reality_bends | Getting reacquainted and making plans

"Nothing's wrong, love," Spike said, leaning in to give Wesley a gentle kiss. He knew that it wasn't fair to play games with semantics, but he couldn't admit to what was bothering him without bringing up yet again that he doubted the longevity of Wesley's feelings. It was easier on them both if he kept his insecurites to himself.

"There's more blood," Wesley said, although he was sure Spike had seen him putting it away in the refrigerator. "Did you have any luck making plans for this evening?"

"I couldn't find out much," Spike said. "There are a couple of bars we can hit, local places where they might hang out, but it's not like the blokes I'm looking for are in the phone book."

Wesley leaned his forehead against Spike's, a position which was surprisingly comfortable. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me," he said.

"I don't know what to do," Spike admitted quietly, his gaze fixed on Wesley's gorgeous blue eyes so close to his. "I need the dosh, so I've got to go out, but I couldn't fit into that life again even if they'd have me. My other choice is to sit around doing nothing while you buy my blood and cigarettes, which I can't do, either." He gave a half-hearted grin. "Guess I really have changed."

"Of course you have," Wesley said, torn between kissing Spike and staying perfectly still, caught in his gaze. "I suppose you'll just have to find something to do other than collecting old debts. I'd imagine you'd make an excellent bodyguard, for example."

"Yeah." Spike's voice didn't hold any enthusiasm. "As long as they don't want to go out during the day." Feeling oddly lost, he splayed his hands on Wesley's back, needing the feel of the now-familiar flesh to anchor him.

Wesley ran his own hand down along Spike's spine, tracing each vertebra separately. "Shh. Don't worry. We'll sort it out."

"It's not that easy, pet. Even before the soul I was helping save the world, making a difference. I know I'm not a hero -" Spike's mind flashed back to Buffy handing him the amulet and calling him a champion, but the pride that he had felt at the time had faded. "- but I've got to be good for more than being a bouncer or a bodyguard." He wasn't sure if that was a statement or a question.

"Since when," Wesley asked, some astonishment evident in his voice, "does saving the world not qualify one as a hero?"

"Yeah, standing there while some tacky bauble does its thing is the stuff of legends." Spike shook his head slightly, uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned. "Never mind. I'll figure something out."

"No," Wesley said. He took Spike's face between his hands so that the vampire couldn't ignore what he was going to say next. "We will. And I won't let you dismiss what you did so easily."

"You don't know what I did," Spike said, meaning far more than just his part in closing the Hellmouth. He shut his eyes for a moment, unable to handle what he saw in Wesley's face. Pulling together his piecemeal armor, he gave Wesley an honest smile and said, "But I'm glad for your help with the rest."

"You think you've done things that would horrify me," Wesley said, as lightly as he could. "The truth is, I've... there are things I've done as well. Things that are... maybe too difficult to talk about. So I understand. But I do need you to know that the good things you've done are worth something. They have value in and of themselves, not just as attempts to atone for the bad."

Spike knew that someone as ultimately good and moral as Wesley couldn't understand what it was like to have lived for more than a century as a soulless vampire, but he was comforted by the thought that Wesley was at least sympathetic. "I know they do, and I'm not Angel; I'm not looking for atonement. I know it isn't possible." Grateful that he could, Spike pulled Wesley a bit closer. "And I doubt there's anything you've done that would horrify me, Wes," he added, merely stating the truth and not demanding more than Wesley was willing to share.

"Shh," Wesley said again, this time because he really didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to kiss Spike until he drove that haunted look from his eyes, but instead he just wrapped his arms around him and held him close.

Spike let himself absorb the comfort for another minute before he loosened his hold; he wasn't going to dwell on facts he couldn't change. "So you're up for a demon pub crawl tonight?" he asked. "Have a few pints, maybe play some pool? Might as well have some fun while we're out."

