wesleysgirl

As a whole, this'll be NC-17. Y'all know me -- that should go without saying, right?

Spike wakes up in the dark. From somewhere in the ship, there's the faint sound of a girl crying.

It's a helpless, hopeless sort of sound. Small. Lost. Someone's comforting her, the warmer tones of a man's voice.

He's in the hallway before he's had time to think about it. He's always been impulsive, and no amount of time's likely to change that. The ship's quiet other than those two voices, the hum of the engines soothing, and Spike's there, outside what must be River's quarters. The door is open and her brother is sitting on the bunk beside her, his face hidden by the tangle of the girl's hair.

River sees Spike, tenses, and Simon pulls back, eyes dark with worry.

"Couldn't sleep," Spike says. "Heard her crying. She okay?"

"She... has nightmares," Simon says.

The girl looks a bit wild. "I can hear them," she says, ignoring Simon when he tries to shush her. "Simon, I can... they're in my head, and they won't get out. I can't -- I don't know how to make them stop. Make them stop!" River shoves at her brother, pushing him off the bunk with surprising strength and darting for the door before Simon can get his feet under him again. Tries to slip past Spike, who catches her easily.

"Can't make them stop if you keep running away," Spike tells her, holding on as she struggles in his grip.

Simon's there, anxious. "Don't hurt her. She doesn't know what she's doing."

"I won't hurt her," Spike says, frowning. River's running out of fight, slowing down. "I won't hurt you, pet," he says gently, and she sags against him, breathing heavily. "Shh. There, now. You're all right."

"I'm not," River says. Her words push hot, damp air through the fabric of his shirt, making his skin prickle. She lifts her face and looks at him, intense. "And neither are you."

"No?" Spike says. He's caught between interested and bemused, and maybe a little bit caught in her eyes.

"There's something in your head, too," River says, reached tentative fingers toward the side where Spike's skull was bashed in. "It's different from mine. It doesn't talk to you, but you can feel it."

He flinches when her fingertips brush into his hair, and Simon pulls River away gently, murmuring soothing things to her. Spike steps out into the hallway, intent on leaving, but Simon glances at him and says, "Wait for me," in some kind of voice like an order, and for some reason, Spike waits.

The ship mutters and grumbles, the metal complaining, until Simon comes out and closes River's door -- not all the way, but enough to provide at least an illusion of privacy.

"I'm sorry," Simon says. "Thank you. For helping with her. She's..."

"Been through a lot?" Spike suggests. "Yeah, got that. No trouble."

"Is she -- " Simon hesitates, then forges ahead. "Forgive me if this is too personal, but... is she right? About...?" He gestures vaguely at Spike's head.

Spike wonders if he shouldn't answer, but there's something about Simon that's even more intriguing than his sister. "Yeah," he says uncomfortably. "She's right. Had a little accident. It's mostly healed up now, though."

"Mostly?" Simon steps back. "I could take a look."

There's an awkward pause. Spike wants to say yes, but thinks it'd be better if he said no. Simon opens his mouth to apologize, and quickly Spike says, "Yeah, all right."

It's the wrong thing to do, but he does it anyway. Bloody story of his life. They go into Simon's quarters, which are next to River's, and Simon gestures at his bunk. "Sit down."

Spike sits, and Simon steps close. "S'right here," Spike says, pointing.

Simon's fingers slide into his hair, warm. "Is it painful?" Simon asks.

"Not anymore," Spike says. Simon's hands map his skull, feeling the ridges slowly and gently. "Hurt like a bugger when it happened."

"I can imagine." Simon's voice is distant, distracted; he's thinking about the injury, not about Spike. Well, him too, what with it being his head and all, but it's more that he's something to study. "There's a depression here. When did this happen?"

Spike tries to think quick -- how long would it take a human to recover from that sort of thing? Not that a human would recover. "Six months?" he guesses, then remembers, too late, that a doctor might note things like a lack of heartbeat and breathing a lot sooner than someone else.

"Will," Angel's voice says from the doorway, and Spike lifts his head. "I heard you get up. Everything okay?"

"The little bit had a nightmare," Spike says.

"Did you have one, too?" Angel asks pointedly, and Spike gets up.

"Sorry," he tells Simon. "Should let you get some sleep before your one wakes you up again."

"All right," Simon says, and he and Angel exchange a long, calculating look as Spike brushes past Angel and into the hallway.

Spike goes right for Angel's quarters, knowing if he goes into his own, Angel'll follow him and it'll be harder to get away after the inevitable boring lecture.

"I thought we agreed we'd keep our distance," Angel says as soon as the door's shut.

"Agreed?" Spike says. "Pretty sure that'd take an actual conversation, not just you yammering away at me."

"You know what could happen if they find out what we are," Angel says.

"They're going to be just as suspicious if all we do is hide out," Spike tells him. "I heard the girl crying. Wanted to make sure she was all right."

"Uh huh," Angel says flatly. "And that's why you were in her brother's room with him checking out your head. Not that I blame him for thinking it needs to be examined."

"Least he wasn't checking out how good I am at giving head," Spike says, smirking. "Jealous?"

"I don't need to be," Angel says. He grabs onto the front of Spike's shirt and tows him in for a kiss, rough and possessive enough that it's the answer to Spike's question.

It doesn't take much more than Angel's hands on him to get him hard. "What do you want, Angel?" Spike mutters as Angel drags teeth down the length of his throat. "You want to fuck me? Want me to suck your cock?"

Angel groans, the sound of it vibrating across Spike's skin. "Yeah."

He doesn't say which, but it doesn't matter -- Spike's happy enough to do either. He gets down on his knees and undoes the front of Angel's trousers, gets out his cock and sucks it hard until Angel's right on the edge. One last lick to the underside, lingering at the head, then Spike gasps, "Fuck me," and turns away, fumbling with his own trousers, desperate to feel Angel inside him.

Two big fingers in him, head hung low, gasping. Angel's cock, huge and relentless. It's just what Spike wants, what he needs, and he comes all over Angel's bunk and laughs afterward when Angel's pissed off about it.

"Where did you think you were fucking me?" he says, not even trying to stop.

"In the ass," Angel says darkly, rubbing at the stains on the blanket. "I didn't know you were going to come wherever you felt like it."

"Somehow I don't think you would have stopped if you had known," Spike says, but he can feel the sudden build of pressure in his head like a warning -- storm's coming in. "Stop being such a ponce."

Angel looks at him sharply. "Again?" he asks.

"I'm fine," Spike snaps. "'M not a bloody invalid." But when Angel sits on the bunk and gestures, Spike goes to him just the same. He crawls into the bunk and puts his head on Angel's thigh, and Angel's hand settles on his head, the weight of it comforting.

"Close your eyes," Angel says, and Spike does. After a minute, Angel asks, "Bad one?"

"Not so bad," Spike says. Of course they both know that, because if it were he'd be clutching at his head and writhing -- and sometimes begging Angel to stake him and put him out of his misery -- instead of just lying there waiting to see if it continues to build.

Angel pulls the blanket up over Spike. "I could get you something."

That'd mean him having to move. Spike doesn't want to move. "No."

"Okay." Angel's hand stays where it is, keeping Spike's head from fracturing into a hundred pieces, and eventually Spike drifts off to sleep.

TBC