#withprophecy

“Well...” Spike guiltily bit his lip, “it sort of just... followed me home and slipped into the crypt and burrowed into my nest of laundry, and when I woke up--” He left out the part about the drunken stupor he’d been in at the time “--there it was, a lil’ dalmatian pup, sippin’ cream with the kittens.”

nonsexual acts of intimacy -  ♝:Reading a book together

It was boiling in this place. Even Spike, who normally overlooked things like the temperature of his surroundings, was sweating from the heat in the non-air-conditioned magic box. Apparently, Anya had decided that they need only turn on the cooling system when customers arrived, and given that Sunnydale wasn’t exactly a prime spring tourist destination, they had spent the entire day sweltering inside without so much as a minute of relief.

Giles was determined that they press on, pouring through thick books for possible clues as to how they might defeat Glory. The two witches and the whelp were stewing miserably on the other side of the table, while Spike held a book in his hands and kept glancing over Buffy’s shoulder, pretending to let his eyes skim down the text of her tome. In reality, he was watching a bead of sweat make its way slowly down her bronzed shoulder and into the already dripping fabric of her blouse.

“I’m immolatin’ here,” he finally grumbled, standing up and shoving his book toward the center of the table. “Gonna pop down to the basement, see if it’s any cooler down there. Coming, Slayer?”

nonsexual acts of intimacy - ♡:Accidentally falling asleep together 

Somewhere between Sunnydale and LA || Night

Despite the Winnebago’s jostling, most of the gang had managed to catch a few hours of shut-eye -- except the Watcher, who insisted on remaining wide awake and alert in case any other groups of marauding knights attacked them. They were lucky no one had gotten hurt in the first round... except for Spike, whose hands had been split open down the palms when he’d seized that sword heading for Buffy’s head.

What had begun as Dawn saying, “Come back here, we’ve got a first aid kit,” and leading him into the back ‘bedroom’ of the motor home had led to him sitting there silently while the Summers girls wrapped spare kitchen cloths around his hands. He was exhausted, more so than he usually would have been, due to his lingering bruises from Glory’s torture and to the accidental sunburns he’d sustained during the fight.

He blinked blearily. When had Dawn gone back to the table in the main compartment? When had night fallen? And... when had Buffy curled against his side, one hand resting on his chest, her jade eyes closed and her lovely mouth open just slightly?

nonsexual acts of intimacy -  ♗:Your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse's lap.

Spike couldn’t kid himself with lies. Buffy Summers did not love him, no matter how much he loved her back or how much he ached to feel her love. Monsters like him didn’t deserve to be loved. Just used.

nonsexual acts of intimacy - ♧:Your muse playing with their hair

He hurt everywhere. From the crown of his head to the skin stretched tautly across the bones of his ankles, Spike was covered in bruises and gashes and cuts and more bruises, his body a canvas of torment suffered at the hands of the First Evil. Now he lay on a semi-soft, mostly flat surface -- the basement mattress, perhaps? -- and he realized what had woken him.

Buffy’s fingers coiled slowly through his matted, sweaty blond curls.

Buffy... Buffy was touching him. Willingly. And though his heart seemed to swell in happy contentment at the feeling, even the gentle sensation was almost too much for his tenderized head, and a quiet whimper escaped him. But minute by minute, he began to relax, tension draining out of him like grains of sand through an hourglass as Buffy played with his hair.

    “Gag’s on you, luvvie dear. None of us got any kind of proper future. This world’s been goin’ straight t’hell since the day we were born. Y’bloody shitin’ y’self if ‘think it’s gonna get any better.”

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