written by Amberina

Rating: FRM
Spoilers: 'The Body'.
Pairing: Giles/Joyce/Jenny
Summary: Giles is plagued with dreams of the two women he loved.
Feedback Author: Amberina

Whispers of milky white skin sliding across his lips, soft hair caressing his shoulder, deep brown eyes burning into his green eyes, touching, kissing, just a little bit, more.

His dreams are like music, the finest symphony ever produced, and it's all for him. They are the incoherent ramblings of an angel, heavenly mirages of pleasure and happiness, perfect and chaotic and everything he wants. Everything he lost. It's the agony of beauty, the thrill of pain, the knowing that this is what he doesn't have anymore, never really had to begin with. They never were his, and now they belong to each other, to the star-splattered sky, to his dreams of life that is dead yet somehow more alive than he's felt in a while.

When he closes his eyes, he sees them, straight dark hair mingling with wavy blonde, slowly caressing each other until the he loses his mind, dreamy moaning filling his head until his thoughts stop completely, voices, soft echoes of what he longs to hear, fade in, fade out, not really here.

He knows, in the dreams, he is aware that it's not real. He realizes that he's slowly drifting towards insanity, and he can't find the desire to care. It's all about the two beautiful women that exist now only in his dreams, and he doesn't want to wake up.

Even in the dreams he can't really have them, can't really touch them. He reaches out, and grazes Joyce's thigh, soft and smooth under his fingertips, but all he can do is graze. Any touch more substantial isn't possible. His tongue barely touches Jenny's nipple, firm and perfect, but he can't quite get ahold of it. He wants them and he can't have them. Never, death, life, heaven., hell, forever.

Beautiful hands stroke beautiful flesh, and he wishes it was his hand, but it's not. Smooth, pink tongues explore the depths of passion. Ghostly moaning, a ghost of a chance, ghostly pale, vivid and translucent, he wants.

He awakes as they come, womanly moaning echoes in his ears long after he is awake. The first images that enter his head when he awakes are of their dead bodies, lifeless and still so beautiful. Jenny twisted, her neck . . . her beautiful neck. Joyce . . . the body. Oh, god, he can't handle this anymore. He reaches for a bottle, but he finds them all empty. He's empty.