[
Trapped] by
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nasty_shrewWes/Spike.
This is beautiful, smooth and plausible.
“Barely,” he grinds out, slight slur to the word, tell tale rasp of pain. He sits with an arm on Wesley’s shoulder, legs spread out in his lap – if he should fall back onto the protruding block of concrete, Wesley would probably be able to catch him before there’d be an interesting patch of brain on brick. That’s oddly comforting.
“You need this.” He holds Spike with his right arm, offers his left. There’s a funny sense of drama about it – Wesley bares his soul and then his flesh for a demon he hardly knows. One who is, apparently, in love with him. It’s all refreshingly soap-opera. Coronation Street meets Passions. However, the next part isn’t to script – because at this point, Spike should decline “because I have a soul and blood sickens me”, “because you’re too weak Wesley, I don’t want to hurt you”, “because your blood holds love for my sire”. There’s a wealth of possibility in this moment, each line more fantastic than the last, many stolen from the terrible romance novels his mother hid behind the flour in the pantry. As usual, reality disappoints.
“Ta.”