What He Was, What She Deserves

Buffy struggled to fall asleep, as usual. She was always afraid of what would meet her once she closed her eyes. Would it be dreams of heaven that would cause her to cry when she woke from them? Or would it be the more rare dream of digging herself from her own coffin? Waking up was the thing that concerned her the most. The dreaming she could handle, but the world waking her and telling her what she had to do, who she needed to be was the most painful.

Her memories haunted her at night, her obligations tormented her during the day. The only escape was fighting since it didn't require much thought. Just go through the motions, let the slayer take over. Regardless, it still wasn't as satisfying as she remembered it used to be and it still left her with a different type of ache. The burning, lusty kind that couldn't be tamed.

She tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position between her itchy sheets. Eventually she managed to drift off into a light sleep.

...

The lower level of Spike's crypt seemed particularly lonely tonight. His bed was made, covered by plain cotton sheets. The floor no longer had clothing splayed all over it and looked barren even with the layering of thick rugs. The only thing disrupting the cleanliness of the place was an empty bottle of Jack on his bedside table. He had intended to leave for LA that night after talking to Buffy, so he cleaned up the place a bit.

A duffle bag was waiting for him at the foot of his bed. It was packed with some weapons and a change of clothing for his travels.

He had no idea how he was going to follow through with his desired plan, especially if what he needed may be on the other side of the planet. He could only hope that Angel had some connections and would help him for old times sake. It was a long shot, but he had to do this for Buffy, it was what she deserved.

He slipped the duffle under his bed and began undressing into his usual sleep attire. He threw his rumpled clothes on the floor carelessly, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. Owing to the fact that he probably wouldn't fall asleep, he didn't even bother getting under the covers. Exposed to the lukewarm September air, he lay there staring up at the stone ceiling and humming to himself a sad tune.

                              ...

Buffy awoke covered in sweat. She couldn't recall what she had been dreaming, but something told her it was better than the real world. Her entire body was warm with desire and she felt more satisfied than she had ever been since Willow brought her back. It was a pity she couldn't remember why.

She yawned and stretched her arms above her head. Morning light was filtering softly through her window. It was an surprisingly pleasant morning in Sunnydale.

The strange after glow effect suddenly wore off when Buffy heard Dawn calling from the kitchen. She groaned. Reluctantly, she got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. She desperately needed a shower if she were going to talk with Spike today. His keen sense of smell and the remnants of last night's arousal clinging to her would equal major embarrassment if she remained unbathed.

She turned the shower on and steam began to fill the bathroom. Pulling back the curtain, she stepped into the warm spray. The water gently trailed along her body and she let go of every thought. Her mind began to wander into her dream from last night. It started to come back to her memory piece by piece. A man's cool fingertips and lips and tongue trailing every inch of her body. Worshiping her. His gentle, loving words whispered into her ear. She shuddered at the thought of his strong form pressed against her, while she trailed her hands down his muscular back.