Roomies

Disclaimer: The characters of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series Universes (Angel, Cordelia, Spike, Xander, Doyle, etc…) are the creation of Joss Whedon and are, therefore, the property of him, Mutant Enemy (Grr, Arg), and 20th Century Fox (and all other affiliated parties). No money is gained from this work as it is created purely for the enjoyment of others. Please do not sue.

AN: Constructive criticism and friendly fedback are always appreciated. Flames will be used to warm my toes.


~Part 6: For the Love of Pig’s Blood~


Spike cracked open an eye only in find more darkness. He took a deep unneeded breath and the scent of his Sire crashed down on him, that and the smell of flowers and sewage. He couldn’t hold back the snicker that escaped from his lips at the girly scent. His amusement didn’t do anything to relieve the twisted nausea of his stomach though.

His dreams had been quite pleasant; the reliving of past kills that he usually witnessed in his dreams. For some reason, though, all those glorious memories of blood and pain caused white-hot agony to travel across his forehead and, to a lesser extent, down his spine. The pain left him nearly blind and completely unaware of anything around him whenever it occurred while he was awake. Not one to enjoy negative reinforcement, Spike had given up trying to bite people not long after that little situation with the Slayer’s redhead that he could never really remember the name of.

With a tortured moan, he finally pushed the covers back off his face and sat up. He fought the urge to retch, considering there was nothing in his stomach to vomit, as vertigo captured him and spun him in circles. The feeling was worse than the night after a two week binge.

“Bloody pouf!” he muttered softly as he made out the floral pattern of the blankets that he had been securely tucked under. He ran a hand through his hair and across his face; he brought it away with a grimace at the mess that coated it.

Standing, he yawned widely and stretched his arms above his head, cracking his back and popping his shoulders with the motion. Scowling at the soiled blankets, he stripped the bed and dumped them on the floor outside bathroom. Now that he was fully awake and more aware than he had been in weeks, the smell of sewage was completely overwhelming him. Intent on having a good, long, hot shower, he shifted through the closet in search for towels and something clean for him to wear until his clothing could be washed or burned and replaced.

It didn’t take long to find a towel but the search for something to wear wasn't’t as fortunate. With a soft growl, he exited the washroom and decided to move his search to the rest of the apartment. Upon exiting the washroom, he pulled his once black t-shirt over his head. He threw the rag that had at one time been a shirt on top of the blankets and found a door at the end of the hallway. He opened it and found the laundry room.

Grinning, he swiped a pair of drawstring sweats off the dryer and stalked back to the bathroom. He let the water heat up while he fought to remove his jeans. He made a mental note to check the apartment for any sign of his beloved Doc’s and his trademark duster before climbing into the shower.

The scorching hot water on his abused skin was probably the closest thing to heaven he would ever get and he languished in it for long minutes before beginning to scrub himself raw. To finally be clean after over a month of ally hopping and then two straight weeks in a sewer tunnel was better then eating fresh human blood at the moment.

