A/N: Incredibly short. Closing it up very slowly. Can expect a few more chapters.
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Chapter Twelve
Angel's POV
The fever dimmed, but never died completely. In the week that followed, my boy's mood went up and down and twirled around like one of those frighteningly raucous, newfangled rollercoasters. One minute he'd want to hold my hand, and the next he'd want to bite it off. He would speak in brief sentences, snapping angrily or baring his fangs when pressed to elaborate. If scolded, he only glared; a sullen glint in his brilliant blue eyes.
Most of the time he kept himself away downstairs, cocooning in the covers of my bed and ignoring all the sounds around him. On rare occasion, he'd come upstairs and into my office, sit at my feet and nudge my hand like a love starved puppy until it was on his head. Then I'd pull him onto my lap and feed him from my wrist and he'd allow me to hold him for a few minutes before shoving me away and leaving quickly.
"SPIKE!"
And other times - other most awful times - he'd do his best to remind us that he was still evil.
"THIS IS A NEW SHIRT, YOU LITTLE LOSER! A NEW, VERY WHITE SHIRT THAT YOU JUST INTENTIONALLY SPILLED COFFEE ON!" I sat at my desk, listening to Cordelia screaming through the thin, wood door that separated my office from the lounge. I could practically hear my boy smirk. "DON'T YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY? ANGEL! GET OUT HERE!"
Like a good employer, I obeyed.
Cordelia was heedlessly patting at her ruined shirt with a tissue, trying to get the brown coffee out of the prim white, exceedingly low-cut tanktop that I'll never actually tell her is inappropriate for work.
"Was it hot?" I asked her, though I kept my eyes trained on my boy who was now tucked away in my office slouched in a chair, looking unconcerned, but slightly sulky.
"Nah. He would have gotten a headache," she grumbled. "He still should have."
"How much was the shirt?"
I ended up giving her an absurd amount of money for such a tiny bit of fabric, but it got her to shut up for a few minutes so I guess it was worth it. I sauntered into the office, closing the door behind me.
"That's the fourth Cordelia clothing garment that I've replaced this week," I sighed, kneeling in front of his chair. "I'd like to know why." He regarded me with an air of resentment. "Spike." He cocked his head, eyes brightened slightly with interest. I hadn't called him Spike in weeks. "Can't you tell me what's wrong?"
Of course he couldn't. That would be too easy. Instead he had to roll his eyes to the ceiling, cross his arms over his chest, thrust his lower lip out in a petulant pout...had to ignore me.
"Will?"
I placed a tentative hand on his thigh.
His leg struck out and kicked me in the chest.
It took a few minutes to shake away the initial shock that my precious childe had just kicked me, something quite out of the ordinary considering the past several weeks. Still sprawled over the floor, I locked my eyes on his lowered head.
"'S Spike," he muttered. "Spike." He blinked slowly, his eyes focused on my knee, trailing up to somewhere on my neck and lingering there, never quite meeting my gaze. Nodding to himself, he repeated, "'M Spike."
Spike. He's Spike.
"You're Spike."
"'M Spike."
Spike. Spike. Spike.
He raised his eyes and I found myself staring into the sky, endless and infinite and threaded with so many emotions that I thought there no possible way for it to break. He slid off the chair, onto his knees, lifted a hand and put it forward.
"Spike."
A knee, a hand, a knee.
A hand. On my hand. A knee. On my knee.
Lips on my lips.
"I'm evil. I'm soulless."
I knew that. I swear I knew that.
Eyes on my eyes.
"'M a spoiled little boy."
Fingers clever at the fastenings of my designer dress pants.
"A very naughty, naughty little boy. Just for you."
Hands lifting the shirt from my back.
"Always for you."
Hard lips. A vicious kiss.
"I belong to you."
He said he was mine and possession only really goes one way.
But I was his.
On the office floor.
A/N: That's all for now. More later.