[Closed] Blurring the lines

[demonologist]

WHO Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Spike
WHAT It's Fusion week and Wes is generally not coping well.
WHERE Seedy bar, probably one they've been to before.
WHEN Night before the Sanctuary bombing
NOTES
WARNINGS Will update

Comments

((and now for the comedy section of this evening's entertainment...))

[demonologist]

Wes nodded and started to dig into his pockets for his swiss army knife. His hands weren't as coordinated as usual so he ended up pulling out a stake, holy water, hellsing badge and brass knuckles (all of which he handed off to Spike) before he found and produced said knife.

"Ah. There it is."

He reclaimed his items, stowing them back into his jacket pockets again. Then he realised it would probably be best to take off his jacket, so he attempted trying to remove it. Attempted being the operative word.

[idolstolemylook]

Spike accepted Wesley's implements (just glad there wasn't a cross among them) with only a muttered, "should carry a purse." And then he watched, with no little amusement, as the man failed to disrobe.

"Well you're just a soddin' mess, aren't you?" he said, reaching to pull the sleeves down Wesley's arms. "Dunno if I even want you, now. Probably not enough blood-to-booze content to make it worthwhile."

He was still going to, however.

[demonologist]

"Shut up." Wes muttered, barely noticing when his jacket was finally peeled off and tossed to the side. He wasn't in the mood for Spike to be insinuating that he wasn't interested in his blood after all. With the furrowed brow and over-careful concentration of someone who was well aware of how inebriated he was, Wes rolled up his sleeve, pried out the blade of his pocket knife and slashed a fairly deep cut across his right forearm, nearer the elbow compared to the time before. Blood began to flow in rivulets down over his skin, dripping onto the ground. He thrust his arm out in front of Spike's face.

"Are you sure?" There was a taunt in his voice, challenging him to turn away from the offering.

[idolstolemylook]

"'course I'm not sure," Spike scoffed. He'd never been too proud to take blood, anyway. He cradled Wesley's arm in his and bent to drink, pausing to lick up the spilled portion. The cut was deep, Spike would have to see it was looked to, but for now at least the pain of it would mask any he might cause. And he was getting good at getting around the chip, at least with willing participants.

He could practically taste the whiskey but it wasn't unpleasant. It did go to his head quicker than real whiskey did, and he hummed somewhat obscenely into Wesley's arm as the thick hot liquid flowed across his tongue.

[demonologist]

It hurt, but at least it was of the physical kind and manageable. He could feel each pulsing draw of blood from him and into Spike's mouth and despite his resolve to look away, Wes found himself watching him feed. Just as he had done when Faith (in Conrad's body) had sucked on his arm.

The hum startled him for a moment when it came and Wes inhaled sharply, his hand coming to the back of Spike's neck, perhaps in warning. But the odd vibrating sensation reverberating up his arm wasn't unpleasant and he eventually relaxed, his fingers curling lightly against the tufts of short-cropped hair there. He'd experienced it before, but it certainly hadn't been on his arm. He probably ought to have pulled away, punished him for twisting things even more than they already were.

But he didn't.

Because the city was urging him to take every drop of intimacy, feigned or perverse or not that was coming his way.

[idolstolemylook]

There wasn't much more intimate than drinking blood. Spike wasn't the type to conflate sex and feeding, generally, but there was undeniably a sensual element. And there was no doubt the blood was affecting him. He was vulnerable as he fed, his guard down as he drank from someone who could very well attempt to kill him at any moment

[demonologist]

Wes froze, his gaze locking with Spike's. He suddenly felt dangerously exposed. How could Spike have known? He hadn't admitted to having any difficulties in that area. For a moment he could barely breathe as the import of Spike's words sunk in.

"Logically I know that it was about power and control, not sex. Do you think that I don't? I'm not stupid. But I can't seem to- he's still stuck in my head. I can't seem to shake him. Bonnie thinks it's her, or that I'm secretly gay. I managed to go through with it with Faith, but it wasn't good. Not like it used to be. I want it to be good again."

He shook his head, not believing how much he was sharing. He was going to regret this in the morning. "How can I forget what happened? Tell me how, Spike."

