Boys Just Wanna Have Fun
Disclaimer: I own very little in life, including this show or its characters; except for those few and fleeting figures you don't recognize.
He needed to change his name, or perhaps he could move away to Antigua.
No one person, undead or not, could do so much damage and cause so much trouble in one night; it just was not possible.
First thing in the morning he was going out to get a collar and leash.
"Sir? Where would you like us to put him down?"
"Just – in there, on the couch, is fine,' he waved them on past while rubbing a pinched nerve in his neck.
One held the very unconscious, and heavily intoxicated, male underneath his arms and the other had him by his feet.
They placed him on his back across the wide seat of the, buttery soft, leather couch.
"I must warn you Mr. Angel, he threw up once already on our way over here; you may wish to have something handy in case he gets sick again."
"Isn't there some – clean up service I could –?"
The look on both, identical, demons' faces told him all he needed to know.
Bowing first respectfully, the two, scaly, beasts walked back to the elevator to let themselves out of his penthouse.
Every item in the entire place made of wood called out to him, loudly.
All it would take was something sharp enough to survive being jammed through his breastbone and driven into his heart.
Then poof, the last, all too many times surviving, bane of his existence would be gone forever, and he'd no longer how to play zoo keeper.
"You aren't worth the – wait no, no, no, oh god!"
An old tee-shirt was the only item in his wardrobe he was willing to risk allowing the upchucking vampire to wear in his current condition.
Somewhat angrily Angel stripped Spike of his filthy, stained clothing. He wasn't sure if he'd rolled around in a dirt pit or something much more unpleasant to think about.
He supported his limp neck and slipped the tee-shirt on over Spike's head, still marveling at the fact that he had yet to even murmur a single word since he'd been brought in; then again Angel knew all too well that Spike was a complete light weight when it came to alcohol.
Angelus had often enjoyed taking William out to drink with him just because he could not resist challenging the childe to drinking contests, which of course often led to many, entertaining, encounters with other bar patrons, walls, horses, and the occasional transvestite.
Leaving the lump like body on his bed, at least sheets could be washed, or better yet burned, Angel gathered up Spike's clothes and carried them out into the kitchen, finding a plastic bag to stuff them into and then toss away.
He turned on the kitchen sink faucet and gave his hands a quick wash, taking the time to think.
Spike was his responsibility, at least that's what Angel kept telling himself; there was no one to take him in, no one else who wanted him.
Angel didn't want him either but Spike never did well left all on his own. The young vampire would never admit to it but he hated being alone, all by himself, it was why he'd stayed at Wolfram & Hart even when he'd been made corporeal again; because Angel was there.
His head dropped and shoulders sagged, anger and frustration being replaced by resignation and slight guilt.
He had created his own Frankenstein's monster so long ago, the least he could do now was take care of him. It wasn't the most preferable of solutions, but Angel couldn't stomach going with any of the other options that were at his disposal.
What possessed him to do it he didn't know, but Angel walked back into his bedroom and covered Spike up with a blanket, as if he might catch a chill.
Maybe it was the idea of having someone to care for; someone dependent on him, who truly needed him. No one else ever had like Spike; not Darla, Penn, Dru, even Connor. Spike was the only one who kept coming back, and wanting to stay.
Sighing, the tired vampire shook his head; he was getting soft in his old age.
Angel grabbed an extra pillow from the other side of the bed and went out into the, freshly scrubbed down and disinfected, living room to bunk down in a chair and wait for morning.
First his left arm and then his right unfurled and he stretched out his legs, feeling the comfortable pull of relaxed muscles and well rested bones.
Spike smiled with his eyes closed; his bed hadn't felt this good in – his bed never felt this good.
Quickly coming to the realization that he was somewhere other than his apartment, his eyes popped up and he sat up to try and get his bearings.
The bland, pretentious, bedroom set; the all black, well, everything; the windows letting in sunlight that wasn't toasting him to a crisp. Spike groaned under his breath; Angel's.
He was at Angel's, which could only mean one thing, he was going to have to deal with Angel, and most likely be forced to sit through one of his long winded, boring lectures about whatever he could have done to have turned up there.
Despite his best efforts Spike couldn't even remember the night before and that concerned him, especially if Angel questioned him about what he'd been doing.
Then again he couldn't remember anything about yesterday, or even what day it was.
A sudden, and extremely powerful, hunger pang blazed through the core of his being and distracted Spike from thinking about anything else but feeding, and fast.
He scrambled to get out of bed, not even noticing that his feet didn't touch the floor straightaway, the way they should have when he swung his legs over to stand up.
The tee-shirt he had on hung too low on his body, reaching down past his knees even, and even though Angel was larger by quite some margin, Spike was practically swimming in the material; it was no longer a shirt but a blanket.
But none of that mattered to him, he had to find something, anything, to eat; he'd last felt this hungry on the night he'd been reborn as a vampire; it was an insatiable craving that almost physically crippled him.
Angel had heard the creaking of mattress springs when Spike first roused from his stupor, and so was already heating up a mug of blood for him; he slowly drank out of his own, wondering if he was ready to have to deal with finding out about Spike's late night activities so early in the morning.
Spike emerged from the bedroom with his eyes almost unfocused, his one track mind guiding his feet across the floor toward the kitchen.
"Good morning sleeping beau-" The last of his words became wedged and lodged in the back of his throat.
Blinking once, and then twice, and then rapidly again and again, Angel nearly dropped the half empty mug in his right hand.
"I'm hungry," Spike told him, staring openly at the older man, frowning at the way he was looking at him, as if he'd grown a tail or second head.
"What…how – who…Spike…?"
"Who the bloody else would it be? And what are you staring at me like that for? Look, I guess I got a little, uh – "
"Spike…" Angel could only repeat the name over again, not able to find any other syllables to use, however hard he tried.
"What!" Spike finally demanded, annoyed, taking a step closer to the flabbergasted vampire, and then he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the refrigerator out of the corner of one eye.
Turning his head fully to the left Spike looked back at the figure that mirrored his every move; he touched one cheek with a hand beginning to tremble.
"I…it can't – be…"
He snatched his hand away and looked down at it, then his arms, and finally he groped at his body through the thin cotton shirt like sheet he wore, "Bollocks!"
"What's happened to me!" He wailed at Angel, now noticing just how high his voice was and – and…
"I – I don't know!" Angel finally sputtered out, "What did you do last night?"
"Nothing! I can't – I don't remember anything!" Spike began to hyperventilate, "Angel do something!"
The absurdity of the whole situation, plus Spike's impossible insistence that he, somehow, fix things, nearly set Angel off into a manic fit of helpless laughter.
"Look at me!"
In his panic the younger vampire tore at the collar of his shirt, ripping it down one side; a slender, soft skinned shoulder and the top of one breast came into view.
"I've got t – s!"
Spike's chosen word to describe his newly acquired pair of breasts was, conveniently, drowned out by the noisily beeping microwave that abruptly went off.
"Your blood is ready…"