Author:
For: marsterslady.
Pairing: Angel/Spike.
Setting: Post-"Not Fade Away."
Rating: NC17.
Request: Anything Spike related. You pick.
Spike groaned as Angel placed him in the bathtub. The hot water stung his wounds, slightly burning and itching. He knew it was going to become worse when Angel used soap. And by the way they both smelled, Angel wasn't going to be kind and forfeit the soap.
"Hold still." Angel pulled the dingy shower curtains back; he still supported Spike's head.
Trying to move, Spike grimaced. He didn't know how Angel found this rundown hotel room, much less how he paid for it. "Spike, the invalid. Can't even hold my own bloody head above the water." The limited mobility of his arms made him tired and still wasn't healed enough to support himself.
"Yes, you can." Angel let go of Spike as he reached for a washcloth.
Spike's head remained above the water; not that it mattered with the not breathing, but it wasn't pleasant. "Okay, nursemaid, you proved your point." He looked at the ceiling as Angel begins to scrub his arms; the molds and mildew were kinder than Angel's grief. He'd only had a soul for the fraction of the time Angel had his, and somewhere he believed that he finally understood Angel. Understanding his grief, his brooding. He didn't know if Angel had actual friends before Wesley, Gunn, Cordelia, and Fred.
Angel dragged the washcloth down Spike's stomach, lightly over the burns from the dragon, the sword punctures from Ritaro demons.
Groaning, Spike shifted his hips in the bathtub. His mobility regenerated a little more everyday. Soon he'd be able to sit and bathe himself. The wounds stung worse with the added element of soap.
Working diligently over Spike's body, Angel didn't say anything as he continued. The water turned brown as the dirt and grime washed off Spike's body. Every wound exposed and jagged.
Spike was also quiet, especially after Angel's speech about not dwelling on the grief and getting better before anything else. A moan escaped his mouth when Angel's hand began to wash his cock, and it stirred to attention. It seemed a lifetime and a half ago since Angel had touched him like this.
But this bath wasn't for pleasure; it was so Spike didn't smell. Angel continued, acting as if Spike didn't give him any response. The perfect nurse.
Spike's eyes moved from their position on the ceiling, and he looked directly into Angel's eyes, pleading with him to continue. The hurt would fade among the pleasure that Angel could give him; pleasure that Spike wasn't capable of returning. "Please, Angel," he whispered.
Angel's eyes averted away from Spike's and instead removed the washcloth from the tub. He took Spike's cock into his hand and started stroking him again, swiftly and gently.
Continuing to focus on Angel's eyes, Spike gave a low moan. He finally had Angel all to himself, no sharing with Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, or Illyria. But he knew that once he healed, Angel would let him go, let him leave. He wouldn't order Spike away; no, Angel never did that. Angel would simply shut him out.
Working his hand over Spike's cock, Angel remained still as if the rest of his body was frozen.
Spike thought that for a moment, he saw a spark in Angel's eyes. "Fuck." His body shook as he came. And he watched as a tear ran down Angel's cheek.