Spike: Topic: Secrets
It is no secret that Spike is love’s bitch. He’s made a point of admitting it, on several occasions. He fawned over Cecily (though, that didn’t go so well, did it? Especially once he ran into Cecily, aka Halfrek, after the fact), he doted on Drusilla and lost her anyway. And Buffy. He fought for his very soul for her, only to end up hearing empty words and having an empty bed. All of this was common knowledge to those that knew him. But there was a darker side to being love’s bitch. And it was one he did not talk about. Except that one time he slipped, but it had gone unnoticed and un-commented on. His dark secret was Angelus. How Angelus had fought him, beat him, controlled him, subdued him. The brutal punishments, Angelus proving his position and power, over and over. And Spike enjoying it. For years, those memories haunted his dreams…hot, sweaty, dark.
Spike awoke with a start, warm, head reeling. The sheet slipped down, revealing his bare chest. The moon was just beginning to rise. He’d been dreaming again, and now awakened with such an aching hunger…
But this dream was not of Angelus. No, the body over his had been becoming less and less Angelus with each passing night in Margate. Windswept, shaggy, soft, sandy blonde hair, sweeping over piercing brown eyes…a voice so lyrical and so demanding all at once. Hands that moved with more gentleness than Angelus was remotely capable of. Hands that were tender, hands that caressed and soothed. But hands that still took exactly what they wanted. Lips unyielding and strong.
Spike sighed and ran a hand through his own platinum locks, rising from bed. His new room was still bare. Not that he needed much other than the bed, really. But he wouldn’t mind a few creature comforts. The dream was still fresh in his head as he grabbed his clothes and dressed. He slipped quietly through the house, evading notice by Holmes.
He walked down the moon lit streets, feet carrying him without thought. He reached for the comfort of one cigarette after another. Maybe, he thinks, maybe he just needs a few more nights in his new lodgings. Maybe that’s all it will take for the dreams to stop. Lack of proximity to…storerooms, alcohol, and…
He blinks, looks at his surroundings, and then down at his feet. “Bloody traitors, you are.”
He sighs and pushes open the door of the pub, and looks over the heads of the patrons to see…sandy blonde hair, piercing brown eyes. “Oh balls,” he mumbles, making his way over to the bar, feeling like a sodding teenager.