Me And My Shadow

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I awaken slowly, pulled from slumber as he slides the warm cover away from my body. I feel his fingertips on my hip, then his palm slides across my stomach, slowly, deliberately grazing the course hair at the apex of my thighs. I keep my eyes closed, but I can feel his gaze washing over my face and I'm tempted to smile. His hands slip away. I know he's baiting me, then I feel him shift and move down, lowering his mouth over my nipple.

I have to force myself not to cry out as his talented tongue trails lazy circles, hardening my nipple into a sensitive bud. His mouth is cool and my body, still warm with the flush of sleep, awakens to his touch, tingling as he pushes the cover all the way off me. His fingernails, blunt and not long at all, scratch above my knee, and then he drags them upward over my thigh and across my belly.

I hiss.

I feel him smile around my nipple as he continues to suckle.

I take a chance at giving myself away and glance down at him. His eyes are closed, cloaking the cerulean blue orbs that can turn my knees into jelly with one glance. The blond hair on his head is tousled from sleep and his pale face is almost boyish as he concentrates on what he's doing. The only thing that looks manly about him in this position is the sharp edge of his cheekbone, which is resting on the swell of my breast as he kisses the underside.

Oh god, he moves even lower, suddenly dipping his tongue into my belly button. I squirm a little and he uses my shiftiness to his advantage, quickly maneuvering himself between my legs. How does he do that? He moves like he's weightless, like a shadow.

And so help me, that's what he is.

He's the shadow that I can't talk about. He's the shadow that I can't pull into the open and wrap my arms around for all the world to see. No one would understand what we have between us. We don't even talk about it, but I know he feels it. He tells me wordlessly with a brush of his hand or - jesus - a brush of his tongue. Just. Like. That.

His tongue skims lightly across my clit and I moan his name. I've given up the fight. I gave it up the moment he kissed me for the first time. I stopped sleeping the second his eyes met mine. I thought I hated him, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

One of his long fingers slides effortlessly into me. My body knows where it belongs and is always happy to oblige. I'm so close, just a few more seconds and - oh, Spike! No one else! No one else could ever make me feel the way you do.

When he enters me I gasp at the contrast in our body heat. I feel every inch of him in ways that I've never been able to feel-

No, I can't think about anything else. Anyone else. Only about him.

Our bodies meld together. I'm burning up inside and I wonder how I feel to him. Do I scald his senses, melt into him, singe his heart? Does he like the way he makes my blood rush through my veins, suffusing my skin? I warm him. I can feel the coldness leave his body as he writhes against mine. We tumble aimlessly toward ecstasy, pelvises locked, mouths tasting; nipping. He makes my heart pound so fast it could sustain us both.

His hips rock forward and he's so deep inside of me that my eyes roll back and I bare my throat. I can hear his skin shifting, reforming to allow the change, and then one thin fang pierces my skin. I bite my lip to keep from crying out. The chip in his head would activate if it sensed any pain and he doesn't intend to hurt me. Instead, I wrap my arms around him and bring him closer, letting him lap at the trickle of blood that seeps down my neck. He fastens his mouth to it, sucking just hard enough to push me over the edge again. The orgasm is swift, and just as he is draining me, I can feel myself draining him.

He moans loudly and the heat inside of me is replaced by a torrent of his cool seed. It reaches every part of me that is female and it puts out the fire, calming me, sating me, and as he runs his tongue over the small scrape on my neck, I exhale. Content. Sleepy. Safe. Quenched.

Shadowed. Hidden.


He rolls off of me and I put my head on his silent chest. His skilled fingers twine through my hair, lifting it from my sweaty neck. I shiver as the curtains dance merrily in the cool night breeze and he grabs the cover, pulling it over both of us. We lie motionless, waiting for the inevitable, and wishing for the night to go on, to continue shrouding us from the light. To let us keep hovering on the edge of reality and fantasy.

To let us dance our fill.

I doze at some point and awaken in time to see him slipping out the window. His coat billows behind him, carrying his scent back into my room. I clutch the pillow he was lying on in my arms, breathing deep, breathing him. I watch as the sun rises some time later and the gray and black shadows on my wall are suddenly vibrant yellow and orange, then I turn my back to the window.

I turn my back to the sun, turn my back on its warmth, and seek the comfort of the cool shadows.

Cool like him.

And I wait for **my** shadow to return.

So I can warm him again.



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