Rating: R (just in case)
Disclaimer: Well, Joss and I have an understanding: He makes up the characters and stuff, and I steal them. Hee. Don't own, not profiting.
Summary:I wash the streets off your skin when you come home.
Author's note: Concept derived from the line in the Sneaker Pimps, song Waterbaby. Also, spur of the moment fic, totally unbeta'd. So yeah. Concrit is definitely welcome. Thanks.
The dark flat held no secrets for him. The snick of the door latching shut was nothing new. Soft steps that didn’t echo across the carpet were familiar, uneven and skulking. The long hiss of an indrawn breath, exhaled almost silently through loose lips, was expected.
The bathroom light coming on, the shudder of pipes, and the rain of the shower were loud in the flat’s former smothering silence.
He rose from the sofa, following his flatmate into the bathroom.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” A familiar lament, whispered so often he no longer had to think of asking as his hands and arms began their ritualistic ministrations.
The dark head bowed in acknowledgment. “I know.”
“I’m tired of washing the streets off your skin when you come home.” But one hand squeezed silky soft soap into the palm of the other, and both hands lay reverently on pale skin, chilled slightly by the damp night.
Dark eyes met blue, long lashes lifting like ravens wings. “I know. But we need to eat.”
“Don’t.” Again the dark head bent low, shoulders lumped under the tender assault of kneading fingers. “They don’t need to know anything.”
“They’re your friends.”
“Not for a long time.” A painful moan escaped Xander’s well used lips as Spike kneaded one tight knot after another loose. “Not since you. And that’s ok.”
“Right.” Spike finished bathing Xander in silence, not willing to engage in the ages old argument that he’d never won yet. His deft fingers finished with Xander’s back, he reached around and began to wash his abdomen. Xander grabbed one of Spike’s hands and lifted it to his face.
“I’d be gone, if not for you.” Fangs descended, nipping at the ball of Spike’s palm.
Spike pulled free and stepped out of the shower. He unfurled a thick towel and held it open.
Xander stepped into the towel and let Spike wrap him up. “I’m trying to be serious here.”
“Do me a favor, pet. Be serious about this when you don’t have half of London’s drek and rabble clinging to your skin. Be serious when you’re always clean and I don’t have to wash the grime off you.” Spike left the bathroom, snatching his discarded clothes along the way.