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thatotherpervso. our boy's met Dru. we can guess what happens next, right? he's smitten, of course. and suddenly it doesn't matter whether everyone at school thinks he's a wanker, and suddenly it doesn't matter if Angel gives him a disapproving look, and the gay rumor pretty much takes care of itself because Dru has this habit of cornering Spike in public and having a taste of him with or without permission (in a strictly PG way, of course...and do we really think he says no?). at that age, people assume that sexuality is either/or, and Spike's new fashion accessory makes the case for him.
they become the new alternative power couple, except with more infamy than actual power. this, actually, suits Spike just fine.
never mind that he suspects she's a little daft. he tells himself she's just...special. touched, in an extra-sensory sort of way.
and lord, does Spike want to touch her. it's damn near all he thinks about.
which makes him a slightly less focused pupil to Angel, you understand, and roughly twice as cocky. and Angel, of course, loves this. by which I mean, he dresses Spike down once and once only, and when Spike talks back, he clocks him. Spike comes back up laughing, and Angel subtly rewards this by decking him again and then kicking him when he’s down.
instead of beating the insolence right out of him.
the bruises don't really hurt Spike's street cred.
life goes on like this for a while—scrapping with Angel, and trying to unravel the eternal mystery that is Dru (which looks suspiciously like snogging her).
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
it's a regular night of the week...let's say, Tuesday. Spike arrives home from school an hour late (three guesses what he's been up to), but he's got an excuse or two handy to appease Angel, if need be. he's expecting a bit of a fight, so he's a little confused when he checks all the likely places and doesn't find the old man. in fact, the house is dead silent. he's alone.
Angel's always home, so this is...odd.
but whatever. Spike finds himself a snack and flips on the telly and puts his boots right up on the coffee table because there's no one to stop him, and if the old man isn't around for once, he's going to kick back in relax. Angel acts like he's in bloody boot camp.
But the truth is, Spike's pretty much bored before the first hour is up. when Darla gets home at half past six, it’s all he can do not to greet her at the door like an eager puppy yapping at the sound of the garage.
Spike doesn’t really like to be alone, if you couldn’t have guessed.
Now you may have noticed that Darla’s been conspicuously absent from young William’s life lately…it’s by design. Angel does like to play his games, and Darla far prefers toys that are a little more…broken in, so she’s letting him take the lead in this new sport of theirs.
But that doesn’t mean she’s keeping her hand out entirely. Seducing one mere child isn’t nearly enough of a challenge for her boy…even if the quarry is as hard-headed as this one. She’s got to keep things interesting for him.
And Spike, for his part, is still wary of Darla. She’s colder than Angel, somehow, which is really saying something because Angel isn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy bloke. They don’t really talk except to decipher what they’re having for dinner, because Darla doesn’t seem like the kind you can chat to.
She’s not the kind that cooks, either. They order in. Thai.
So they’re sitting at the table in near-silence, with all the cartons strewn around but the food is meted out onto the china because Darla does have her standards, and Darla is completely at ease with the lack of conversation but Spike is positively twitchy.
And they only ordered enough food for two, granted that one of them is a teenage boy which means they really ordered enough for three. But it’s clear that Angel won’t be home for dinner, and not a word has been said about his absence.
Spike has the uncomfortable, passing thought that maybe he won’t be back at all…maybe they’re splitting up and he’s going to be left with Darla here, which is better than the group home, but….
Eventually he can’t take the wondering anymore, and he asks.
“He’s away on business until Thursday.” She says it in a breezy way that doesn’t at all match the way it makes Spike feel.
“…Business?” That’s news to him. In the month or so he’s lived there, he has never once seen Angel lift a finger in a money-making venture. And he’s always home.
“Mmm.” Darla agrees vaguely but doesn’t offer anything new, and a few more minutes pass in silence before Spike is itchy with curiosity.
“Didn’t think Angel worked.”
His eyes are busy on his plate, so he doesn’t see the twitch of amusement on Darla’s face.
“Come now, Spike, you’re a bright boy. You didn’t honestly think my dabbling in pretty pictures paid for all this.”
Well…to be honest, that’s exactly what Spike thought, because how the blood hell is he supposed to know how much Darla makes as an art dealer? He has that nebulous concept of money that comes from being both young and completely devoid of the stuff, but he feels a little stupid when she puts it like that, so he falls back on his favorite stratagem of denial.
“No,” he huffs out. “Course not.”
Darla smiles, and Spike shovels food into his face, and the room feels heavy with expectation and silence until Spike drops the other shoe.
“What does he do, then? Doesn’t seem to do much.”
“He’s in finance,” Darla assures him.
Which means sod-all to Spike.
He frowns. “Like…a banker or something?”
“Or something,” she agrees with a too-innocent tone. “You could call him a private lender.”
This sounds about as interesting as toast to our boy, so he doesn’t inquire any further, and they sit in silence for the remainder of the meal.
Except something about what Darla told him doesn’t fit. He circles around and around until finally, it clicks.
“For a money man, he can throw a mean punch.”
