He watches me. I dunno what the fuck that's all about, but I don't say anything. It's kind of interesting. I keep doing - odd little things. To see if he'll notice, or say something. But he doesn't, he just...watches.
Then, I get my body back. Thank Christ I get my body back. And hey - so I hugged him. He seemed okay with that. Later, looking at Eve's bruised throat, I wish I'd been around to see him go off on her. I have my own bruises, but they're nothing. I kicked Angel's arse! And now - he's moping. Fuck that.
"Charlie-boy! Let's go get hammered!" I say, and he looks up and shrugs and closes his little laptop and we do. Get hammered, that is. Boy can hold his Cuervo Gold, that's for sure. After a while he starts singing, though. Fuckin' 'Pirates of Penzance' and I really can't be having that. So I grab him by the shirt-front and yank him half over the table - kiss him, hard as I can, so he'll shut the fuck up. He tastes like tequila and salt and lime, of course. Like smoke and sin. Wolfram and Hart's got under his skin, too.
"Man, what are you doing?" he splutters, clinging to my coat and the table-edge. Fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, crumb of salt just there and I lean in and lick it off - taste his skin, that's like honey and pepper.
"No more of that Gilbert and Sullivan rubbish, you hear me?" I say, but he's not paying any attention, he's staring at my mouth and then I'm the one being yanked by a handful of shirt, and his mouth is as cool and clever with kisses as it is with all that lawyer-gibberish. There's some cat-calls - some whistles - and some fucking gobshite puts his hand on me so I break away and turn around and let my fist knock 'em back, all in one mostly-steady move. The guy goes flying and Gunn starts giggling and I grab his jacket from the chair-back - grab my lighter and stuff off the table and we're out of there. Going to his place 'cause no way in hell am I going to fuck him in some office at Wolfram and fucking Hart. But we're both so drunk and so fucking horny we end up in the back of his company car. His thighs under mine, hot and dense and sleek, his hands so fucking big, holding me still and making me move... This is a much better way of celebrating me getting my body back and beating Angel into paste.
"Fuck - yeah, fuckin' hell, Charlie-boy," I growl, and he claws his hands into my hair and kisses me.
I know Spike knows I'm watching him. Can't help myself - it's kind of a habit. New guy, for one - gotta keep an eye on him. Sociopathic killer for another, according to English. He let me see the Council records and damn. Took out two Slayers. Not even Angel did that.
And there's - something. Several somethings. He's not like Angel. Not a bit. And I want to know why. So I watch. He's kind of weird.
Then - he's got his body again and he hugs me! Leather, smoke - arms like steel bands. Then he goes and has a nooner with Harmony and - well - the rest of that day is pretty fucked up.
But after he's kicked Angel's ass and we've put the universe back on track - sort of - he's there in the door to my office, inviting me out for a drink. And I just stare at him for a second but - fuck it, why not? I need a damn drink anyway, after what I almost did to Eve.
Drinking leads to singing - I like 'Modern Major-General'! - and that somehow leads to kissing and then screwing. In the back seat of my company car. Leather seats and his leather duster and fuck me the boy - the vamp - can fuck. Cool and tight and different, around me.
Later, we're both sprawled out, smoking and drinking from the bottle Spike managed to swipe on our way out of the bar. He starts fumbling around, getting something out of his coat and he elbows me and I elbow him back.
"What're you doin', man? What is that?" He's got a box in his hands - 'bout half the size of a cigar box, a little shallower. And he's fumbling around with it, opening it. I see him put a coaster in there - a coaster from the bar. My coaster, 'cause I made a note on it about a case when we first got there. A note the tequila has made me forget. "That's mine," I mumble, and he looks like he might smack me.
"It's mine now, tosser," he says. Leans over and kisses me until I forget all about the box and the coaster and everything else.
We end up at my place, stumbling in just as the sun's coming up; one more drink and one more fuck. And damn, he's strong. I know - vampire! But I've never actually thought about it in terms of sex before - thought he'd put me right through the damn wall. After that it's sleep, sleep, sleep. A human necessity wakes me up hours later, and I stagger to the bathroom and then down aspirin and water, hoping to stave off the worst of my hangover.
Heading unsteadily back to bed I see Spike's coat on the floor, and that little box is spilling out of an inner pocket. I can't help it - I pick it up and open it. There's my coaster - a little damp from my glass, still. And there's - what the hell? Hair? And a chain...a strip of crumbling cloth -
"That was my mother's," Spike says from the doorway, and I almost drop everything.
"Sorry, man, I just.... Sorry," I say, and start shoving the stuff away. Spike comes over and pulls the box out of my hands - stares at it for a few seconds. I feel kinda shitty for looking at his private stuff.
"That was my mother's. It..." He holds up the cloth. It's a faded lavender with flowers embroidered on it. Looks like part of a dress or something. "She was making this when she died. She was making a shawl..." He holds the cloth carefully and then puts it away - brushes his finger-tips over the other things. "This is from Dru...and Darla..." Two long locks of hair curled and coiled around each other. Old-gold and deep brown, sleek and smooth. My great-momma had something like that - flowers made out of a dead person's hair, and it always creeped me out. Spike picks up the chain and wraps it around his fingers, just a little. It's heavy - too short for a necklace - with an oval of gold dangling from it. The design on it is a gryphon, done in chipped enamel.
"What's that?" I ask.
"It's a watch-chain. Angelus used it for years." He sighs and puts everything straight in the box - shuts it with a little click and tucks it away then stands there, holding his coat to him. He looks kind of - lost. Kind of cold.
"So you've got...keepsakes," I say. Something I never really thought about. But he's been alive a long time - why wouldn't he? It's - sentimental. It's weird. I'm in there. "Why'd you put that coaster in there, man? I mean -"
He just looks at me, and then he grins. "They're reminders, Charlie-boy. That's all. Wanted to remember this. It's a special night."
"It is? Oh - cause you got your body back?"
He tosses his coat down on the couch - crowds right up against me and gets his hands on my ass - his chest and hips and belly tight to mine. "That's one reason," he says, and even after hours and hours, he still tastes like whiskey and smoke and the lime he stole from me.
"You know why I've been watching you?" I ask later. He's smoking a slow cigarette and I'm just lying there, both of us on our backs, our knees and thighs touching and my elbow against his shoulder.
"'Cause I'm bloody irresistible, love," he grins over at me, and I poke him.
"Maybe," I say, and he snorts smoke, amused. "No, I've been watching you so I could figure something out."
"I'm an enigma, me," he says, and I have to roll over and pin him down - push the cigarette away and taste his mouth for a minute or two.
"You're a fuckin' pain in the ass. I've been trying to figure you out. You're a vamp, got you a soul - how come you're not like Angel? Why don't you ever get your brood on?" Spike stares at me and then he smirks - looks around for the empty bottle he's been using as an ashtray and drops his cigarette butt into it.
"What's the bloody point? Won't change anything." He wiggles around and I feel a surge of interest go through my cock. "'Sides - I got better things to do, Charlie-boy, than brood in the dark."
"Fred told me about what you did - savin' her like that when you could have got your body back instead. She talks about you like..."
"Like what?" Spike says, and there's real interest in his voice - interest and wariness, as if he's afraid of what I'll say.
"Like you're some kind of hero," I finish, and he looks pleased - hides it with a smirk.
"What do you think?" he asks, and I can't help but run my fingers over the scar on his eyebrow- over his cheekbone and lips.
"I think she's right," I tell him.