And I should do what in my spare time? [open]

[idolstolemylook]

WHO Spike and YOU
WHAT Spike's compulsions are many and varied. Have some!
WHERE Cemetery, Hellsing, bars/dives, random streets. Anywhere a vampire can go.
WHEN All this week! Backtagging always welcome.
NOTES Spike can be just as loyal and generous as he is snarky and drunk, so if you want anything from him this is a good time to get it.
WARNINGS

Comments

Dark alley behind some skeevy bar

[demonologist]

The vampire snarled and rushed Wes, looking to bowl him over. He managed to sidestep and kick at the man's backside trying to off balance him instead. He had his stake clutched in his right hand and was looking for the right chance to strike. The problem was that he was starting to feel the strain on his injury. The pain-killers were wearing off too. Still, he was determined to make a kill. This was why he'd gone hunting alone that night. To test himself. To remind himself that he wasn't just a weak human. Thoroughly expendable. The window had made him fear not being able to make a difference on his own. Perhaps it was true. But he didn't want to believe it

[idolstolemylook]

"'My big fat undead cock'? That the best you can do?" From a rooftop above, Spike landed directly behind the vampire, a stake appearing moments later emerging point-first through his chest. "Would've at least made a pun about your stake, you romantic twat."

The vampire exploded into ash as Spike retrieved his stake, which he tucked back into his coat as he stood staring at Wesley. Smirking, to be more precise.

"Knew you were that desperate, I'd've helped more," he said, curling his tongue behind his teeth. "Don't think he was your type, though, Cambridge. Wouldn't know what to do with a piece like you." He sniffed loudly. "Do smell like dessert, though, I have to tell you."

[demonologist]

Whatever sliver of gratitude Wes had felt at having Spike come to his aid, it soon vanished as soon as the cocky bastard started teasing him about their previous encounter.

"I had it under control. You didn't need to go into heroics on my behalf. I was handling it fine, thank you."

He glared at him, more than annoyed with the whole situation than he wanted to let on. Mostly annoyed at himself for having given in to impulses which could only have been city-induced.

"He's not my type. Neither of you are."

At the 'dessert' comment, Wes involuntarily looked down to check his healing wound, and was dismayed to see that fresh blood was seeping through the bandage. He thrust his arm down again and turned to stalk off down the alley and away from Spike.

[idolstolemylook]

Spike looked after him for a moment.

"An' here I was expecting flowers," he called after him. And then without thinking he bounded forward, catching Wesley by the uninjured arm. He was not one to curb his impulses, but Spike often had several warring unconsciously inside him; his first comment was the one he normally acted on, but it wasn't the only one. "Hey, c'mon," he said. "Don't owe me nothing--just doing my job, right? Rather not find you buggered to death. I'd better come with."

[demonologist]

"I don't need a baby-sitter." Wes shrugged off the hand, barely slowing his pace. "And gee, I didn't realise you cared. You really have turned over a new leaf, Spike." His tone was bone dry. Inwardly he was cursing himself for having needed the help, for aggravating his injury and being stupid enough to have tried to prove something to himself. If he'd gotten killed it would have been his own bloody fault.

[idolstolemylook]

Spike let him shrug him off--and not just because to resist would risk the chip firing.

"Well... I don't!" he shot back, standing still and calling after him. "An' I don't give a damn what happens to you, you can go rot with his bleedin' cock up your arse for all I care, just..." His voice dropped to an aggrieved mutter. "Buffymightnotlikeit."

[demonologist]

For some reason, Spike's rant actually made the corner of Wes' mouth twitch upwards for a brief second or two. He paused in his tracks and turned to look over his shoulder at Spike again.

"Ah. Now I get what this is all about. You're actually trying to impress Buffy. If that's the case, I would suggest you not tell her about what happened the other night. She's still recovering from the mental image of me and Faith together."

[idolstolemylook]

Spike snorted. "Yeah, like I've been impressing all my friends with my tales of conquest of a public school boy," he said. Then again... Spike didn't have any friends but Wesley didn't need to know that. "An' you've got it all wrong. Don't need to impress the Slayer--she knows what I am an' we've got an understanding. Don't suppose you'd understand that."

Spike was also recovering from the mental image of Wesley and Faith together, but in rather a different way than he thought Wesley was suggesting.

