(Season 6, Spike/Buffy, rated 15)
When Buffy's eyes fall shut, she's already halfway to oblivion.
This weakness she has is familiar, comforting, necessary. The world outside is brutality and harsh memory, but it's soft here in death's tepid embrace; soft light, soft sheets, even softer kisses that linger like promises on her flesh. Her body aches and strains; its fight-sore yet needy too, but they move languidly together like mercury, her back pressed to his chest as he rocks her gently against him. When she bends, it is to the easy touch of a slow, cool, hand across the contours of her skin.
His hand idly cups a breast as he moves - oh-so-gently - just for her, but there's no rush - not yet - he has other places he needs to fix first. The ice feels so good against her tired muscles that she sighs as they suck the heat from her sore spots. Pressed to her neck, the cold contact of the muslin sends her tense, taut, muscles to liquid as the drips of melt-water slide down, down, between them.
Fingers drift over bruises that bloom and fade as they pass under his palms and aches of other kinds interrupt her serenity with insistent desires that echo his lazy rhythm. Icy water slides away and its cool, fluid touch becomes light, reverent kisses from his lips as they run along the curves of her shoulder blades. When a firm hand glides across her stomach in smooth, soothing strokes another seeks a secret in dark places below.
Not long now.
When she thinks on them at all, she believes these are their best times. When there's just the two of them and the world has shrunk to one room and one bed; a candlelit oasis in a desert of night. Responsibilities, brushed aside for long hours, get forgotten for a while in ecstasy and tender nursing, sacrificed to simmering sensations she sometimes forgets she can feel. She doesn't have to dwell on how stupid she is to let this happen or how her friends always need her when she's so lost herself. She doesn't even need to think about him or the way he fools himself this is making love, because he will always give her what she needs; whatever she does to him, however much she avoids his eyes. If only he could be nameless, faceless and silent, then this could be paradise.
She lets it all go and surrenders, because, for a moment at least, there's a touch of heaven here.