Come To Bed - fic
Jan. 8th, 2015 04:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deird1There's a meme going around (last seen with Barb), and I thought I'd cannibalise it for fic prompts, in an attempt to get my muse back into gear. Here's the first, for the prompt of "sleep".
Title: Come To Bed
Rating: G
Word Count: 500
Pairings: Buffy/Angel, Buffy/Parker, Buffy/Riley, Buffy/Spike, Buffy/Immortal
Summary: The watching of unconscious men, by Buffy Anne Summers.
Come To Bed
Angel sleeps neatly – almost carefully – beside her: one arm laid behind her shoulders, the other by his side, giving her space to roll over (or to run).
Sometimes, while he's asleep, that arm will slip its way around her waist, pulling her in closer. His dream-brain seems concerned that she might disappear while he's slumbering – and while awake-Angel wouldn't dream of stopping her, dreaming-Angel couldn't bear not to.
It feels safe, and even though it's new, almost familiar – as if her body already recognises this pose as the way she'll be going to sleep for the rest of her life.
Parker sleeps on his back, stretched out and perfectly relaxed. She nestles in to the crook of his arm, and he shifts comfortably, brushing his face across her hair.
It's nice. Nice and new. Like the universe decided to hand her something special, right when she wanted it.
He's so… alive, breathing in rhythm with her, his body warming up the bed more than she'd expected. If she listens carefully, she can almost hear his heart beating. Beating in time with her own.
He snores a bit. Maybe in a few weeks she'll get him one of those nose thingys.
Riley used to sleep on his side, close enough to watch her wake up, but far enough away so they can avoid each other's morning breath.
Lately, though, he's been rolling, constantly shifting position in his sleep. She keeps waking up to find herself smushed up next to him, uncomfortably warm, with her ribcage protesting from the unexpected weight of his arm.
She's getting used to rousing at two o'clock, rolling him gently back to his side of the bed, and stealing back her half of the covers. And even then, by morning, he's usually back, taking over her pillow.
Spike sleeps like the dead – hah – and also like a three-year-old, sprawled out in all directions, supposedly oblivious to her every action.
Supposedly – but if she starts anything, sex-wise, he's awake and enthusiastic before she has time to blink, so clearly there's still some synapses firing in there somewhere.
That, and… well, she's not sure, but sometimes when she's close to slipping into restless dreams, she feels light touches trailing along her cheek, or through her hair.
She's tried catching him at it, but by the time her eyes open he's rolling over and out like a light yet again.
The Immortal sleeps with his head nestled in the crook of her neck, smiling contentedly.
He often murmurs gentle words to her – "mi carissima" is the current favourite – as they drift off, stroking his hand smoothly along her side, and gazing at her sleepily as though he can't get enough of her beauty.
(Which sounds hokey as hell, but that’s how he puts it: “Your beauty is worth ten thousand gazes, my enchantress of love.” It’s just him being Italian, and nothing special, but it still kinda makes her blush.)
It’s nice to have him there – at least for now.
Title: Come To Bed
Rating: G
Word Count: 500
Pairings: Buffy/Angel, Buffy/Parker, Buffy/Riley, Buffy/Spike, Buffy/Immortal
Summary: The watching of unconscious men, by Buffy Anne Summers.
Come To Bed
Angel sleeps neatly – almost carefully – beside her: one arm laid behind her shoulders, the other by his side, giving her space to roll over (or to run).
Sometimes, while he's asleep, that arm will slip its way around her waist, pulling her in closer. His dream-brain seems concerned that she might disappear while he's slumbering – and while awake-Angel wouldn't dream of stopping her, dreaming-Angel couldn't bear not to.
It feels safe, and even though it's new, almost familiar – as if her body already recognises this pose as the way she'll be going to sleep for the rest of her life.
Parker sleeps on his back, stretched out and perfectly relaxed. She nestles in to the crook of his arm, and he shifts comfortably, brushing his face across her hair.
It's nice. Nice and new. Like the universe decided to hand her something special, right when she wanted it.
He's so… alive, breathing in rhythm with her, his body warming up the bed more than she'd expected. If she listens carefully, she can almost hear his heart beating. Beating in time with her own.
He snores a bit. Maybe in a few weeks she'll get him one of those nose thingys.
Riley used to sleep on his side, close enough to watch her wake up, but far enough away so they can avoid each other's morning breath.
Lately, though, he's been rolling, constantly shifting position in his sleep. She keeps waking up to find herself smushed up next to him, uncomfortably warm, with her ribcage protesting from the unexpected weight of his arm.
She's getting used to rousing at two o'clock, rolling him gently back to his side of the bed, and stealing back her half of the covers. And even then, by morning, he's usually back, taking over her pillow.
Spike sleeps like the dead – hah – and also like a three-year-old, sprawled out in all directions, supposedly oblivious to her every action.
Supposedly – but if she starts anything, sex-wise, he's awake and enthusiastic before she has time to blink, so clearly there's still some synapses firing in there somewhere.
That, and… well, she's not sure, but sometimes when she's close to slipping into restless dreams, she feels light touches trailing along her cheek, or through her hair.
She's tried catching him at it, but by the time her eyes open he's rolling over and out like a light yet again.
The Immortal sleeps with his head nestled in the crook of her neck, smiling contentedly.
He often murmurs gentle words to her – "mi carissima" is the current favourite – as they drift off, stroking his hand smoothly along her side, and gazing at her sleepily as though he can't get enough of her beauty.
(Which sounds hokey as hell, but that’s how he puts it: “Your beauty is worth ten thousand gazes, my enchantress of love.” It’s just him being Italian, and nothing special, but it still kinda makes her blush.)
It’s nice to have him there – at least for now.