Rating: PG-13 (sexual references)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Pity.
Summary: Set post "Afterlife" - seems as though Spike has a lot more to offer Buffy now.
Author's Notes: unbeta'd ficlet
Nights are spent in endless patrolling sweeps of the town, the rest of them confident now that they can leave her. Not Spike, of course. He's always there; beside her if she'll allow it and behind her if she's not in the mood for his company. He doesn't speak much anymore, and never says a word if any of the rest come along for the evening. He just lingers there at the fringe of the group, setting off her radar and shredding her already jangled nerves.
The first time she went to him, he didn't look surprised to see her. She slipped in the door, walked into the crypt and stood there waiting for him to say something. He never did. He just walked over, reached up a hand that shook and let his fingers whisper over the oddly darkened strands of her hair. Put his face close and inhaled her scent. He might have murmured her name at some point, but she was never sure.
All she does know now is that he brings her silence. His soft, cool hands take away some of the rough angles of the world she has grown to hate, and the driving of his body against her - inside her - gives her the release she needs but cannot voice. She's using him, and he knows this, and neither of them can make themselves care enough to stop. For him, she imagines it's a matter of taking what he thinks he wanted all that time. For her it's just escape. Fall into blind obsession, drop out of the heat of the life she never asked for. All those little deaths better than no death at all.