So Tired, So Gentle

	Buffy crept into the house and turned to shut the door softly behind her, then leaned against it, and hung her head. 
 God, she was tired. Exhausted. Wiped out. Pooped. She toed off her shoes, and carried them up the stirs, around the corner 
 to her room. The door was barely ajar, and she held her breath as she slipped in.
	
	She shucked her clothes gratefully; all she wanted to do was to fall into bed and sleep for a week. She was 
 reaching for a nightgown when a voice spoke from the bed.
	
	"Keeping late hours these days, pet."
	
	She started, then turned. Spike was lounging in the bed, his head propped on his hand.
	
	"How long have you been watching?" she asked resignedly.
	
	"Heard you come in, love." His eyes sparkled at her.
	
	Buffy sighed, and turned back to the closet, pulling down a long t-shirt. She closed the door, shook her hair out 
 of its ponytail and approached the bed, Spike scooting back as she came close, giving her room.
	
	She flopped down, pulling the pillow close and letting out a great sigh. Spike crept up close behind and spooned 
 himself along her body. He brushed the hair away from the back of her neck and began kissing his way toward her shoulder. 
 Buffy shrugged him off. "Spike, no. I'm tired."
	
	"Well then, I'll put you right to sleep."
	
	"Spike, seriously."
	
	"I am serious, love." He rolled her toward him a bit, so he could see her eyes. "I promise. I'll put you to sleep."
	
	"Spike, sex with you is more like an aerobic sport than a Zen meditation."
	
	He raised his eyebrow and dared her with his eyes. She rolled back over and clutched her pillow in defiance. 
 "Fine. But if I'm still awake in ten minutes, you're sleeping on the porch."
	
	"Fancy me toasty?
	
	"I don't fancy you. I've been trying to tell you that."
	
	Spike didn't respond, just renewed his leisurely kisses.