"Absolutely," Wesley said. "Sounds like a fine idea." He was relieved that they'd have something to do that evening -- going out would make the time pass more quickly, which in turn meant that tomorrow night would arrive that much faster.

"Good." The conversation having moved onto a more mundane topic, Spike smiled more easily and rubbed his hands up Wesley's back. "'Course, if we don't have any luck finding my old mates, you might have to spot me for the drinks. Pretty sure I can find a way to make it up to you," he said, curling his tongue behind his teeth.

Smiling slightly, Wesley pressed his body against Spike's. "I'm sure you can."

"I've already got some ideas." His smirk faded, though, and Spike cupped Wesley's cheek and gave him a soft kiss. "Thank you," he said more seriously.

"What for?"

"Being you. Caring about me." Telling Angel to go and not me this time. "Letting me share your take away. Everything."

"Ah yes, letting you share Indian food that I can't identify is quite a sacrifice on my part," Wesley said teasingly, but he leaned in and kissed Spike. "I won't say you're welcome, because I've just as much to thank you for."

"I did tell you what you were eating," Spike said and then quickly changed the subject; he sure as hell didn't deserve any gratitude. "Speaking of, did you get yourself some decent food at the store?"

"I suppose that depends upon your definition of the word 'decent,'" Wesley said, thinking of the tinned soup and frozen stir-fry he'd brought home.

"I don't know. Tara used to talk about food groups and vitamins," Spike said somewhat vaguely.

"I always thought that was what vitamin tablets were for," Wesley said.

"Could be." Spike felt a bit as though he were discussing words that were from a foreign language and of which he didn't quite know the meaning. "I never paid much attention."

"I've managed not to die of malnutrition so far," Wesley pointed out.

"Yeah. Sorry," Spike said. "Just doesn't seem right that I've got more interest in food than you do."

"I'm not disinterested, just... busy." Wesley shrugged as best he could with his body still pressed against Spike's.

"I guess when you've got as much in your brain as you do you've got better things to think about besides which hot sauce has the best kick... like which demon has the best kick. That's probably more useful," Spike admitted with a grin.

Wesley ran a hand down Spike's side gently. "I generally think that if I'm remembering to eat three meals a day I'm doing quite well."

Refraining from asking how often that happened and sounding completely soft, Spike said, "Whatever you're doing, it seems to work for you." He slid his hands appreciatively up Wesley's lean, strong back.

With a contented murmur, Wesley caught Spike's lips with his own, kissing him leisurely. "We seem to have a free afternoon," he said when the kiss had ended.

"As long as we don't answer the bleeding door," Spike replied, tracing the line of Wesley's jaw with the tip of his thumb. "What did you have in mind, then? I've got a book to keep me busy, if you've got things you want to do on your own."

"There's nothing I want to do on my own," Wesley said honestly, lowering his head to bite at the ridge of Spike's collarbone through the fabric of his t-shirt.

Even with all that had passed between them, Spike still felt a jolt of surprise each time Wesley deliberately touched him. "Even better," he said, tilting his head back as a nearly imperceptible shiver of delight ran through him. The weight on his chest lifted that much more.

"I want to be touching you every possible moment," Wesley murmured. He rested both hands at Spike's waist and moved his mouth to the tender area just beneath Spike's jaw, nipping gently with his teeth.

The question "Why?" ran through Spike's mind again, but he wouldn't let himself voice it. Instead he clenched his fist in Wesley's shirt between his shoulder blades and said, "Yes," with definite feeling.

As arousal began to hum through him, Wesley pulled Spike's body more firmly against his. "Don't let go of me," he growled in a low voice, his tone making it clear that despite the words it was more an order than anything else.

"No," Spike assured him, settling his other hand on Wesley's hip and hooking his thumb under his belt. "I don't want to."

Wesley kissed Spike hard, then asked, "Didn't you say something earlier about fucking in the kitchen?"

Continues here (http://www.livejournal.com/community/reality_bends/19006.html).

Getting reacquainted and making plans

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