Blood
Title: Blood
Author: maryfic
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing: Spike/Angel
Prompt: #033 - Blood
A/N: Also posted to nekid_spike for the April Prompt: Champion.
Word Count: 224
They are both covered in blood tonight, of the enemies conquered and friends defeated. The shower seems too small for them both, rushing through. Only touching what is necessary to clean themselves up. Nothing naughty tonight, nothing sexual or intimate about their nudity, just scrub it off. No comments about the body wash, or the shampoo. In out done.
Angel is quiet tonight, as he is every night, until Spike gets him to make those little noises, those helpless whimpering noises against the blond's shoulder as he comes screaming, teeth buried in flesh. Can't lose control, even in that. Not the great champion to the powers that be.
Spike, though, he knows he is not a champion. Not even when he fights beside, with, and for the *real* champion, he knows he can never measure up to that. They didn't pick him, fuck them.
They can all bugger off.
A hand then, on his shoulder, the first time they've touched in days, amazingly enough, it is the great brooding one who reaches out.
"Spike."
"Bugger off, Angelus."
He is upset, then. Forgetting that this is NOT his unsouled demon bastard of a sire. This is, in fact, his lover, mate, partner, souled.
"I don't care what the Oracles said."
And the last sentence will remain unspoken. You are a champion. Mine. Now and always.
Author: maryfic
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing: Spike/Angel
Prompt: #033 - Blood
A/N: Also posted to nekid_spike for the April Prompt: Champion.
Word Count: 224
They are both covered in blood tonight, of the enemies conquered and friends defeated. The shower seems too small for them both, rushing through. Only touching what is necessary to clean themselves up. Nothing naughty tonight, nothing sexual or intimate about their nudity, just scrub it off. No comments about the body wash, or the shampoo. In out done.
Angel is quiet tonight, as he is every night, until Spike gets him to make those little noises, those helpless whimpering noises against the blond's shoulder as he comes screaming, teeth buried in flesh. Can't lose control, even in that. Not the great champion to the powers that be.
Spike, though, he knows he is not a champion. Not even when he fights beside, with, and for the *real* champion, he knows he can never measure up to that. They didn't pick him, fuck them.
They can all bugger off.
A hand then, on his shoulder, the first time they've touched in days, amazingly enough, it is the great brooding one who reaches out.
"Spike."
"Bugger off, Angelus."
He is upset, then. Forgetting that this is NOT his unsouled demon bastard of a sire. This is, in fact, his lover, mate, partner, souled.
"I don't care what the Oracles said."
And the last sentence will remain unspoken. You are a champion. Mine. Now and always.