Headful of Ghosts, pt 20
Sep. 5th, 2005 07:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wesleysgirlThe room next door's extra dusty, like no one's been in there for a long time. Spike thinks the place has been empty for months -- things Angel's said. Bloke is able to make sense every once in a while, at least.
"Okay, here, sit down," Xander says, lowering Spike onto the closed lid of the toilet. He turns away and fiddles with the shower while Spike looks down at his bare knees. He'd managed to kick off his boots, before, and now he's in nothing but a t-shirt, the tattered remains of his jeans hanging down around his waist like the world's most fucked up mini skirt.
"Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath, but Xander hears and turns his head.
"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up." The water starts to run into the bath tub. "Maybe you should think about doing the bathing-while-sitting thing."
Spike shakes his head stubbornly. "M'not an invalid. I can stand."
"Right now I'm finding it hard to believe you can take your own shirt off," Xander says, looking at him doubtfully.
Determined to prove otherwise, Spike pulls his t-shirt off over his head; a bit more slowly than he normally would have, but he manages. It hurts like hell -- it's not just his face that's torn and bruised. Everything hurts, and sitting on hard plastic's not doing anything to make him more comfortable. "See?" he says.
"Fine. You win. Congratulations," Xander says without emotion, although his eye's warm enough.
Warmer than the water when Spike gets in underneath it. He's glad it's LA and almost summer, because room temperature water isn't much colder than his own body, which technically ought to be room temperature as well. Feels like sandpaper over his skin as he raises his face to the spray.
"I'll just wait out here," Xander says from what's probably the doorway, and Spike wonders how difficult it was for Xander to stand there as Spike stripped down and got into the shower.
He rubs his hands over his skin and doesn't think about how Angel touched him before, how Angel's fists and cock had done just what they've always done. Left Spike aching and angry, wanting to strike back. He would have, if he'd had any strength left in him, and even though he knows that, he's still surprised when he reaches down to shut off the water and everything starts to go black. He blinks and puts a hand on the wall, bracing himself and waiting for the worst of it to pass. It fades, his vision clearing a bit, then comes back, worse than before. "Xan--" Spike manages, only one syllable.
Then there's an arm around his waist and something hard pressed against his shin, and he's being manhandled into a room that's equally dark. The world tilts and Spike clutches for something solid, gets his hand around a warm, human arm and hangs on.
"Easy," Xander says, his voice startlingly close. "You're okay, just... well, I guess telling you to breathe would be kind of pointless, huh."
Spike opens his eyes and Xander's right there, watching him. Spike swallows. He tries to make his hand let go, but can't. "You came back," he says.
"The shower's not a good place to fall down," Xander says, with a little grin. "All that tile, all those fixtures."
"Not what I meant." Spike doesn't know how to say what he meant -- his brain's working at half speed. "Before."
"Doyle kind of... turned up. Down." Xander doesn't seem to have noticed that Spike is still holding onto him. "He wanted to come back. Well, not back, but..." They're looking at each other. "Yeah," he says. "I came back. How could I not?"
That's enough to get Spike to let go. "You wouldn't have, if you had any sense," he grumbles, yanking at the sheet they're both on top of even though it's futile. "Get up, you ponce."
Xander stands up, and Spike gets the sheet pulled free and wraps it around his waist.
"Better get back in there. Make sure everyone's all right," Spike says, not looking at Xander.
After a few seconds, Xander says, "Right."
"Okay, here, sit down," Xander says, lowering Spike onto the closed lid of the toilet. He turns away and fiddles with the shower while Spike looks down at his bare knees. He'd managed to kick off his boots, before, and now he's in nothing but a t-shirt, the tattered remains of his jeans hanging down around his waist like the world's most fucked up mini skirt.
"Bloody hell," he mutters under his breath, but Xander hears and turns his head.
"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up." The water starts to run into the bath tub. "Maybe you should think about doing the bathing-while-sitting thing."
Spike shakes his head stubbornly. "M'not an invalid. I can stand."
"Right now I'm finding it hard to believe you can take your own shirt off," Xander says, looking at him doubtfully.
Determined to prove otherwise, Spike pulls his t-shirt off over his head; a bit more slowly than he normally would have, but he manages. It hurts like hell -- it's not just his face that's torn and bruised. Everything hurts, and sitting on hard plastic's not doing anything to make him more comfortable. "See?" he says.
"Fine. You win. Congratulations," Xander says without emotion, although his eye's warm enough.
Warmer than the water when Spike gets in underneath it. He's glad it's LA and almost summer, because room temperature water isn't much colder than his own body, which technically ought to be room temperature as well. Feels like sandpaper over his skin as he raises his face to the spray.
"I'll just wait out here," Xander says from what's probably the doorway, and Spike wonders how difficult it was for Xander to stand there as Spike stripped down and got into the shower.
He rubs his hands over his skin and doesn't think about how Angel touched him before, how Angel's fists and cock had done just what they've always done. Left Spike aching and angry, wanting to strike back. He would have, if he'd had any strength left in him, and even though he knows that, he's still surprised when he reaches down to shut off the water and everything starts to go black. He blinks and puts a hand on the wall, bracing himself and waiting for the worst of it to pass. It fades, his vision clearing a bit, then comes back, worse than before. "Xan--" Spike manages, only one syllable.
Then there's an arm around his waist and something hard pressed against his shin, and he's being manhandled into a room that's equally dark. The world tilts and Spike clutches for something solid, gets his hand around a warm, human arm and hangs on.
"Easy," Xander says, his voice startlingly close. "You're okay, just... well, I guess telling you to breathe would be kind of pointless, huh."
Spike opens his eyes and Xander's right there, watching him. Spike swallows. He tries to make his hand let go, but can't. "You came back," he says.
"The shower's not a good place to fall down," Xander says, with a little grin. "All that tile, all those fixtures."
"Not what I meant." Spike doesn't know how to say what he meant -- his brain's working at half speed. "Before."
"Doyle kind of... turned up. Down." Xander doesn't seem to have noticed that Spike is still holding onto him. "He wanted to come back. Well, not back, but..." They're looking at each other. "Yeah," he says. "I came back. How could I not?"
That's enough to get Spike to let go. "You wouldn't have, if you had any sense," he grumbles, yanking at the sheet they're both on top of even though it's futile. "Get up, you ponce."
Xander stands up, and Spike gets the sheet pulled free and wraps it around his waist.
"Better get back in there. Make sure everyone's all right," Spike says, not looking at Xander.
After a few seconds, Xander says, "Right."
