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Nov. 9th, 2018 02:11 pmNeither of them really say anything about it, the fact that they spend more nights together than they used to. The fact that Sweeney spends less time finding someone to fuck than he did even a month ago. The fact that he keeps blood in his fridge now, for the times when his own isn't available for whatever reason. Or the fact that not all their nights end in fucking, that sometimes they just spend their time together.
It doesn't have to mean any goddamn thing. Talking about it puts meaning to it and that'd be a really bad idea, so Sweeney doesn't and Spike doesn't and all of that works just fucking fine for Sweeney. And if he likes having someone else in his bed, then that's his own damn business, not the sort of thing he has to start talking about, not with anyone.
Some of the time he wakes up and Spike is gone, which is fine. But other times he wakes up and he isn't and that's a hell of a lot better, but today, this morning, however fucking early it is, Mad Sweeney sort of wishes the vampire had gotten restless and gone for a bit of a walk about, because then he wouldn't have to deal with the inevitable laughter he's going to hear.
At some point in the early hours of the morning, he'd been dragged from a deep sleep by the overwhelming urge to piss and he'd stumbled from the bed, taken three steps toward the door, and realized something was different. He was looking at the entire world from about two feet lower than he usually did.
Heading for the bathroom, he'd flicked on the light, taking in his appearance in the mirror above the sink. The curly, chin length hair, the freckles across a slim nose. No beard. Tits and a cunt. A pretty fucking spectacular ass and legs, he decided, before realizing he would have to sit down for the piss he so desperately needed.
From there he'd gone into the living room without turning on the lights. Wrapping himself in a blanket that normally wouldn't have covered his large frame, Sweeney had sunk down onto the couch and lit a cigarette for himself, and that was where he was now, several hours later, still smoking in the early dawn, the sun not yet over the horizon.
It doesn't have to mean any goddamn thing. Talking about it puts meaning to it and that'd be a really bad idea, so Sweeney doesn't and Spike doesn't and all of that works just fucking fine for Sweeney. And if he likes having someone else in his bed, then that's his own damn business, not the sort of thing he has to start talking about, not with anyone.
Some of the time he wakes up and Spike is gone, which is fine. But other times he wakes up and he isn't and that's a hell of a lot better, but today, this morning, however fucking early it is, Mad Sweeney sort of wishes the vampire had gotten restless and gone for a bit of a walk about, because then he wouldn't have to deal with the inevitable laughter he's going to hear.
At some point in the early hours of the morning, he'd been dragged from a deep sleep by the overwhelming urge to piss and he'd stumbled from the bed, taken three steps toward the door, and realized something was different. He was looking at the entire world from about two feet lower than he usually did.
Heading for the bathroom, he'd flicked on the light, taking in his appearance in the mirror above the sink. The curly, chin length hair, the freckles across a slim nose. No beard. Tits and a cunt. A pretty fucking spectacular ass and legs, he decided, before realizing he would have to sit down for the piss he so desperately needed.
From there he'd gone into the living room without turning on the lights. Wrapping himself in a blanket that normally wouldn't have covered his large frame, Sweeney had sunk down onto the couch and lit a cigarette for himself, and that was where he was now, several hours later, still smoking in the early dawn, the sun not yet over the horizon.
