[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.

[demonologist]

Despite being well and truly plastered, Wes still tensed up noticeably when Spike stuck his hand in his trousers. Then his cheeks got all hot with shame and he tried to shrug off Spike's help and climb in the car on his own steam.

"Cordelia browbeat me into it. I got a good deal on it, actually. And it has a lovely big trunk for weapons and things. And a sun roof. But you probably wouldn't like that quite so much. If you crash it, I will have to stake you."

[idolstolemylook]

Spike started up the car, but turned to Wesley before driving off.

"Been driving longer'n you've been alive," he said. "An' look here. Normally I wouldn't give a shit what you think of me or what I'm capable of, but I saw that, when I got your keys. An' I want one thing straight: if an' when I come after you to hurt you, it won't be like that. An' on the impossible chance some flight of madness takes me an' I have any interest in that pasty English arse of yours, wouldn't be like that, either."

Spike was not a great master of the nuances of consent, and it wasn't a moral question. It was preference. And torture for its own sake, humiliation, held no interest for him at this point.

"Fuck," he said, spinning the wheels as he skidded into traffic. "I'm plastered."

[demonologist]

As much as Wes didn't want to admit it, Spike's setting the record straight was appreciated. He looked out of the window for a while, trying not to pay too much attention to how recklessly Spike was driving.

"It's not a pasty English arse. Nor is it pansy. It's probably seen more sun than yours has, at any rate." He mumbled under his breath.

[idolstolemylook]

Spike usually didn't wreck his cars. Usually. Then again, most of the time it was difficult to tell by looking. Still, so far he'd managed to avoid collision. Despite the fact he kept looking over into the passenger seat.

"Least I have an excuse," he said. "But I still doubt it." The fact that his own arse had literally never seen the sun was not the point. Wesley's protest made him smirk, because whatever else, he didn't want that bastard Angelus to win.

He pulled up outside Wesley's, slamming on the brakes and narrowly missing the car in front. The car at an angle, he deemed it satisfactory and killed the engine.

[demonologist]

Well he wasn't going to get into a debate on whose arse was pastier, that was just ridiculous. So Wes just gave a skeptical and amused sort of snort. He was drowsy now and the thought of tumbling into bed seemed a very pleasant one. The liquor had dulled the incessant buzzing in his head and he thought he might actually be able to fall asleep for a decent amount tonight.

"Watch it!" He gave Spike a pointed look when he parked the car rather abruptly and not particularly tidily. It was Spike, however, so he probably ought to be grateful for any assistance at all.

"You can't come in."

[idolstolemylook]

Spike rolled his eyes.

"An' now you've ruined my plans for the entire evening," he said, warm and cheerful from the spiked blood. "How're you going to get inside without your keys?"

Spike palmed them. Just for shits and giggles.

[demonologist]

Wes gave him an irritated scowl and then sat up, trying to look for where Spike had hidden them.

"That's not-- exactly what I meant. I've put up some vampire safeguards. If you tried stepping into the lobby or using any of the windows leading to public areas it would be quite unpleasant for you."

Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything and let Spike get UV-burns for his troubles. But the vampire had been helpful that night and so he'd felt compelled to warn him.

[idolstolemylook]

"Well you're not gonna break my heart by not inviting me in," he said. "An' I'll try to resist climbing up your balcony at night."

Without giving him the keys, Spike opened his door and stepped out. "Right, then. Here we go."

[demonologist]

"Yes, I have enough people tapping on my window, thanks." Wes tossed back, not wanting to sound like he was even remotely imagining that he would. He fumbled with his seatbelt and then clumsily climbed out.

"Spike..." He held out his hand. "Come on, I'm not in any state to be playing games with you."

[idolstolemylook]

Spike thought he was exactly in the right state, and had been, but he had a new game and it was called "throwing Wesley's keys to see if he could catch them." Spike even made it easy, and they flew in a heavy arc across the car.

"Right, then," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm off to terrorize someone else."

[demonologist]

Wes did his best to catch them, but they ricocheted off of his outstretched hand and fell into some nearby shrubbery.

"Oh, bugger it all to hell!" Wes cursed, bending down to try and find them amongst the foliage and dirt. "Wanker."

[idolstolemylook]

"Probably," Spike said cheerfully. "Was you dropped 'em anyway, not me."

[demonologist]

"No thanks to you," he grumbled, feeling around in the less than ideal light for them. He probably looked rather silly scrabbling around in the dirt on his hands and knees, but since Spike had already seen him in less than flattering light this evening, what was one more humiliation? Finally his fingers closed around something metal and he made a noise of triumph and sat back on his heels, clutching at them like they were the holy bloody grail.

[idolstolemylook]

Spike really had meant for him to catch the keys.

Well, maybe.

Either way, this was entertaining, and he stuck around to watch, Wesley's blood still singing inside him. Good deal, all told, he thought. Dinner and a show.

"Yeah, boo-hoo, William the Bloody dropped my keys. Not sure you'll wring much sympathy out of anyone with that story."

[demonologist]

"Yes, I think I will keep this particular encounter to myself." Wes murmured dryly, trying to climb gracefully to his feet again. The mansion was close, he should be able to make it without Spike's assistance. "Don't you have someone else to terrorise?"