Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

Crazy Little Thing Called

WARNING: mention of sexual content, strong language and tense scenarios.

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If this is what a small "vacation" looked like, then you were about ready to get back to work. This sucked ass, big time. Vacation was too big of a word. This was like an office job, stuck in front of a computer, sticking in names and last known locations to those doing the dirty work. There wasn't much crime in the Bebop's station, which made all of this extremely difficult to work with.

You thought you were doing a good job catching bounties and collecting the rewards. The praise you received in the past said otherwise, Jet and Spike beaming at the seams as you displayed the current balance that was pooled up over the recent victories. You felt so special.

So when Jet told you he wanted to stay on the ship and look up a list of leads, you were perplexed. Asking why, he said simply,

"Being tired and shooting a gun don't go hand in hand. And boy, you look tired."

It was true, but you still were hurt. Even a fleeting hand on your back from Spike didn't make you feel any better. You preferred a kiss. Or a nice fuck. Affection and comfort from him over the last few weeks as you awoke in cold sweats helped calm you down. And the sex?

Fucking amazing.

You definitely didn't mind sneaky palms moving from your sore shoulders down to your ass, squeezing and kneading softly. It was all a part of the healing process, right?

His attentiveness to your strong needs were met swiftly. It was like he was waiting for you to call on him, on beck and whim, ready to go to town on you. In the back of your head, you wanted to believe that he was just as needy as you were of him, yearning for touch and pleasure. Ranging from fucking your brains out to worshipping your tits, then deep thoughtful conversations for hours. That was your routine, sweet and blissful.

That was just the pros. Now here comes the cons.

The word "like" was the replacement for the other "L" word. Out of random was it said, right before bed or after the last defining thrust that would spill inside you, a giggle following as he planted kisses on your lips. You couldn't remember who started it, if it was you or Spike. Small stepping stones, you thought. It was inching towards the big one, the one to separate fuck buddies and soulmates. You hoped Spike yearned for it as much as you did. You kept a strong belief that the day was coming soon.

Another con came as you hesitantly embraced desk duty. A week on your position and Spike on his, the deep conversations stopped. Thinking that everything that wanted to be said was said, you left it at that. Your presence and energy would keep this flame alive. Or so you thought. One late night, you flopped on Spike's bed as you normally did, shirt unbuttoned and pants thrown across the floor.

"Hey."

"Hi."

You smiled weakly at Spike, who tiredly looked back at you. He would take you up to his torso, letting your exhausted body lay lifelessly on his chest. This time, he just watched you as you closed your eyes. There was no touch, leaving you cold for a moment. Then finally, a hand intertwining in your locks, massaging your sore strands.

"You don't belong down there." He said softly, patting his chest. "Up here, now."

"As you wish." You slurred, slumping up into Spike's arms. "You okay?"

"You keep asking that."

"Hmm, am I?" You asked, opening your eyes to see Spike nodding. "It's because I worry."

"Worrying about what?" He asked, tucking a strand behind your ear.

"If you still think I'm cute." That's not what you meant to say. You were dying to know that if he still was into you. He was off tonight, his resistance becoming more obvious. "It would kill me if you don't think I am."