip his forearm and lift it, placing his hand onto his chest and resting his elbow against the couch. I slide my hand off his arm to prolong my touch. His softness indents my skin. This was more sensual than I had planned.
Before I get up, I look one last time at his face. His muscles relaxed, I can appreciate the contours of his face more. His face is so familiar to me, yet, staring at his serene self, I learn something new about him. The appearance of his jawline becomes more striking, the curves of his eyes, his pointed nose. His lips, pursed together, slowly slide into the grooves of his smile. Not his slick, bounty hunter smile. A genuine smile. The smile I saw him slip into earlier today.
As I continue my gaze, the air in my stomach drops, again and again. The look into his eyes, though closed, is fatal. I'm sealed in.
And then I realize, he's probably dreaming about Julia. I never thought I would, but I cried for Spike, for longing for him. I feel so ashamed for even piecing together the thought of being with him. I possibly can't see him again, not till he's healed. Maybe that will be the cure. The normal Spike will remind me of our differences.
I quickly get up and stomp barefoot toward my room. As I fall asleep, I force myself not to feel his sting.