He reluctantly turned the water off after in began to run cold. Though he was sure that he had probably scrubbed a few layers of skin off, he still felt dirty. Memories of bright white walls and stone like faces tried to invade but Spike managed to push them to the back of his mind as he quickly dried off and exited the small bathroom.

~~~

Cordelia puttered around the kitchen as she waited for her coffee to finish brewing. The sound of water being turned off sent her over to the microwave where some blood was heating. She knew that after last night both vampires would be hungry so whichever one was in the shower would appreciate the warm meal. As she turned to put the mug of blood down, she was faced with Spike: half naked.

His peroxide blond curls fell limply across his eyebrows to hide the scar over his left eye and the sweats that he wore were barely holding onto his hips. The wide expanse of pale flesh that was revealed by his lack of shirt caused her jaw to drop but the way his sweats sat just so that she could catch the start of a dark, narrow line of hair had her drooling.

“See something you like, Pet?” The unmasked amusement in Spike’s voice caused her jaw to close with a snap. He chuckled before sitting down and drinking from the mug on the table. With a growl, he nearly spat the stuff back out. “Bloody ‘ell! Damn pig’s blood!”

He wiped the small bit of blood that touched his chin. After a moment’s hesitation and a loud growl from his stomach, he took quick gulp in hopes that he wouldn’t have to taste the stuff. He shuddered and muttered, “Even rat’s blood is hella better than this shit.”

Cordelia didn’t say anything; she just grabbed herself a mug and poured some coffee. She fluttered around the kitchen for a moment before setting her jaw and dropping gracefully into the chair on the opposite side of the table of Spike’s.

Spike hid a grin behind his mug. He remember this little spitfire from his last stint in L.A. and he wasn’t about to let her see his amusement over her dilemma. Instead of letting the silence overcome them, he asked, “Well, where’s Peaches anyways? I bet he’s just squirming in his bloody seat waitin’ to get sum answers outta me.”

Taking another sip of her coffee in an attempt to calm herself, Cordelia pointedly tried to look everywhere but at the gorgeous blonde in front of her. She couldn’t believe it; she was… ‘Something’ with Angel and yet her body was responding to Spike like Angel didn’t even exist. She was acting like they – she and Angel – hadn’t just admitted to each other last night that there was something between them and that they were going to be doing the not so nasty at some point in the near future.

Here she was going all crossed eyed over her… boyfriend’s? …Childe. It was like falling for a lover’s kid – not that she had ever dated a guy old enough to have a kid old enough to be lust worthy.

So entrenched in her thoughts, she missed whatever it had been that Spike had asked her. Fighting back a blush she asked, “What was that?”

Spike smirked and took another gulp from his mug. He breathed deep and felt his grin grow as he decided to forgo his original question. The sharp scent of his Sire clung to the woman’s pores nearly strong enough to disguise her own scent. Instead he asked, “How long have you and Peaches been shaggin’?”

“I don’t believe that is any of your business, Boy.” Angel growled from where he stood behind the younger vampire. His eyes glittered gold but his face remained in its human visage. When the blond turned to look him in the eye he growled softly and blue eyes looked down in an act of submission. “Cordy, go upstairs. Spike and I need to speak in private.”

Cordelia opened her mouth to protest; Angel had no right to order her around like that. One look at his face though, had her standing and walking out of the room as fast as she could.

Angel kept a close eye on Cordelia as she left but all of his other senses were trained on his Childe. The sound of the elevator gave the dark vampire the cue to walk over and sit next to Spike. Without breaking eye contact, he took the mug of blood out of the blonde’s hands and finished it off. “What’s going on Spike? Any other day, if I left you with pig’s blood you would have thrown a fit and Cordelia would have been drained within moments.”

A growl started in the back of Spike’s throat and the younger vampire pushed back his chair. Resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands he felt himself begin to tremble at the memory of those god awful white walls and humming doors. “After I got back from torturing your pasty arse, I went to pay the Slayer a little visit. Was plannin’ on letting her know jes how I felt ‘bout her giving you me ring. Was jes ‘bout ta jump her when a bunch of happy meals dressed up all soldier like shot me with enough electricity to fall a bloody elephant. I thought the lot of ‘em were working together, like one big happy ‘let’s kill all those vamps’ family when I woke up.

“But when I was with Red, she said that they’d been trying to figure out who the soldier boys were. The bloody gits showed up and ruined our little get together. The Slayer was fighting them like she would any other demon.”

Angel frowned and tilted his head, trying to get a better look at Spike’s face. The obvious pain that his Childe was going through cut him deeper then any knife – or hot poker – could have. “That just doesn’t add up right, Spike. I know it would take a lot more than a stay with some soldiers to have you turn a new leaf. What is it that you’re trying to tell me?”

“I’m saying that Spike had a little trip to the vet and now he doesn’t chase the other puppies any more. I can’t even hit people anymore.” The utter defeat hit him again and Spike slumped back into his chair, trying to fight back the tears this revelation caused him.

He wouldn’t let his Sire see him cry but he had to look him in the eye when he said what was about to say. “I need a bloody place to stay and blood to eat. You’re my Sire and I’m asking you to help me.”

Wide eyed, Angel leaned kneeled in front of his Childe. It had been a very long time since Spike had willing admitted that he – Angel or Angelus, they were both one in the same – was his Sire. He knew that the blonde liked to tell the story of the night he had been turned but alter it just slightly; Drusilla instead of Angelus and tears instead of desire. He thought briefly of the high school when Spike had first come to Sunnydale but dismissed it just as quickly. It had been an act to go along with his own, an attempt to fool and be fooled.

“Yeah, I’m yer Sire,” he said gently, his Irish brogue slipping into the statement as he gathered his Childe into his arms.