They don't talk for a while after they make love for the first time. Not because words won't come. To Spike, there is a world of words constructed on his tongue and all of them say the same thing, have the same meaning: this was wrong, but I don't regret it. He can feel in Julia's movements next to him, her reluctance to move closer, but their hips touch as they lie next to each other. The silence isn't awkward, just painful and both of them are breathing heavily, so words aren't needed now. Spike takes a close look at her face in profile against the streetlights and closes his eyes, seeing her face distorted behind his eyelids for a second before it fades. He can't imagine what this is the start of, something good, bad, something both at the same time.
Even though he already knew this, since it's a good way to figure out your opponent's next move in a fight and weed out liars, he read years ago that body language speaks louder than words. Things like palms up mean being open, hands together, arms crossed means closed. What does it mean, when he opens his eyes and looks next to him, when she's lying on her back, hands itching to get close to him again?
He knows that's what the gesture means, when she sits up and reaches over for a second. Hand pauses and she uses it to scratch her arm, bed sheets clinging to her breasts.
She opens her mouth but the only word that comes out is his name.
"Yeah," he says, not answering her, not asking. What he says is an agreement to her movements and feelings, which say what he wants to say: this was wrong, what did we do.
Their eyes meet, lit only by the light from the windows and Julia gives him one of those slow, tiny smiles of hers. I don't regret it.