Jan. 9th, 2004

[identity profile] flaming-muse.livejournal.com
Continued from here.

Spike came to an abrupt halt in the doorway. Since Wesley had been wearing a t-shirt when they had dealt with his bandage that morning, Spike hadn't been prepared to turn the corner to find an unexpectedly appealing back exposed to his eyes. His gaze flickered along a lean torso, over well-proportioned shoulders, down one nicely-defined arm, and came to rest on the wound that Wesley was trying to uncover.

"Let me do that," Spike said brusquely, but his hands were gentle as he took over the task. He removed the gauze and was pleased to see that there was no sign of infection and that the stitches were holding. "Looks like it'll heal cleanly, if you don't do anything stupid."

January 2011

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