It’s possibly not the kind of thing you say out loud, but Spike is Spike and Darla doesn’t look angry, just smug. Her plate is clean, and when she leans in, he thinks she means to get up and leave without a word. Instead, she gives him an answer that doesn’t sound like an answer at all.
“Money has influence, William, but fear is where the real power lies.”
TBC
they become the new alternative power couple, except with more infamy than actual power. this, actually, suits Spike just fine.
never mind that he suspects she's a little daft. he tells himself she's just...special. touched, in an extra-sensory sort of way.
and lord, does Spike want to touch her. it's damn near all he thinks about.
which makes him a slightly less focused pupil to Angel, you understand, and roughly twice as cocky. and Angel, of course, loves this. by which I mean, he dresses Spike down once and once only, and when Spike talks back, he clocks him. Spike comes back up laughing, and Angel subtly rewards this by decking him again and then kicking him when he’s down.
instead of beating the insolence right out of him.
the bruises don't really hurt Spike's street cred.
life goes on like this for a while—scrapping with Angel, and trying to unravel the eternal mystery that is Dru (which looks suspiciously like snogging her).
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
it's a regular night of the week...let's say, Tuesday. Spike arrives home from school an hour late (three guesses what he's been up to), but he's got an excuse or two handy to appease Angel, if need be. he's expecting a bit of a fight, so he's a little confused when he checks all the likely places and doesn't find the old man. in fact, the house is dead silent. he's alone.
Angel's always home, so this is...odd.
but whatever. Spike finds himself a snack and flips on the telly and puts his boots right up on the coffee table because there's no one to stop him, and if the old man isn't around for once, he's going to kick back in relax. Angel acts like he's in bloody boot camp.
But the truth is, Spike's pretty much bored before the first hour is up. when Darla gets home at half past six, it’s all he can do not to greet her at the door like an eager puppy yapping at the sound of the garage.
Spike doesn’t really like to be alone, if you couldn’t have guessed.
Now you may have noticed that Darla’s been conspicuously absent from young William’s life lately…it’s by design. Angel does like to play his games, and Darla far prefers toys that are a little more…broken in, so she’s letting him take the lead in this new sport of theirs.
But that doesn’t mean she’s keeping her hand out entirely. Seducing one mere child isn’t nearly enough of a challenge for her boy…even if the quarry is as hard-headed as this one. She’s got to keep things interesting for him.
And Spike, for his part, is still wary of Darla. She’s colder than Angel, somehow, which is really saying something because Angel isn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy bloke. They don’t really talk except to decipher what they’re having for dinner, because Darla doesn’t seem like the kind you can chat to.
She’s not the kind that cooks, either. They order in. Thai.
So they’re sitting at the table in near-silence, with all the cartons strewn around but the food is meted out onto the china because Darla does have her standards, and Darla is completely at ease with the lack of conversation but Spike is positively twitchy.
And they only ordered enough food for two, granted that one of them is a teenage boy which means they really ordered enough for three. But it’s clear that Angel won’t be home for dinner, and not a word has been said about his absence.
Spike has the uncomfortable, passing thought that maybe he won’t be back at all…maybe they’re splitting up and he’s going to be left with Darla here, which is better than the group home, but….
Eventually he can’t take the wondering anymore, and he asks.
“He’s away on business until Thursday.” She says it in a breezy way that doesn’t at all match the way it makes Spike feel.
“…Business?” That’s news to him. In the month or so he’s lived there, he has never once seen Angel lift a finger in a money-making venture. And he’s always home.
“Mmm.” Darla agrees vaguely but doesn’t offer anything new, and a few more minutes pass in silence before Spike is itchy with curiosity.
“Didn’t think Angel worked.”
His eyes are busy on his plate, so he doesn’t see the twitch of amusement on Darla’s face.
“Come now, Spike, you’re a bright boy. You didn’t honestly think my dabbling in pretty pictures paid for all this.”
Well…to be honest, that’s exactly what Spike thought, because how the blood hell is he supposed to know how much Darla makes as an art dealer? He has that nebulous concept of money that comes from being both young and completely devoid of the stuff, but he feels a little stupid when she puts it like that, so he falls back on his favorite stratagem of denial.
“No,” he huffs out. “Course not.”
Darla smiles, and Spike shovels food into his face, and the room feels heavy with expectation and silence until Spike drops the other shoe.
“What does he do, then? Doesn’t seem to do much.”
“He’s in finance,” Darla assures him.
Which means sod-all to Spike.
He frowns. “Like…a banker or something?”
“Or something,” she agrees with a too-innocent tone. “You could call him a private lender.”
This sounds about as interesting as toast to our boy, so he doesn’t inquire any further, and they sit in silence for the remainder of the meal.
Except something about what Darla told him doesn’t fit. He circles around and around until finally, it clicks.
“For a money man, he can throw a mean punch.”
It’s possibly not the kind of thing you say out loud, but Spike is Spike and Darla doesn’t look angry, just smug. Her plate is clean, and when she leans in, he thinks she means to get up and leave without a word. Instead, she gives him an answer that doesn’t sound like an answer at all.
“Money has influence, William, but fear is where the real power lies.”
TBC
