Title: Heat
Author: Robin the Crossover Junkie
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual imagery, angst
Summary: Because sometimes, you feel like writing something depressing.
Characters: S/X, Xander’s POV
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. All I own is the depressing mood I’m in.



Soft touches and familiar caresses. Skin on skin, wet with perspiration, flushed with blood flow. Adrenaline pumping with the motion of hips, hands, mouths.

I pour everything I have into making love to him. It’s the only way I can think of to keep his mind on mine. He’s clean, and for a moment, I can forget that he smelled like roses when he came in tonight, and I can forget the way he avoids my eyes when he comes from the shower. I can ignore what my mind is telling me, and just listen to my heart.

Because my heart loves him. I can feel his cool, flawless skin under my hands as I touch every inch of him. I can give him my heat; warm him from the outside in, while my body overheats. I can feel his hands trace my body with expertise. I can feel the rumbling in his throat as he groans when I lick his neck and touch his hard cock.

I can pretend that I’m not wondering how she touches him. I can fake ignorance and just be with him.

I can touch him the way I want to. As if this could be the last time.

Because it could be.

When he touches me here, in our bed, I can pretend I’m the only one he’s been touching. I can pretend that everything’s all right, because the feel of his skin against mine, rubbing, caressing, every nerve ending sizzles, and here everything is good.

I never want to stop touching him, because here is the only place I can forget about her.

Here, there is only Spike.

When his mouth is on me, when his fingers or his cock are in me, I know he’s with me. I can feel him, every skin cell, dead as it may be, imprints itself on my flesh.

And when I enter him, I know there is only me. She can’t take him like this. This is for me alone. Lately, I insist on being the one to fuck him most of the time.

Because if he’s fucking me, then maybe he’s thinking of what her skin feels like.

I’m warm, with blood and life. She is cool, no warmer than he is, death and demons. Is that why he keeps coming back?

I know he likes to be warm. He made me install a fireplace, despite the dangers of vampires and open flames. He likes to curl up next to the heat, and feel it seep into his bones.

Is that what I do for him? Is that all I am? A human water bottle? Wet heat for him to soak in, so that he’s not so cold, like her?

Flesh smacks flesh in our bed, tongues and teeth and lips collide, every touch sends shivers up my spine and lightning to my groin. Here, I can pretend that it’s only me he loves.

Here, he’s touching me.


END