Prompt #230 - sericulture - guardian_erin
Dec. 18th, 2010 11:52 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tamingthemuseTitle: Scraps
Rating: PG
Character: Spike
Summary: Just a moment of downtime.
His limbs were trembling by the time he made it back to crypt. Trembling a little, only because of adrenaline rush, or from fatigue. That kind of stuff was understandable after a hard night of slaying, only it was usually more satisfying. It was all fight-or-flight and for him that obviously only worked one way, unless it was like a giant skyscraper-type monster and even then Spike had a feeling he'd still be the one to head straight towards the thing once he'd finished a quick smoke.
Speaking of which -- there weren't any left in the crumpled pack he kept in his coat pocket. Nothing to speak of, save a few loose pieces of tobacco. He'd had a nice fight, but somewhere between his parting sarcasm to the Scoobies and actually reaching the crypt, the high had worn off and he suddenly just found himself with blood on his face with a headache to match.
He grabbed an open bottle of liquor and sucked out the last few drops that he could manage to get. It only amounted to a small gulp and the lingering taste on his tongue and burn in his throat, but it was better than nothing at all.
The underground portion of his lair was beyond pitch black, but he didn't need a shred of light to find his way to his bed. It was just as well - the darkness gave him some kind of relief from his headache. He worked his boots off - the last thing of any effort he cared to do - and then sank onto the worn-out old excuse of a mattress.
His head found his pillow, and then a hand found the only luxurious thing that he had - a bit of silk, light pink when it could be seen. He'd found it lying on the ground after Buffy had a tumble with something that had several claws too many. Ripped from a camisole, he thought. It only lightly smelled of her, but the feel of such soft smoothness between his fingers was ... exquisite.
Rating: PG
Character: Spike
Summary: Just a moment of downtime.
His limbs were trembling by the time he made it back to crypt. Trembling a little, only because of adrenaline rush, or from fatigue. That kind of stuff was understandable after a hard night of slaying, only it was usually more satisfying. It was all fight-or-flight and for him that obviously only worked one way, unless it was like a giant skyscraper-type monster and even then Spike had a feeling he'd still be the one to head straight towards the thing once he'd finished a quick smoke.
Speaking of which -- there weren't any left in the crumpled pack he kept in his coat pocket. Nothing to speak of, save a few loose pieces of tobacco. He'd had a nice fight, but somewhere between his parting sarcasm to the Scoobies and actually reaching the crypt, the high had worn off and he suddenly just found himself with blood on his face with a headache to match.
He grabbed an open bottle of liquor and sucked out the last few drops that he could manage to get. It only amounted to a small gulp and the lingering taste on his tongue and burn in his throat, but it was better than nothing at all.
The underground portion of his lair was beyond pitch black, but he didn't need a shred of light to find his way to his bed. It was just as well - the darkness gave him some kind of relief from his headache. He worked his boots off - the last thing of any effort he cared to do - and then sank onto the worn-out old excuse of a mattress.
His head found his pillow, and then a hand found the only luxurious thing that he had - a bit of silk, light pink when it could be seen. He'd found it lying on the ground after Buffy had a tumble with something that had several claws too many. Ripped from a camisole, he thought. It only lightly smelled of her, but the feel of such soft smoothness between his fingers was ... exquisite.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-19 02:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-26 12:34 am (UTC)