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“Spike?”
You hate him, don’t you?
That’s the only thing that comes to mind when he sees you, standing shyly by the door to the common room. From his spot on the couch, he’s already plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and stepping on it, before the smoke starts to fill your lungs. But when he looks over, he freezes. Because there’s a curious look on your face. And your eyes are wide yet attentive. You’re not hurt, and you’re not scared. He can tell you’re not distressed, and that almost never fails to calm the ringing in his ears. But then he looks down. And he sees you. Dressed in one of his old t-shirts he let you borrow a long time ago.
And he can’t say he’s confident that you’re wearing something underneath.
“Hi there,” He keeps his voice low. Quiet even, as he addresses you. It’s all he can trust himself to do as he swallows thickly and tries his best to make his eyes meet yours. But as far as he’s concerned, there’s no one else awake right now but you and him. So the only thing keeping him from reaching out and pulling you into his lap is distance and the hand gripping the side of the couch like it’s his lifeline. But he’s more than ready to let go. “I thought you were going to bed? You not sleepy anymore?”
You immediately look down, and it’s the way that you start to chew at your bottom lip that really sets him off. He’s thankful that you’re far too distracted with tugging your- his , his shirt, fuck - to notice that he’s been eyeing you like a hawk since you’ve made your presence known. There’s a guilty look crossing your face now, and he has no idea what it could be about because you’re perfect the way you are. So much so that it drives him insane just being near you. You’re perfect in everything that you say and that you do so he can’t imagine why you would have regret about anything. Especially when he’s the one who can’t stop thinking dangerous thoughts about you.
“Not sleepy.” You confirm softly before flickering your eyes up to meet his. “Can I stay with you?”
His hands are opening before you even finish your sentence. He’s practically melting as your eyes light up and a smile grows on your face. He can look into your eyes and tell that you’re still tired, even if you did already take a nap today. But if seek him out, drowning in his t-shirt, looking for someone to hold you, then who was he to deny you? Especially when you’re looking at him so cutely like that.
“C’mere.” He murmurs, his hands curling forward. You listen eagerly, crossing over to the couch. He tries not to let his eyes dwell on your bare legs for too long, out of his respect for you. But fuck , he can’t help it when his vision wanders. He’s attracted to you. He lusts after you. He longs for you. So there’s no reason for him to be surprised when he just can’t take his eyes off of you, time and time again. “You know I don’t bite, pretty girl.”
You must hate him, don’t you?
That’s the only thought that’s echoing through his brain once you get close. Because in an instant, you’re plopping down right next to him and curling into his side. He’s acting on instinct as his arm automatically moves to wrap around your shoulders and tugs you impossibly closer. He can feel the warmth of your body through the t-shirt. It’s so thin and so big on your much smaller frame. It’s torture. It’s like all those times you go bounding up to him. All those times he’s slinging an arm over your shoulders just to tease you into calling his name with that sweet voice of yours. All those times you’re throwing your arms around him and pressing your face into his chest with that fucking adorable smile of yours. But he can’t recall a single moment where you were dressed like this for him.
And as the fabric of the shirt rises higher and higher on your thighs, he just knows you’re not wearing a pair of shorts underneath. And he’s weak for it.
There’s a content sound leaving your lips, and your fists find the fabric of his jacket. Your head tucks itself just under his chin and he wonders just how he’s been able to survive like this. He can’t see your face from this angle. But he can picture it. Every single little detail of your face is burned into his memory. From the delicate curves of your nose to the contour of your lips, he remembers it all. The texture of your hair? No problem. The shape of your eyes? One of the first things he’s memorized about you. But your body? It’s a whole different story.
Because all the times he’s felt you, it’s through your clothes. Thick jackets when you have to go out into the cold to cute little blouses when you convince him to take you out. But now, with his shirt falling onto your body, outlining your figure, he feels like he’s losing his mind. The only thoughts that fill his head are starting to run wild. The way you’re donning nothing but his shirt leaves nothing to his imagination. And he just can’t help but wonder if you hate him. If deep down, you truly, hated him and all that he stood for.
He feels like some type of blushing virgin, but his hands ache for the chance to touch you further. To reach underneath your shirt- his, his shirt that you look so desirable in and to steal your warmth for himself. To feel the bare skin of your hips as he pulls you into straddling his lap. To run his fingers up and down your spine, just to see what you would do. Would you smile and giggle before ultimately trying to tease him back? Or would you shiver? With your eyes half-lidded and your gaze growing dark. Would you feel the same things you’ve always made him feel? Would you ever feel what he feels towards you? Could you ever ?
Every time he looks at you, he feels desire. He’s known that since the first time he met you on Europa with that shy look on your face as he eyed you down like some type of predator. Then suddenly, you weren’t that shy stranger who only knew of her home. You were a crew member on the Bebop. And sure, no one wanted to give you a gun and sure, you didn’t know how to hack super computer satellites. But you had your own purpose. A purpose so soft and so pure he can’t help but crave it from you. Crave to protect it. Crave to take it .
He’s not sure when he started falling for you.
Maybe it was when you first looked at him without a trace of nervousness in his eyes. Or maybe it’s the first time he heard you giggle and declare that he’s your favorite, above Ein by ‘ just a little!’ as you would always say. Even now, as he feels the rise and fall of your chest against him, he wonders how it all started. When did it stop becoming about getting into your pants as soon as possible? When did it stop being about trying to drop as many innuendos in one conversation, hoping you would get the point and let him bend you over? When did it start being about building you a house on Mars ? When did it start becoming wondering what you’ll look like, dressed in all white with a bouquet tucked in between your fingers?
When did his resolve, truly start slipping?
When he looks at you now, he still sees that initial desire he had for you. And how could he not? You’re such a pretty girl for him. A delicate little thing that reminds him of the humanity he no longer knows in himself. But now, there’s something more to it. A lingering hope to close the distance between the two of you. Because it’s no longer enough to hold you close. It’s no longer enough to hope you both notice him and that you’ll never will. It’s no longer enough to play the long game. To tell himself that he’ll enjoy it while it lasts because he knows forever was never an option for himself. But fuck , here you are. Letting him hold you while wearing nothing but his shirt and somehow it’s both the furthest he’s ever been with you and yet it’s still not enough .
You must hate him.
You must. You have to at this point. There’s no way you don’t. That’s all he can think about now. All he can think about as his fingers find their way around your chin. All he can think about as your lips are suddenly a mere breath away from his. You hate him.
It’s why you allowed him to kiss you. And it’s the why you kissed him back too. It’s the reason why you let him get that first taste of you. The reason he’s your favorite and the reason he can hold you like no other. The reason you smile and you tease. You laugh and you smile. The reason why you’ve always made it so hard for him. Because you always knew. You always knew how easy it must have been for him to get addicted to you. Because you hate him .
Don’t you ?