Word Games Elena B Wonderful. It's the middle of the night and I'm all awake. It's Xander's fault. His stupid snoring woke me up. Honestly, people make less noise while self-cannibalising. It drives me crazy. All rumbling and snorting. Argh! Why won't he stop? Wait. Wait. The books all say that if you want a happy marriage you have to think about the good things instead of dwelling on the bad. Okay. He's a Viking in the sack. Except that he smells better. Mostly. Sometimes he stops by the store unexpectedly, and when I see him I get this funny feeling in my stomach. It's like I've swallowed a candle. I get all hot and it feels like a light is shining in me. In my chest, out through my eyes. I can't stop smiling. And everyone can see that I'm happy. It's unlucky. It attracts attention. Jealousy. The gods don't want mortals too happy. It leaves me exposed. Vulnerable. It would be easy for him to hurt me. But he'll smile. Or he'll kiss me. Or he'll look at me sideways with eyes that promise me so much. And then I think that he'll never hurt me. But sometimes he'll look to Buffy or Willow before he looks to me. Or he'll slight me with careless words. And then I worry that my future is bound up with him. Giving all that power to one person... I remember all the women I've helped. All the betrayal and hurt I've seen. I remember all the vengeance I've wreaked.... Good thoughts.... Good thoughts about Xander. He is very skilled at his work. Construction has given him big sweaty muscles. And carpentry has left calluses on his hands. And they rub up against me at just the right angle. He tells me things. At night, before we sleep. He tells me about his childhood. His dreams. About his parents and his nightmares. He listens to me. Unless I'm asking him to do housework. Good heavens, you'd think that I was asking him to perform some unnatural sex act instead of putting his socks in the hamper. Huh. Maybe there's some way to combine an unnatural sex and the hamper. Or maybe the socks. Look at him. He's very sweet when he sleeps. There's no sarcasm, no anger; he's open and defenseless. It makes me feel a surge of protectiveness toward him that's positively maternal. Thank goodness I've managed to reconcile this with all the sex. The more I look at him the more handsome he gets. I wonder why that is? He's got lovely long eyelashes, but so do lots of people. Spike uses his lashes like a weapon; he's got this way of looking at Buffy from behind them that is positively scorching. How she doesn't melt I'll never know. His mouth is very pretty, but so is Giles'. Strong, firm lips. All silky and hot. So mobile, so thorough... Good thoughts about Xander... Oh, he's stopped snoring. He's all quiet now. Peaceful and still. Maybe now I can get some sleep. Hmm. He's too quiet. I can't hear him breathing. Maybe he's dead. Maybe the reason he's not snoring is because he's stopped breathing. Maybe he's never going to wake up. Silly. This is silly. Of course he's not dead. He's going to wake up and brush his teeth and make waffles. He's not dead. He wouldn't die while I was thinking about kissing Giles. That would be too cruel. I haven't done anything to warrant such cruelty.... Oh. If he's dead he'll never hold me again. He'll never sing to me or dance with me. He'll never bite his bottom lip when he's thinking or his upper lip when he's worried. I'll never see his pretty eyes or hear his growly snoring. Why can't he snore? I should check to see if he's breathing. But if I check and he's not breathing then it will mean that he's dead. If I don't check then he's not dead. I should check. Do something. Do something. "Xander." He doesn't move. Maybe I should shake him. "Xander." A little louder. "I can't sleep." If I shake him and he doesn't wake up then it will mean that he's dead. "Play a word game with me." My voice is so shrill. I'm being silly. I should shake him. "I'll say a word and you say the first word that pops into your mind." "Huh? Wha'?" Finally I hear it, his voice, thick with sleep and confusion and phlegm. It's the most wonderful thing I've ever heard. "The word association game." "Did you have a bad dream?" His eyes are dark with concern and his dear arms open in invitation. I snuggle close, my head against his bare chest. I can feel his lungs fill with air; I can hear the blood whoosh through his arteries. "Day." What? Oh, yes, word association. "Um. Night." "Dark." "Sex." "Sleep." There is laughter in his voice; his arms flex around me as he reaches. "Oh. Hands." Oh, my. "Hmmm. Fingers." Hot breath in my ear. Nibbling kisses down my throat. Shivers down my spine. "Ooooh." "Hot." "Ahhh." "Wet." "Yes. Oh, yes." "Turn over, baby." How easily fear fades. How quickly loving banishes death. How full it fills you. How deep it goes. How hard it thrusts. Again and again. Mmmm. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."