[idolstolemylook]

It didn't matter that Wesley hadn't confessed anything--Spike had known when it had happened, and the cues that told him it was still a factor were mostly too subtle for him to consciously explain. He wasn't here to be anyone's counselor, much less an ex-watcher he didn't get on with, but he did revel in his own cleverness. And he hated Angel.

"I never let him get to me," he said, which was a rather dangerous amount of self-knowledge for him. Maybe it was Wesley's blood. "Fucker eventually couldn't perform without the desired result. And I had Dru. But you..." He tilted his head. "You're trying to make it like it used to be, an' it's not, an' you're thinking about it too much. Just do what you feel. Do what feels good an' only what feels good and damn the rest."

[demonologist]

Wes nodded, wishing that he had Spike's resolve. Wanting to laugh at the thought that Spike was dispensing advice to him, trying to break him free of Angelus' lingering power over him. "You're right. I need to get past this. I can't let the bastard win. I won't let him."

His hand on Spike's neck slid down to his shoulder and he squeezed it for a moment in a way which could only be construed as a silent thank you. Then he made himself let go and try to stand without too much swaying. "Do you need any more? Or should I...?" He pointed to the still fresh blood seeping from his cut.

[idolstolemylook]

"Nah, I'm good." Still, for good measure, Spike licked it clean before handing Wesley his arm back. He nodded at the wound. "For a start, you like it. Don't matter why, but it doesn't do you any good to pretend. Just chalk it up as somethin' you enjoy and move on."

He stepped back, stumbling a little and laughing. "Fucking hell, you're wasted."

[demonologist]

"I shouldn't, though. There's a lot of things I shouldn't..."

Wes decided he needed to bandage his arm that very instant. He had a handkerchief in his trouser pocket but that wasn't going to be sufficient, so he started hacking a strip of material from the bottom of his very nice shirt which he'd just untucked.

"Yes, I am rather." He agreed, chuckling a bit as well while he tore off a long enough piece, closed his knife and started trying to tie his makeshift bandage around his arm. It was too hard to do himself while so impaired, however, so he shoved it at Spike to do. "I don't usually let myself go like this in public."

[idolstolemylook]

"Drinking alone, watcher?" Spike asked, a little amused. Wesley needed to start carrying bandages around. So prone to needing them. "Look, I'd better get you home." He paused, and then remembered he didn't care. "Lots of things out here would want to finish the job, an' that's not on."

He finished the bandage, tucking the end under. It would do for now.

"Give me one reason," he said suddenly. "One reason what just happened is a bad thing."

[demonologist]

"Who else would I drink with? Cordelia?" Wesley didn't have that many close friends. Perhaps once he might have had just the perfect number, but not anymore.

Wes raised at eyebrow at Spike offering to make sure he got home. That sounded dangerously like he cared what happened to him. He was almost going so say just that when Spike turned the tables on him and challenged him. He stood there for a moment, ready to give a stream of reasons. But none came.

His brow creased into a frown and then he wagged his finger at Spike.

"Give me time to sober up and I'll come up with one. But for now..." He stooped down to pick up his discarded jacket and promptly stumbled, losing his balance, he managed to catch himself with his hand and knee - just. "Well, that was embarrassing." He had to laugh at himself, and the gravel on his hand was very interesting in texture. "I don't think I can drive."

[idolstolemylook]

Rolling his eyes, Spike hauled Wesley to his feet. "C'mon, then," he said. "Your car here?" He began half-carrying him back out to the street, certain Wesley would wake up dead if he left him here. "An' I look forward to that. Sure you'll be full of pointless moralizin' and excuses again. Should be fun."

[demonologist]

"It's the silver Lexus. Over there." Wes waved vaguely off to the right, not that helpfully. He was drunk enough that he allowed Spike to support him, even though he probably would have shoved him away normally. "The keys are in my pockets somewhere..." He started trying to dig around in his jacket for them and then his jeans.

[idolstolemylook]

It would have been easier to just pick him up, but that would have been ridiculous and Spike wasn't ready for that level of farce. Instead, he stuck his hand in Wesley's trouser pocket and drew out his keys.

"Lexus? Are you fucking kidding me?" Spike grumbled, as if affronted by the thought of getting behind the wheel. Still, he'd install Wesley in the passenger seat and drive him, because... he just felt like it, that was why.