Fanfic: If I've Told You Once... (1/1)

[smokingmirror]

Title: If I've Told You Once...
Author: Avarice
Rating: G
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Spoilers: general s1 A:tS.
Summary: Angel returns home after a hard night's demon-slaying.
Word Count: 403
Date First Posted: -
Date Revised - 11-05-2011
Beta: -
Awards: -
Notes: Written for a 400wd challenge.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also archived at: FFN

Angel trudged into his basement apartment, shoulders slumped, eyes barely open, clothing fashionably ruined by a night of fighting demons. He threw his favourite fighting axe carelessly on the sofa, thinking only of much-needed rest. The dark vampire reached his bed and toed his shoes off, bending over briefly to divest himself of horribly wet and slimy socks.

"How the hell that slime make its way into my socks, I'll never know..." he mumbled, throwing them in a trash can in the far corner near his ensuite. They made sickening squelching sounds as they hit the back of the can and slid down to the bottom.

"Three points," he muttered.

Grasping at the torn edges of his shirt, Angel pulled it off, noticing a number of slime stains that, in all probability, would never come out. With an airless sigh he balled up the ruined shirt and threw it to the rubbish as well, missing it miserably.

Angel shuffled over to the bin and picked up the shirt and threw it away unceremoniously, his normally graceful gait absent due to exhaustion. He looked down at his clothing graveyard from the past week and took inventory of the damage. Torn, bloodied, acid scorched, burnt, bit, scratched, muddied, chopped, cut.

"I lose more good clothes that way," he shook his head sadly for all his damaged apparel. "Add 'slimed' to the list," Angel said as the remnants of his good long-sleeved charcoal coloured button-down topped the pile.

It was then he heard movement and bottles clinking together.

Angel's head snapped around.

Someone was in his bathroom.

Taps turned on and splashing ensued. The dark haired vampire sniffed the air, noticing for the first time the sickly sweet aroma that filled his nostrils. It was the scent of his favourite shampoo, the stuff made from honeysuckle. Someone was in his bathroom, in his bath, using his shampoo.

His. Shampoo.

Angel stormed into the room, yanking back the shower curtain with force and froze.

Spike lay, half-submerged in a steaming tub of water. His peroxide blond hair plastered to his scalp, alabaster skin running with moisture, a wide, seductive grin on his face.

" 'ello Da," he said cheerfully.

"Spike." Angel put his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow.

"If I've told you once, I've told you four hundred times," he said, annoyance tinging his voice, "yours is the essence of lilac."

~finis