Spike (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
idolpire) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-08-29 06:04 pm
idolpire) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-08-29 06:04 pm
Entry tags:
Closed
who: Spike and John Wick
what: Bitchy fighting between whatever the hell they are
when: Before the building fire
where: John's home
warnings: Language. Violence. Feeding/Blood. Possibly sex? Will update if needed.
After he and John had left the hospital, he'd called him up before his date with Buffy. Spike had been so uncertain about it, he hadn't heard the distance starting in John's tone, hadn't really picked at the words that were already building a wall between them. It was a full week after before he realized that he hadn't heard from or seen the man who had been something akin to a shadow in his life since he'd gotten here. Quiet, often unseen, but always there.
So he'd tried calling. It had gone to voicemail. He'd called again. He'd texted. He'd felt like a bloody idiot, going back through their interactions to see what he'd done to have pissed him off. Whatever John and he were, he'd thought they were at least friends. There was something that kept them circling around each other, and it rubbed him in all the wrong ways to know that he was being intentionally ignored.
So come nightfall, Spike found himself working up a good head of mad, downing a bottle of whiskey on the way to John's from his crypt. It took awhile, what with him being outside the fence and John's home being in it, but he just worked up his mad all the way there, talking aloud to himself as he stalked towards his target, drinking from the bottle until by the time he was stomping up the steps, there was an inch or two of dark liquid left in the bottom. Spike stepped up to the door and booted it open, walking in and taking in a deep breath, picking up the scent of John and his dog. "Honey! I'm bloody well home!"
what: Bitchy fighting between whatever the hell they are
when: Before the building fire
where: John's home
warnings: Language. Violence. Feeding/Blood. Possibly sex? Will update if needed.
After he and John had left the hospital, he'd called him up before his date with Buffy. Spike had been so uncertain about it, he hadn't heard the distance starting in John's tone, hadn't really picked at the words that were already building a wall between them. It was a full week after before he realized that he hadn't heard from or seen the man who had been something akin to a shadow in his life since he'd gotten here. Quiet, often unseen, but always there.
So he'd tried calling. It had gone to voicemail. He'd called again. He'd texted. He'd felt like a bloody idiot, going back through their interactions to see what he'd done to have pissed him off. Whatever John and he were, he'd thought they were at least friends. There was something that kept them circling around each other, and it rubbed him in all the wrong ways to know that he was being intentionally ignored.
So come nightfall, Spike found himself working up a good head of mad, downing a bottle of whiskey on the way to John's from his crypt. It took awhile, what with him being outside the fence and John's home being in it, but he just worked up his mad all the way there, talking aloud to himself as he stalked towards his target, drinking from the bottle until by the time he was stomping up the steps, there was an inch or two of dark liquid left in the bottom. Spike stepped up to the door and booted it open, walking in and taking in a deep breath, picking up the scent of John and his dog. "Honey! I'm bloody well home!"