[demonologist]

"There was no conquest." Wes' pride kicked in there. "Besides, it was just the city. Making us act in ways which we wouldn't normally. Nor will we again."

He turned around to face Spike properly.

"Actually I have some personal experience with 'understandings'. If you must tag along, how about we go for a drink instead. I feel as though I could use one."

The alcohol might dull the throbbing pain of his slashed wrist. He resisted the urge to fidget with the bandage again.

[idolstolemylook]

Spike thought Wesley was protesting a bit too much--like he'd made a move on his pasty arse--but his response was curbed by the utter unexpectedness of the suggestion.

He stared at the man flatly.

"A drink," he repeated, like it was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard, not admissible in a million years. Then his expression cleared, and he shrugged. "Yeah, all right. Though you know..." He nodded at Wesley's wrist, raising a scarred eyebrow. "If you're not usin' that, no sense lettin' the good stuff go to waste..."

[demonologist]

"Surely you jest." Wes protested, but then when he saw that Spike was serious, he rolled his eyes at him. He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he sighed and began to unwind the bandage around his wrist until the wound was exposed. The stitches had pulled, reopening several of the jagged cuts. Fresh blood was seeping out. He was going to have to get that tended to after the drinks. But right now...he felt the inexplicable urge to give Spike what he wanted. It wasn't because he liked him. He couldn't stand the arrogant prick.

Still, there was something about Spike that he felt could relate to. Which was a frightening thought in of itself.

Wes held his forearm out towards him. "Hurry up, then, before I change my mind."

[idolstolemylook]

Spike almost missed his chance. After all, he'd had no hope in hell the man would actually go for it. There was a brief expression of comic surprise on his face before he stepped forward like a dog afraid dinner would be snatched away at any moment.

Not a small portion of him, of course, railed at the indignity. Not like he wanted Wesley's blood, particularly. Not like he wanted to be begging for scraps out under a streetlamp. But then, one could only survive so long on pride.

And he did smell good.

Grasping hold of Wesley's forearm, Spike raised it to his bowed head, hoping no one he knew saw them even as he licked a line of escaping blood from the pale skin. Wasn't as thrilling as heart's blood strait from the jugular, but fuck, it was a damn sight better than pig or cow or stale blood bank takings that tasted of its plastic bag.

He was careful not to exacerbate the wounds, lest he set the chip off. Just ran his tongue, cool and wet, against the cuts, sucking as hard as he dared where they bled the most.

[demonologist]

Despite it being a bit painful (like a burning sting), the sensation of Spike licking and drawing blood from his wounds wasn't as unpleasant as Wes has expected. He should have found the whole thing repulsive and disturbingly twisted, but he'd come to a point in his existence where he was just innured to it and no longer shocked by his own willingness to sink even lower in terms of sinning.

The jaded and worn down part of him silently agreed with Spike, why let the blood go to waste? It wasn't hurting anyone.

The sight of Spike's tongue running over the torn flesh of his arm was actually a little-- No. He would not allow his thoughts to in that direction ever again.

"Enough!"

Yanking his arm back again, Wes re-wrapped the bandage around his wrist. Then motioned for Spike to follow as he turned to head around to the entrance of the bar.

[idolstolemylook]

There was a faint buzz in his mind, from the chip, but he wasn't hurting Wesley. Just taking advantage. He wasn't all that surprised when the arm was jerked away--Spike just licked his lips showily and marveled as the man persisted in his intention of their going out for drinks.

Truth was, it had been good. Too good, because that used to be normal, just his due, draining someone dry and feeling not the slightest thing but full. And now he was on the point of being grateful for a little leak.

Even so, he was starting to find Wyndam-Price pretty interesting. Not like that. But for a stuck up nancy boy, he had plenty of problems. And buttons that were fun to push. That kept him following, just to see what might happen next.

[demonologist]

"If you're able to kill other demons and so on, can you feed from them?" Wesley asked curiously as they stepped over the threshold. It was the sort of bar which had many dark alcoves, grimy tables and probably several health code violations. He strode over to the bar first, to place an order. He ordered a triple scotch for himself and then turned towards Spike expectantly.

[idolstolemylook]

Spike stared at him in open-mouthed horror. "You ever tasted a demon?" he asked, aghast. "Rather lick the pavement after an auto accident. Same for me," he added, nodding at the bartender. Why not?